Page 73 of I’m Dreaming of a New York Christmas

That made sense. I’d been on a few international work trips over the years, and Anneka had travelled all over the place with various friends and exes, but Mum had never been further than Europe from what I knew.

‘I guess I hadn’t thought about it like that. So then – what’s the plan for today? And please don’t tell me we’re going glassblowing in the Bronx or something.’

‘That’s tomorrow. Today, we were meant to be going on a boat trip to Staten Island. But they’re running a reduced schedule because of the weather. So, we thought we’d go full New York in December and…’ She started tapping the table in a drumroll-like fashion. ‘…go ice-skating at the Rockefeller Center!’

‘Ooh, awesome!’ For once, I wasn’t horrified by one of Anneka’s suggestions.

I began rifling through what had now become our collective floordrobe for a change of clothes that would sufficiently protect me from skating-relating injuries. Eventually I found my thickest corduroy dungarees and a soft, vintage denim shirt that, appropriately, had leather patches on the elbows.

‘I’m presuming nothing’s booked?’ I asked, as I began to get changed, thankful that I’d already showered.

‘Bingo.’

‘Ha, okay, let me have a look before we set off.’ I googled the relevant info and selected today’s date. ‘We’re in luck! Shall we go for… eleven thirty, and then we can grab lunch somewhere?’

‘Sounds good, Flo-zo.’

I hovered my finger above the confirmation button but paused, choosing to address something first. ‘Hey, do you reckon you could stop calling me that?’

‘Flo-no?’

‘Yeah, and the rest. It’s bloody annoying and makes me feel like I’m about six years old. “Flo” on its own is okay. Or just “Flora”.’

Anneka tilted her head to one side and considered me for a moment, before nodding once. ‘Sure.’

‘And can you ask Mum to do the same?’

‘I’ll address it when the next opportunity arises.’

I booked the ice-skating tickets and scrolled Instagram for a while, posting my latest photos. Ethan liked them within seconds.

I sent him a DM:

Flora:

Oi, you’re meant to be drawing, Mr Carmy.

Ethan:

Busted. Chat later, Flora B.

I rested the phone screen-down on my chest and sighed, remembering the events of last night. Mum’s emergence from the bathroom interrupted my inappropriate thoughts. She looked pale and miserable, and her teeth were chattering.

‘Mum, are you okay?’ I asked, sitting upright, and putting my hand on her forehead – thankfully she didn’t feel feverish. Anneka turned to face us, her mouth turned downward with concern – although she didn’t seem entirely surprised.

‘Still feeling rough, Mum?’ she asked.

Mum nodded grimly.

‘Wait, I thought this was just a hangover and jetlag?’

‘We hoped it was, didn’t we, Mum?’ Anneka said, squeezing the excess moisture out of Mum’s dripping hair with a damp towel from the back of the chair.

‘Yeah. But now I’m thinking I’ve come down with something – I feel all wobbly and pathetic. I’m so sorry, girls.’

‘You’re not pathetic, Mum, you’re ill!’ I said, budging up in the bed. ‘Here, get in.’ I patted my vacated mattress spot, but she shook her head.

‘My hair’s all wet.’