17 May 2025, @mariannewest's Freewrite Writing Prompt Day 2739: pleasant place

"Mom's selling the cabin," Jamie said while picking at his fries.
I kept staring at my burger. The news wasn't a surprise, but it still felt like someone had punched me in the stomach.
"When?"
"End of summer. Some tech guy from Boston already made an offer."
The diner was packed for a Tuesday. A bunch of truckers had come in all at once, and Mia was running between tables looking stressed. The air conditioning was busted again, and everyone was sweating.
"Remember when we found those frogs?" I asked.
Jamie nodded. "Yeah. You cried when Dad made us let them go."
"I was six."
"You were eight."
I threw a fry at him. "Whatever."
Pleasant Place. That's what our grandpa called the cabin when he built it in the 70s. Not very original, but it fit. It wasn't fancy - just three small bedrooms, a kitchen with ancient appliances, and a living room with a fireplace that smoked too much. The dock was always about to collapse, and the screen door never closed right.
"You gonna help clean it out?" Jamie asked.
"I guess. Not like I can afford to buy it."
Jamie snorted. "Yeah. Mom says the land alone is worth more than what she paid for her house."
I remembered staying up late with our cousins, telling ghost stories on the porch while the adults got drunk inside. The time Jamie fell through the ice in February and Dad pulled him out.
"Maybe we should go up there," I said. "One last time before…"
"Can't. I got that internship in Chicago, remember? Starts next week."
"Oh. Right."
Jamie checked his phone. "I gotta get back to work."
"Yeah, me too."
But I just sat there after he left, eating cold fries and thinking about how the tech guy from Boston would probably tear down the cabin and build something with floor-to-ceiling windows and a hot tub. He'd never know about the initials carved under the kitchen sink or the height marks on the door frame.
When I finally got up to leave, I realized I'd been sitting there for forty-five minutes. I left Mia a big tip.
Pleasant places are sometimes just old cabins that smell like mildew and pine. And you don't know how much they matter until they're gone.

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