Page 56 of Any Port in a Storm

“I want to love it,” he admits. “Maybe I just don’t fully get it since I’m not American.”

“It isn’t really about Thanksgiving. It could be set ahead of any holiday, and it would be the same story.” I turn to look at him. “It’s just about coming home.”

“Is this the same way Die Hard is a Christmas movie solely because it takes place then?”

“No, Die Hard is a Christmas movie because it couldn’t happen at any other time.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure Hans Gruber could have orchestrated that crime whenever he felt like it.”

“Yes, but the holiday party was the perfect cover.”

“Companies can have parties whenever they want,” he counters.

I chuckle. “Here’s where you not being American has you confused. Corporations in this country don’t throw parties unless they absolutely have to.”

“Too expensive?”

“Yeah, late-stage capitalism doesn’t allow for that. One holiday party and a midyear slice of pizza is all we get.”

He grins. “Boy, am I glad I gave up the motherland for this.”

Despite his expression, I sense a pang of sadness in his bluster. “Do you ever miss it?”

“What, Ireland?”

“Yeah.” I play with the end of my ponytail. “I can’t imagine it’s easy being so far away from home.”

Nick darts a glance my way. “It’s not so bad.”

“You don’t miss your family?” Granted, I don’t make it home nearly as often as I should, but knowing I can see mine whenever I want to is tremendously comforting.

His voice slides into a deeper register. “I miss them every day.”

Something turns over in my chest. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says quickly. “I’ve got you and Grace. And Max, when he’s not busy being a lab rat.”

I chuckle. Nick’s roommate is a semester away from earning his doctorate in biochemical engineering, and he spends nearly all of his time working on a fairly complicated research project I could never hope to understand. It has something to do with using mRNA for cancer treatment.

“Well, I appreciate that. But we should still get you home someday.”

“I’ll be there at Christmas,” he says. “My parents are paying for my ticket.”

“That’s great news!” As recently as a few weeks ago, Nick had planned to stick around Boston for the holidays and go home with Alyssa. For obvious reasons, those plans fell through.

“Yeah. I’m really excited about it. It’s been too long.”

“I’m jealous,” I tell him. “I’ve always wanted to go to Ireland.”

Nick’s voice softens as he flicks on his directional to turn down my parents’ street. “You can come home with me anytime.”

After Nick carries in our bags and we make awkward small talk with my parents for half an hour, they shoo us away so they can start food prep.

“Thanksgiving isn’t for two days,” I remind them.

“There’s a lot to do,” my mother says.

“I’d really love to help,” Nick offers for what must be the fifteenth time.