There was a point in her life when Summer Hong could unequivocally state she would never consider going into a place like this.

Today was a different story.

She stared up at the bold sign. MILLIE'S MEDICINALS, it proclaimed in navy-colored block lettering. In stark contrast, a rainbow-striped marijuana leaf sat cheerfully at the end, as if to assure her this place wasn't so stuffy or serious. Not that there was anything wrong with stuffy or serious. Back in the day, her father's idea of "cutting loose" was wearing jeans on a weekday.

Back in the day.

She missed those days.

Reminded of why she was here, Summer took a deep breath and pushed through the front door.

She wasn't sure what she was expecting, but it wasn't the playful sound of chirping birds. She paused to look around for its source and found a little statuette of a blue jay. Its motion-sensing lens was pointed at the front door.

Cute, she thought. Motion-activated birdsong. With the tiny mystery solved, she allowed herself to absorb her surroundings.

The shop was no bigger than a gas station convenience store. Tightly packed rows made the space feel even smaller, but at least it was tidy.

"Hello!"

The female voice, though not quite bellowing, was loud enough to fly across the store and startle Summer. She looked up from the display of gummies to find a middle-aged woman beaming at her from behind the counter. The woman's blond hair hung in a thick braid down her back, and she wore the ugliest tie-dyed maxi dress Summer had ever seen.

Summer liked to think she had a poker face when it came to personal opinions, but she wondered if maybe some of the disdain seeped out when the woman said, "I tried tie-dying for the first time yesterday. It looked fun, you know?" She looked down at her dress and plucked at the reddish-greenish, mottled gray material. "Christmas is coming up, and I thought this would be festive." She looked up at Summer. "But it kind of looks like decaying steak, doesn't it?"

"Uhh..."

"I think I mixed the green and the red too much. Or maybe they were supposed to be in different buckets? I don't know. I never was great at following instructions. But this material is so comfy, so I wore it anyway."

Summer wasn't sure if she was supposed to reply.

The woman let go of the material and smiled at her again. "Anyway, I'm Millie, and welcome to my shop! I haven't seen you before. Do you need something specific? If not, I can help you figure out what you want."

"I, um." Summer was used to polite conversations about the weather or balance sheets. This woman seemed to have no qualms disclosing personal information to complete strangers.

"You know, you remind me a little of my daughter, Jenny."

She's half-Chinese too? Summer thought. Or maybe she also has trouble getting a word into conversations with this woman? "I do?" she said instead.

"Jenny's a careful soul, but loves with all her heart. You seem like a careful soul too."

Summer cleared her throat. "I, uh, need something for pain."

"Right to business then, eh? That's all right." Millie winked. "I understand. What kind of pain are we talking about? Migraines? Muscle spasms? Arthritis? You're too young for arthritis though. Are you even eighteen yet?"

Summer was used to incorrect age guesses. "Twenty-eight, but it's not for me. It's for my father. It's..."

One does not discuss family problems with strangers, her father would say if he was here right now.

But he wasn't here, and now was not the time for stubborn pride.

"Osteosarcoma," Summer answered clinically. It was the only way to keep her lower lip from trembling.

Millie winced. "Bone cancer is the worst. I'm sorry to hear that."

Summer blinked, surprised this hippie-looking woman recognized the medical term. Right then she decided Millie was all right, despite the decaying-steak maxi dress.

The older woman smirked a little. "Surprised you, didn't I? I don't know why, but most people think I'm some kind of crackpot who dips into her own stash every day. I'll have you know I'm down to once a week these days." She giggled mysteriously, making Summer wonder if the woman was joking or stating facts. "But I know my lymphomas from my sarcomas. I'm serious about helping everyone who comes through that door."

"You don't know how glad I am to hear that."

Millie smiled warmly and proceeded to ask a series of medical questions, all intelligent and wonderfully impersonal. By the time Summer purchased what her father needed, she was at ease being inside this marijuana dispensary. It was something she never thought possible considering how much time her father spent criticizing potheads. Then again, her father also used the term quite loosely, invoking it when referring to gang members, skateboarders, and probably most of their neighbors. Needless to say, "judgmental" was just the tip of her father's complex iceberg.

"You should get a Christmas tree," Millie said out of the blue.

"Huh?" Summer looked up from tucking the receipt into her messenger bag.

"It'll cheer you up."

"A tree," Summer said flatly.

"A Christmas tree." Millie's eyes sparkled. "It's a Leffer family tradition. Getting a tree on the first day of December."

"That's nice. It's not my family tradition though."

Millie made a sympathetic noise. "You have sad eyes." She fetched a yellow flyer from underneath the cash register and offered it to Summer. "Go here."

Summer eyed the flyer skeptically.

"Don't go to just any tree lot. It has to be the Layton Christmas Tree Farm. They're local. Such wonderful people. It's a family business, you know. And that Wreath Layton." Millied sighed wistfully. "If I was ten years younger, I might go after that fine, fine man."

Summer's brow creased as she tried to think of a response.

"Fine," Millie said on an exhale. "Maybe twenty years younger. Here, take it."

Summer lifted a hand, but couldn't bring herself to accept this strange woman's offering. Was she setting her up with a tree or a man?

Paying no attention to the hesitation, Millie reached across the counter and jammed the flyer into Summer's hand. "The Layton Christmas Tree Farm. Go. It'll lift your spirits, even if you don't get a tree. Trust me."

***

Every time the car stopped at a red light during her drive home, Summer's eyes would stray to the cheerful flyer propped on her dashboard. It was preposterous to think a Christmas tree would make anything better, yet she couldn't bring herself to toss the offending piece of paper out the window.

Littering is awful, that's why. She pulled her eyes away. It'll go in the recycle bin when I get home.

After pulling into the garage, she lingered in the car. Pushed the button and watched the door roll shut. Sat some more. Her stomach rolled a little when she looked at the small paper bag from Millie's Medicinals sitting in the passenger seat like it was a normal part of her commute. But there was nothing normal about it. Her father was going to hate this idea, but what if it could help? What was the point of enduring pain needlessly when there was something that could ease it?

With a firm set of her lips, she grabbed the bag and headed into the house.

She found him in the living room, pillows propping him up on the recliner. He clutched a blanket to his chest and watched a Chinese news program on the television with tense, half-lidded eyes. The taut set of his jaw meant he was either highly displeased about something happening in Beijing, or he was in pain. Summer was fairly certain it was the latter.

Some of the tension eased when he looked up and saw her. "Summer, you're home."

"Yes, Ba. Is it bad today?" She set her messenger bag on a nearby table and the small paper bag next to it, crossing the room to crouch next to the recliner. "You always say TV rots the brain."

He waved a hand vaguely in the air. "Always the same thing. I don't know why I bothered." With his other hand, he deftly picked up the remote and turned off the TV.

No shaking hands. That was good.

She studied his face. "Is it severe today, the pain?"

He avoided looking at her, choosing instead to pick up the Chinese newspaper on the armrest. "Oh, you know, some days are better than others." He opened the paper and pretended to scan the headlines.

"Ba." Summer pushed the paper down with one hand. "Be honest with me."

He sighed and let the paper fall to his lap. "It feels like someone is jamming a jian into my hip. Is that what you want to hear?"

Her eyes flicked to her father's double-edged sword mounted above the fireplace. It was more of a souvenir than a family heirloom, but he still loved it. The jian represented important history to him.

She returned her eyes to him. "Of course not. I'm just worried." She wanted to squeeze his hand in some comforting manner, but he never let her do such things. Her mother once told her it was because "fathers need to be strong for their daughters." She'd pretended to understand, but all it meant to Summer was her father didn't want her touching him.

"I brought something that might help." She stood and fetched the paper bag.

His mouth twisted. "More pills? I told you, I'm not taking opioids. Drug addicts have feeble minds."

Summer lifted the bag and tilted her head. "You think I can just grab a random bag of Vicodin from the grocery store?"

"Maybe you know people."

She raised an eyebrow. "Because tax auditors are a notorious crowd?"

He lifted a stubborn shoulder, the only concession she was going to get from him.

"They're not pills." She opened the bag and pulled out her purchase from Millie's Medicinals.

Her father narrowed his eyes at it. "A cookie?"

"It's oatmeal, your favorite."

"All right, but I'm not a five-year-old with a scraped knee. A cookie isn't going to make everything better."

"This cookie might." Summer sat on the couch next to his recliner and showed him the package.

He took it from her, squinted at it, then slid his reading glasses from the top of his head down to his nose.

Summer held her breath as he read the package, mumbling as he went along.

"Cannabis infused?" He did a double take and then read it again. "Cannabis. Infused." He nailed her with an accusatory glare. "I thought we discussed this already. Only potheads use this stuff." He tossed the cookie aside. The plastic wrapper crinkled as it landed on the carpet. "I am not turning into some feeble-minded—"

"Ba." She interrupted his tirade. "It was never a discussion. You shot down the idea as soon as I brought it up. Cannabis is widely used for pain management. It's very common. There's nothing wrong with it."

"I am fine."

He didn't yell, but that last word seemed to slam the door shut on the conversation.

Her shoulders drooped. The man was beyond stubborn. She should have expected this, but it was hard to sit around and do nothing while he suffered.

As if his tone didn't make it clear he didn't want to talk anymore, he switched the TV back on and turned up the volume, effectively tuning Summer out.

She gathered the cookie off the floor, tucked it back into the paper bag, and quietly set it on the kitchen counter. With clenched jaw, she stalked back into the garage and wrenched open the door of her car. She got inside, slammed it hard, and let out a scream of frustration.

Her mother would have known how to handle him. She'd been this ethereal spirit who had a certain way with him. He had been different around her. But Summer was not her mother. Around Summer, her father was this impossibly intractable goat who only seemed content when she did what he asked. How many times had she heard "just do what I say!" while growing up?

She needed to get out of here.

Summer fished her car key out of her pocket, started the car, and could barely wait for the garage door to open enough to zoom out.

She hated feeling like this, so ineffective and unappreciated. As she drove aimlessly down the street, she fantasized about committing the old goat to a nursing home. Let them deal with him. But then she immediately felt guilty for even thinking it. He was her responsibility. Retirement homes may have been the American way, but her father carried different values. He took care of his parents until they passed, and now it was her turn to do the same. There was never a discussion or agreement about it. It was just a non-verbalized fact.

She turned a corner, and a gust of wind blew the yellow flyer into her lap. Summer didn't believe in signs or portents. She thought superstition was for the weak. But the cheerful, hand-drawn lettering on the flyer seemed to promise better days. Or at least a moderate amount of stress reduction.

What was it Millie from the shop had said? Something about lifting her spirits? She could use a dose of that. She needed it desperately.

After plugging the address into her GPS, she altered course and headed for the tree farm. Time to see what all the fuss was about.

NOTE: At the end of each chapter, I add a reminder to vote. It's hopefully more cute than annoying, but I do it because votes tell Wattpad you liked the content on that page, which helps with rankings. Whether you vote or not is up to you. It's just a reminder.

Would you like to lift my spirits? How about dropping a vote? Yes! That's it! I feel better already. Thanks for that. :)