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I squeezed his hand. “They have a cart they bring around to make sure we don’t all die of dehydration,” I explained, going back to his original question about the cart.

“Aren’t we supposed to stay masked?”

I shrugged. “Unless you’re drinking or eating the stupid one-bite snack.”

It didn’t particularly botherme, since neither Taavi nor I could actually re-contract Arcanavirus, but the idea that everybody was just going to take their mask off to drink and eat bland airline snacks always struck me as ridiculous if you were going to mandate masks. Either do it right or say fuck it and just let everyone be as dumbass as they wanted.

I suppose they had data or some shit that showed the risk was actually insignificant, but, believe me, when I get stuck next to some asshole coughing up a storm, I just let myself dehydrate. I’d live through the damn flight, but I preferred not to share whatever horrific respiratory plague my seatmate was spraying everywhere while he drank from his tiny plastic water bottle.

At least this time my seat-mate was Taavi, who wasn’t currently sick and who probably wasn’t going to get pissed off if my leg bumped his. And I definitely wasn’t going to spend the whole flight trying desperately not to touch him.

Taavi shifted in his tiny airline seat—one that was actually sized appropriately for him, even if it probably still wasn’t comfortable—his hip brushing up against my thigh as he turned to look out the window at the airline employees shit-chucking bags onto a conveyer.

“Well, that explains why you don’t want to check bags.”

“Those people are at least going to get their underwear back,” I replied.

He looked over his shoulder at me. “What?”

“I don’t check because I might never see my shit again.” I’d learned my lesson about packing presents in luggage the first time I’d flown home for Christmas. Now I just shipped shit directly to Elliot, then sat on his floor to wrap everything while watching stupid Christmas movies and drinking too much spiked eggnog.

I had the feeling that was not how this year was going to go. At least I was a procrastinator, so I hadn’t started shopping yet.

We usually celebrated with my whole extended family, plus Elliot and his dad.

The direction of my thoughts must have shown on my face, because Taavi squeezed my fingers. “You okay?” he asked softly, echoing my earlier question.

I sighed, the fabric of my mask puffing out briefly with the exhalation. “Just—this Christmas is going to suck for Elliot.”

Taavi nodded, and we both fell silent, waiting as the rest of the passengers shuffled and grunted their way into getting their luggage in bins and under seats, settling uncomfortably so that the attendants could do their final checks.

“Could we stay that long?” Taavi asked me.

I blinked, settling back in my seat as the plane backed away from the gate and headed out onto the runway. I hadn’t bought us round-trip tickets, not having any idea how long we might spend dealing with insurance, funeral planning, and reclaiming Gregory Crane’s body from the authorities, to say nothing of the unholy hell I intended to raise if they didn’t fully investigate Gregory’s murder. But it hadn’t actually occurred to me that we might stay through fuckingChristmas. That was nearly a month away, and despite the ubiquity of Christmas shit in nearly every storefront and commercial since before Halloween, I was in a decidedly un-holiday-like mood.

It wasn’t just Gregory Crane’s death, although that certainly wasn’t helping.

And it also wasn’t the current state of my love-life, because I had Taavi. The past couple years when I’d been almost- and over-forty and still single, family holiday gatherings had held that special kind of dread only experienced by people whose families were fully and firmly committed to the prospect of marriage, kids, house, and a dog.

I guess I had the dog? Sort of.

I was pretty sure my Aunt Susan would not really appreciate my version of ‘getting a dog.’ I wasn’t entirely sure she would approve of the fact that I had a boyfriend, either, come to think of it. But fuck Aunt Susan. I liked my Aunt Rose a lot better, anyway. Rose had always come to find me during particularly awkward conversations when some of my less decorous relatives would make remarks about my Uncle Rupert and his ‘buddy’ Elmer.

Why I hadn’t realized he was gay until far too recently, I have no idea.

No, that’s a lie. I do. Because I’m a self-centered asshole, that’s why.

It still bothered me, because when I was a teenager, I was super aware of the fact that my extended family wouldn’t approve of the way I wanted to live my life. Even then I’d dreaded what they would do if I ever brought home my someone special—because he wasn’t going to look like what most of them were expecting.

Then again, maybe my enterprising mother had broken it to them at one of the many family functions I hadn’t attended. Maybe they all knew, and no one just ever brought it up. That would be a very my family thing to do.

If we stayed for Christmas, I guess I’d find out. Assuming we attended the usual extended family shit-show.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to inflict that on Taavi. No, IknewI didn’t want to inflict that on either Taavi or myself. But I was going to have to do it sooner or later, and why not compound tragedy with the black comedy that would be introducing my boyfriend to my extended family over a holiday? Hell, that’s practically a fucking Hallmark movie plot.

“Val?”

I realized I hadn’t answered his question. “Oh. Um. Wecould, I guess, if this turns out to be a giant fucking mess.” Which it probably would be. “And if Marilee doesn’t mind you being gone that long.” I knew Ward wasn’t going to insist I come back to work, and I intended to try to keep up with things as much as I could remotely, which admittedly wasn’t much.