Page 67 of All the way home

Zach

“Well,” Kieran says, nudging the suitcase with his toe. “How profoundly fucked.”

Zach shoots him a quirked eyebrow.

The gate around them has exploded into chaos, people jammed into seats and sitting on the floor, leaning against pillars. One universal factor brings the group together: every single person seems pissed.

Mount Royal and Green Fleece—Rena and Lucas, Zach reminds himself—are nowhere to be seen.

“They didn’t text or anything?”

Kieran double-checks his phone, feigning deep dismay, a hand over his forehead. “It appears I’ve been abandoned. For all we know, they’re dead. It’s every man for himself, now.”

An old man leans forward in his chair across the aisle, eyes crinkling as he gives Kieran a reassuring smile, whispering conspiratorially in a thick Italian accent. “Nobody dead. They will be back.”

Kieran gives him a smile in return, pulling backpacks off two seats and collapsing into one of them with a sigh, gesturing for Zach to follow.

He does.

Kieran leans closer, whispering behind his hand, so close Zach gets a whiff of his cologne, warm and sharp. “If that old man isn’t secretly Santa, I’m going to lose my shit.”

Zach struggles to disguise his laughter as a coughing fit into his elbow.

“I mean, he’s got the beard. He’s got the benevolence. And wasn’t the original Saint Nick Italian?”

“Greek, I think.”

“Well, now you’ve killed my theory.”

Grinning, Zach shrugs. “Sorry.”

“Did you believe in Santa for ages?” Kieran asks, leaning on his elbow and turning toward him. “I bought into it for way too long. You seem too shrewd to be fooled, though.”

“We don’t really do Christmas,” Zach admits. “So I didn’t grow up with Santa.”

Kieran brightens. “More interesting by the moment. What are your traditions like?”

Ordinarily, Zach doesn’t like to talk about his family. It feels like giving something away. But Kieran’s expression is so intent that at last, he admits, “We’re a solstice family.”

Kieran nods briskly. “That’s cool. When is that, again?”

Staying silent, Zach presses his lips together. Frankly, he’s been trying very hard not to think about everything he’s missing right now: his mom’s chocolate-orange gingerbread, the familiar aroma of the simmer pot, his father chasing everyone out of the kitchen to put the finishing touches on his bûche de Noël, the bonfire in the crisp cold of their backyard. They’re probably getting it ready right now. He’d known he’d have to skip most of their traditions when he’d booked the flight, but it still stings.

“Oh shit.” Kieran sits up straighter. “You’re missing it, aren’t you?”

Not just that, Zach almost says. But then his mom is in his head. He can’t manifest anything but making it back home in time.

“I’m sorry,” Kieran says, gentler. “That’s—”

He cuts off as Rena and Lucas approach.

“Rena.” Kieran springs up from his seat. “Sister beloved. You can’t just leave.”

Following his lead, Zach rises too.

“How’s your own medicine taste?” she asks Kieran, exasperation clearly written in the hunch of her shoulders. Then her eyes flicker over to Zach, and her expression changes at once, flashing from annoyed to guarded in a fraction of a second.

“This is Zach,” Kieran says with a flourish like he’s a prize, or maybe a really shiny medal.