Page 34 of Christmas With the Jerk

She swipes through her phone again, trying to get hers to work, but it’s the same story: no connection. Now I’m the one feeling like I might come unhinged.

I lean back in the chair, running both hands through my hair, trying to think. We can’t reach Thom, we can’t get online, and now our flights are canceled. The walls are closing in, and there’s nothing I hate more than feeling powerless.

Woodley slumps down on the bed, looking as defeated as I feel. “What are we going to do, Thorne?” She asks quietly, her voice laced with frustration. “When I’m cornered I fight, but there is no one to fight, nothing to fix this.”

I don’t respond, my mind racing with ways to fix this. But no matter which angle I take, it keeps leading back to the same place: we’re screwed.

Suddenly, the lights in the room flicker. It’s quick, just a brief surge, but it’s enough to send a jolt through me. I glance up at the ceiling, half expecting the power to go out completely.

“Great,” I mutter under my breath. “Now the power’s going too.”

THIRTEEN

Woodley

Sleigh bells ring, are you listening? / In the lane, snow is glistening.

11:37 am

The lights flicker once more,then snap back on fully. It’s like the universe is playing with us, trying to see how much we can take before we breathe. The power’s back, but the Wi-Fi is still out.

I glance over at Thorne, who’s fidgeting with his laptop, trying to reconnect. It’s almost as if he thinks restarting it will miraculously make it work. The tension in his shoulders is palpable, the set of his jaw tight. I can tell he’s trying to keep calm, but it’s not working. I’m not doing much better, to be honest.

Like him, I can’t sit still. My legs bounce under the table as I check my phone for the hundredth time. Nothing from Thom yet, and now we are almost ten minutes late.

Just as I’m about to say something, my phone buzzes. It’s a text—from Thom.

I’m so sorry to do this, but our power and internet is out for all of us. We will have to cancel. Be in touch once this clears. Sorry for the inconvenience.

I read it quickly, my heart sinking with every word.

“Thorne,” I say, my voice tight. He looks up, eyebrows raised.

“It’s Thom. His whole team’s without power and internet. They’re canceling the meeting until further notice.”

The words feel heavy, like they’re hanging in the air between us, impossible to fully grasp. Canceled. Until further notice.

Thorne lets out a long breath, sitting back in the chair, running a hand over his face. “Well, at least we have some communication and he doesn’t think we just didn’t show. God, what else can go wrong?”

I shake my head, staring at the text as if reading it again will change the meaning. “It’s about as bad as it can get, you’re right.”

There’s a pause, the weight of the situation pressing down on both of us. No meeting. No flights. And now, we’re stuck here—no idea when this storm is going to let up. It feels like everything is spiraling out of control, and I can’t stand it.

I grab the remote and turn on the TV, needing some kind of distraction. The local news flashes on the screen, and the headline says it all:

Nor’easter Brings Boston to a Standstill.

The meteorologist appears, pointing at a massive swirl of blue and white that’s engulfing the East Coast.

“This Nor’easter is bringing a dangerous combination of high winds, heavy snow, and freezing rain,” he says, his tone grim. “This storm is a result of cold air from Canada mixing with moisture from the Atlantic. We’re looking at blizzard-like conditions across the region, with snow accumulation expected to reach up to two feet in some areas.”

Thorne leans forward, staring at the screen. “So we’re stuck, for who knows how long.”

“Looks that way,” I mutter, trying to process the reality of the situation. The meteorologist continues, warning viewers about travel bans, road closures, and the shutdown of major airports, including Logan International. It’s official—there’s no way out of here anytime soon.

“This storm is expected to last at least another forty-eight hours,” the meteorologist says, pointing to the forecast on the screen. “Winds will reach up to fifty miles per hour in some areas, and visibility is near zero on the roads. If you don’t need to travel, stay indoors and stay safe.”

I turn to Thorne, my throat tight. “We’re going to be here for days.”

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