In our twenties, there were summer parties at this special house—gin and pétanque, music spilling late into the night. Now, the updates and +1s we bring into the mix are babies, spouses, new business ventures, and puppies. Life pulls us in different directions, but for a moment, everything bends toward this. The stars align, and just like that, it’s set.

From various coasts, we return on a weekend just before Christmas. We joke about it feeling like a commune. 

The home—still beautiful, like the family that holds it—welcomes us in. We hold court in the kitchen, we eat, we celebrate, we commiserate. Tas and Q run laps with Pip on their tail, bopping between the drums and the piano, tussling over not-your-toy. I steal pockets of time to just stand by the lake. And surrounding it all, there’s laughter—loud, full-bodied, the kind that folds into the bones of a place, settling into these walls that have been here long before us and will be here long after.

On the drive home, Brandon says he hates the goodbyes. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have this always?”

— jade