Page 17 of Holiday Romance
“A storm?” he asks, skimming the news.
“But, like, astormstorm.” Right over the Atlantic. “Do you think we’ll get out okay?” I look over at the rest of the passengers to see the news is starting to spread. Every second person is now on their phone, their expressions tight. “Surely they can just goaroundthe storm, right?”
Andrew looks deadly serious. “Do you think we should tell the pilots that plan?”
I punch him in the thigh. “Well, we can wait, can’t we? It’s not like we have anything else to do and the lounge will empty soon and some spots will open up and—”
“Another glass of champagne please,” Andrew calls to the barman. “For the lady freaking out?”
“I’m not freaking out.” I’m just…perturbed. Perturbed feels right. We’ve never not gotten home for Christmas before.
“Drink your juice,” Andrew says, interrupting my panic as he slides a full glass toward me. “And calm down. You’re making me nervous just being near you.”
I stick my tongue out at him but take a sip. “What did you want to talk about?” I ask, distracted as more and more people start to move. Do they know something we don’t? Some of them are in a line. Should I be in a line?
“It can wait,” Andrew says.
“What can?”
“Jesus Christ.” I glance back as he starts to laugh. “You’ve completely lost it.”
“I’m sorry! I’mtired.”
He shakes his head, but he’s smiling. “Come on, chug that back and we’ll see if there’s any more space in the lounge. Maybe you’re just feeling rattled being amongst the plebs.”
I don’t respond as an ominous hush falls over the terminal. There’s a flash of color by the gate as the doors to the tunnel open and we both turn as cabin crew,ourcrew, stride out. Hundreds of heads whip their way as they manage to professionally avoid every desperate eye, as though knowing if they meet any they’ll be immediately surrounded.
A grim-looking man in a yellow vest heads to the check-in counter, reaching for the microphone, but whatever he was going to say is quickly drowned out by the huge groan that spreads throughout the crowd as the departure board flickers to life one final time.
Canceled.
Canceled. Canceled. Canceled.
The place erupts.
Gate by gate, the would-be passengers grab their bags and their companions until the place is a hive of anxiety. Flight after flight changes on the board, all saying the same thing.
Oh my God.
“Okay,” Andrew says, his voice ridiculously calm. “Plan B.”
“You have a plan B?”
“I will in about two minutes,” he says, unlocking his phone.
I slide off my stool, downing my drink as the steward tries to calm the sudden mob in front of him. I’m two seconds away from joining them myself.
What do we do? If every flight is canceled, we can… what? Get to another city and try to catch a flight there? A flight at this time of year? And even then, the storm is over the Atlantic, meaning every plane going that way will be affected. And everything else… We’re four days out from Christmas. It’s not like they’re desperate to fill seats.
“We’re not going to get another flight,” I tell him.
“You don’t know that.”
“We’re not, Andrew.”
When he doesn’t answer, I turn back to find his brow furrowed as he swipes through his phone. And I know why. Family is number one for Andrew. Not that I don’t also love mine, but my sister and my parents and I are the kind of unit that is perfectly fine not speaking to each other for a few months beyond the occasionalI’m still alivemessage. Andrew couldn’t be more different. Christmas is a big deal in his household. I know it is because he won’t shut up about it. He says it’s for Hannah, the baby of the family, but by my calculations, the girl is sixteen now and yet they still go full throttle. He doesn’t even pretend to be embarrassed about it. He loves it. I know he does. And he’salwayshome for Christmas.
For a moment, the only thing I can do is watch him, my heart breaking at the frustration starting to creep into his expression. With all my planning, this was something I’d never factored in, and I have no idea what to do.
