Page 50 of Christmas With the Jerk

Relief washes over me for a moment. Finally, a way out, and just in time for Christmas. I exhale, feeling the weight of the last few days lift slightly.

But then I glance over at Woodley, who’s checking her phone, too. She frowns, her lips pulling into a tight line.

“Still delayed?” I ask, setting my glass down.

“Yeah,” she sighs, “until Christmas Eve. I won’t get back to Chattanooga until the afternoon. I guess the good news is I won’t have to travel on Christmas Day.”

I nod, but the truth is, that doesn’t seem like good news to me. I appreciate her ability to find the silver lining, but the thought of leaving her here, alone at this hotel at Christmas, makes my chest tighten.

I sip my champagne, my mind racing. She shouldn’t be here alone at Christmas. She shouldn’t be stuck in some hotel, stranded in a city that means nothing to her, while I’m back home with my family.

Suddenly, the idea hits me—bold, maybe a little aggressive, but if Woodley has taught me anything through this, aggressiveness is important in certain situations.

I set my glass down and lean forward, catching her eye. “Woodley,” I say, my voice softer than before.

She looks up, curious. “Yeah?”

I hesitate for a moment, wondering if I’m about to go too far. But I can’t shake the thought of her being here, in this place that’s meant so much to us, without me. “Come with me.”

Her brow furrows in confusion. “Come with you where?”

“Home,” I say, the word hanging in the air between us. “To D.C. Spend Christmas with me. With my family.”

Her eyes widen, surprise flickering across her face. She opens her mouth to say something, but no words come out. I can see the wheels turning in her mind, processing what I’m asking.

“Look,” I continue, “you shouldn’t be stuck here by yourself. I don’t want to leave you behind. Just come with me. Spend Christmas with us. With me. We have a huge family dinner on Christmas Eve. You’ll love it, even if I’m annoying, you’ll get good food and get to meet all my people.”

She stares at me, and for a moment, everything else fades away—the noise of the lobby, the crackling fire, even the fact that I just made the most impulsive move I’ve ever made.

She doesn’t respond right away, and I can feel my heart beating faster as I wait for her answer. I’ve never wanted anything so badly in my life than for someone to say yes.

NINETEEN

Woodley

Silent night, holy night / All is calm, all is bright.

Reagan National Airport

Washington, D.C.

1:15pm

The baggage claimarea is humming with holiday travelers and the air is filled with the sound of rolling suitcases and excited chatter.

Thorne and I make our way through the crowd, and I spot her before he does—his mom. He looks exactly like his mom, which is how I knew it had to be her. She’s standing near the carousel, her face lighting up the second she sees him.

“There she is,” Thorne says, a wide grin spreading across his face as he picks up the pace. His mom waves, her smile warmand bright, and before I know it, she’s wrapping him in a hug so tight, it’s like she’s never letting go.

“Oh, my baby,” she says, her voice full of emotion. “I was so worried about you. All that snow, the bomb at the airport. I’m so glad to finally have you back home.”

Thorne laughs softly, hugging her back just as tightly. “I’m fine, Mom. We made it.”

She pulls back, holding him at arm’s length to look him over. “I can’t believe you’ve been through all of that in just a few days. And you still managed to get here in time for Christmas.”

Thorne’s smile softens, and for the first time, I see just how much it means to him to be home. There’s something about the way he looks at his mom—like she’s the anchor that keeps him grounded. And suddenly, I understand why he was so intent on making it back.

I stand there quietly, watching the exchange, feeling a strange pang in my chest. It’s not jealousy—more like melancholy. Sadness for something I’ve never had. My family never hugged like that, never worried or showed that kind of warmth. It was all business, all formality. No real connection.

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