'Tis the Damn Season!

I'll Be Home For Christmas

"Fuck!" Emma drew the entire terminals attention with her shout, "fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck!" She couldn't even pretend the fact most weren't native English speakers around her saved her bad manners. That word didn't need translation.

Her first thought was maybe she'd head to the counter, but a glance at the already crowded and frustrated looking line told her that not much could be done there.

Instead, she dialed the phone on a sigh, "Mum," her tears welled up, for a girl who couldn't wait to leave home years ago, she was a mess. "Um"

"Muffin?" Her voice was immediately concerned, man her masking abilities were gone now they were so close. "Why're you crying?"

"Um," Emma sucked in a breath. "The snow, the storm. I'm stuck mum, at the airport. Like I'm not sure I can get to my flat right now, let alone Holmes Chapel."

There was a long pause, "Poppet.."

"I know, it was a risk, I left it to late, like you told me." It had been a bone between them from the moment she booked her flight, her mum immediately pointed out that leaving Christmas Eve morning gave her zero wiggle room. It was what made sense though, she wanted to mazimize her post Christmas time and not have to be working on her thesis while she was there. Her advising professor had suggested she try to get as much done as she could before she went home.

Holmes Chapel was distracting.

"I'm so sorry, Mum." She was blubbering now. Her lip wobble had escalated she was fully sure it was ridiculous that she was a nearly 30 year old woman crying in an airport. She was a doctoral candidate for Christ's sake, she was trying to save the planet. This was not a big deal. Not in the grand scheme of things.

It was just, she'd never spent Christmas without her family, her mum. The only time she didn't come home, they'd gone away, or her mum came to her last year, and she was just so disappointed.

Every choice had a consequence, this one, her trying to be responsible, biting her on the bum seemed really unfair.

"I can try to get out as soon as possible. Maybe just camp at the airport."

"Do what you think is best, and what makes sense, love. We'll be fine here. I'll head to Anne's early to help around." Instead of picking her up in Manchester like they'd planned.

It had surprised her at first, how close her mum and Harry's were. They'd formed some widows club and the amount of wine they drank would concern Emma if she wasn't so damn happy her mum had common company. She also just felt so sad for them before she thanked the stars they had each other.

Speaking of Anne. "Ok mum, I'm gonna try to figure something out. I'll call when I have an update." She had another call to make.

But she was a chicken, a big one, so she texted.
''My flight's cancelled.'

She could have called. That was safe too at the moment, she just knew her voice would give away how horribly sad she was about it, and well, she was still afraid to show her belly.

It was later, when she was resting, pretending to sleep on the closest thing to a bench seat, a window sill, she could find, a response came in.
It was really late or very early and the other people stranded trying to steal sleep gave her very dirty looks at the rude awakening. 

Her own came in his molasses voice, "you cut it too close." But she could hear the smile.

"Pretty sure you have cut it closer, sir."

"Don't call me that. Unless You're flirting . Then I might be into it."

"Gross," she said. "And do I have to flirt? Aren't you a sure thing?" Well, he used to be a sure thing.