Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

December 24, 8:47 pm

JACK

N essa has the most expressive eyes I have ever seen.

I wonder if she realizes this; I wonder if she knows that her emotions dance in them like candles flickering in a window, illuminating everything beneath the surface.

Like right now, as we sit side by side on the couch and finish off the Thai food she graciously shared with me, she’s telling me how her roommates took off for the holiday week—one on a Caribbean cruise, another to visit her boyfriend’s family in Michigan. She’s smiling, saying it’s fine and she doesn’t mind, but there’s a glimmer of loneliness in those big brown eyes.

“I had a lot of work to get done anyway,” she says. She’s a copywriter for an advertising agency, she told me earlier, which I thought was very cool, like a modern-day Peggy on Mad Men .

“You didn’t want to be with family for the holiday?” I’ve already told her my sad story—though I tried my best to hide how utterly dejected I feel.

She shrugs. “Eh, my parents are on a trip for their anniversary. Plus, Hanukkah isn’t a major holiday—it just got commercialized to keep Jewish kids from feeling left out when Santa’s making the rounds and everyone else is drowning in tinsel and gift wrap.”

“Fair enough. But you probably still have traditions.”

I don’t know why I’m asking this, maybe because I’m missing my family’s traditions. But also because of that something about her that makes me want to find out more.

“Sure, when I was a kid. My grandma was really into all the holidays—but once she died, we kind of stopped. The last few years, my roommates and I would have a latke night, and we’d play drinking dreidel and watch cheesy movies.” She glances at me, smiling, but her eyes tell a different story: she misses the way her family used to be, and the friends who are like family.

I understand completely.

Then she blinks and looks away. “So, is your family a Christmas Eve family or a Christmas Day family?”

“Both,” I say, smiling at the memories despite the hollow feeling in my chest. “Christmas Eve dinner, followed by forced family caroling—picture my mom singing Jingle Bells off-key while my dad tries to harmonize. Then, we’d put on matching pajamas and watch It’s a Wonderful Life while drinking my grandma’s famous homemade peppermint hot cocoa.”

“Sounds delicious.”

“It’s the best,” I say, sighing. “The next morning, we always open stockings first. Mom fills them with the same things every year: a book, Chapstick, chocolates, and a lottery ticket. Weird, but…”

“It’s the tradition of it all,” she finishes, nodding.

“Exactly. Did you know that people who have strong family traditions are sixty-three percent more likely to report feelings of happiness and contentment on holidays?”

She laughs, shaking her head, and I realize I’m doing the thing I do when I’m a little nervous: dropping random trivia I’ve picked up.

“Sorry.” I grimace. “I tend to overdo it with the factoids—kids love them, especially when I bust out details about their favorite YouTubers or cartoon characters. But adults, sometimes not so much.”

“No, it makes sense,” she says, smiling. “There’s something magical about doing the same things year after year. Like a thread that ties us all together, a tapestry of memories woven through time.”

Warmth spreads through me, and I glance over at her. “That’s…beautiful.”

And so are you .

The thought flares in my mind like a shooting star, and I press my lips together to keep from accidentally blurting it out. It’s not just her eyes—it’s her wavy dark hair, the fullness of her bottom lip, the way her oversized sweatshirt keeps slipping off one shoulder to reveal a pink bra strap against lightly freckled skin.

Knock it off, I order myself. I’m in her space, and I’d never want to make her feel uncomfortable—partly because I might freeze to death if I go back to my apartment before the power comes back on.

But mostly because, for the first time in months, I think I’m having…fun?

“Hopefully, the airport opens tomorrow, and you can get a flight home,” Nessa says.

If it doesn’t, I’ll probably curl into a fetal position and sob until I’m hoarse, I think . But I don’t say that, of course. Instead, I tell myself to pull it together, to act like the guy I used to be—pre-residency, pre-burnout, when I still had a personality. When I had at least some game with cute girls.

“Can’t wait to get rid of me?” I say, summoning up a grin.

Her cheeks turn a slight shade of pink. It’s surprisingly adorable—but I can’t help but wonder what else would make her blush, where else that warmth could blossom. “No, that’s not?—”

“I get it.” I chuckle. “I’m sure the last thing you wanted tonight was to become a shelter for freezing refugees from downstairs.”

She rolls her eyes playfully. “Actually, my roommates and I have been trying to figure out a way to introduce ourselves. To you.”

She’s noticed me, too? That’s…unexpected. Though I couldn’t care less about the roommates; I can’t even remember what they look like.

“Well,” I say, trying to ignore the way my heart picks up a little, “I’ve been trying to figure out a way to introduce myself to you, too.”

“My roommates will be thrilled to hear that.”

Her tone is light, casual. But her eyes say something else, flicking down to my mouth and back to my eyes. The air between us seems to crackle with electricity.

I’m struck by the thought that maybe she’s not just being polite. Maybe she’s not annoyed that I’m here. Maybe she’s even a little bit…glad?

I push past the exhaustion weighing me down, forcing myself to be present. To be fun.

“Not your roommates.” I lean in a little. “Just you.”

Her lips part, surprise flashing across her face. “Oh.”

The word hangs in the air, charged with a feeling I can’t quite define. For a second, it’s like I’m right back in those moments when I’ve noticed her. I can’t pinpoint exactly why, but there’s something about her that captures my attention, makes me want to know more.

Then my phone chimes on the coffee table, shattering the spell. I grab it, hoping for an update on my flight:

O’Hare International Airport will remain with a full ground stop until December 25, 2024, at 3:00 pm. Unfortunately, we expect extensive delays and/or cancellations. Further information to be posted by 12:00 pm tomorrow. We apologize for the inconvenience.

“Shit,” I mutter.

“What?”

I show her the message, my chest constricting as it hits me that I might not make it home at all. That my four days of vacation might be spent alone in my apartment, riding out this snowstorm, dreading my inevitable return to the hospital. And then it all crashes over me again: the exhaustion, the burnout, the simmering fear that I’m on the wrong path.

“I’m really sorry,” she says softly.

“Me, too.”

After a beat, she straightens up, determination flashing in those wide brown eyes. “Well, I don’t have homemade peppermint hot cocoa, but I have something that might be even better, given the circumstances.”

I raise my eyebrows, intrigued. “What’s that?”

“Wine.”