Page 117 of I’m Dreaming of a New York Christmas

I decided I might as well tell him the truth, now.

Flora:

Remember I said I went foraging?

Ethan:

sure

Flora:

Well, my mum found some seed things and she’s been eating them. She poisoned herself, basically.

Ethan:

wtf

Flora:

Pretty much my exact words when I found out.

There was a pause in the flow of messages, although I could see he was typing. After a minute or so, the message arrived.

Ethan:

You’re still flying back tomorrow?

Flora:

Yes.

‘Hey, Ms Bell, your cab’s here,’ the receptionist called.

Ethan:

JFK?

I picked up my bag and typed as I made my way to the exit, turning to catch a final glimpse of what was undoubtedly my favourite hotel on the planet, despite all the farcical drama that had unfolded within its walls.

Flora:

Yes. Yet another long story, but I’m actually heading there now.

What was I hoping to achieve by sharing this information? Some kind of classic airport scene where he dashed through the departure lounge to ask me to stay? As if something like that would ever happen to me.

Ethan:

ok

I paused before the revolving doors, keen to cling on to the internet connection so I could keep typing for as long as possible.

Flora:

I really hope I didn’t spoil your day. Please apologise to Rick and Sinead for running out like that.

Ethan:

There’s no need to apologize. They send their love.