Josh
. . .
I’m sprawled on the Jamison family couch, Kait’s legs draped over my lap, her head on my shoulder, stealing bites of my cinnamon roll like a greedy raccoon.
Christmas morning is pure chaos—wrapping paper snowstorm, Ryan’s drone buzzing like a drunk bee, Mrs. Jamison crying over a photo album, Mr. Jamison pretending he’s not misty-eyed over a monogrammed and fully stocked tackle box.
Kait’s in my UCLA sweatshirt, reindeer socks flashing with every step, and I’m wearing the scarf her mom knitted like it’s a medal of honor.
Her dad’s even stopped glaring at me like I’m a felon on parole.
It’s perfect. It’s us. And in two days, she’s supposed to be on a plane to California with me—beaches, tacos, my bed that’s been tragically Kait-less for too long.
Then her phone buzzes.
She checks it, and her face goes from Christmas morning glow to someone just kicked my puppy. “No,” she whispers, sitting up so fast my cinnamon roll takes a nosedive onto the carpet.
“What?” I ask, already bracing for impact.
Her advisor. Some corrupted test file for a required class—Lit Theory, the one she swore she aced. Every student has to retake it. Immediately. Like, get your ass back to New York immediately. Her flight to California—booked, paid for, non-refundable—is toast.
“Fuck,” she says, which is rare enough that Ryan’s drone crashes into the Christmas tree. Ornaments rattle. Dad raises an eyebrow.
I grab her hand, thumb tracing her knuckles like I can erase the panic in her eyes. “Okay. We’ll fix this. Reschedule the flight. You go, crush the test, come to me.”
She nods, but her chin’s wobbling. “I’m so sorry, Josh. I was supposed to—”
“Hey.” I cup her face, kiss her forehead. “You’re a badass student. This is a speed bump, not a wall.”
Mr. Jamison clears his throat. “You need to be in New York when?”
“Tomorrow morning,” she says, voice small. “First available slot’s at 6 a.m.”
Mrs. Jamison’s already in mom-mode, pulling up flight schedules on her phone.
Ryan’s offering to drive her to the airport at 3 a.m. like it’s a hostage negotiation.
I’m trying to keep it together, but inside?
I’m a mess. My brain’s doing that thing where it spirals into worst-case scenarios like a Netflix true crime documentary.
This is it. This is how it starts. One canceled flight, then another. School deadlines, my internship, time zones, life. We’ll be those couples who live on FaceTime and resentment. I’ll be the idiot who let her go again.
I shove the thought down, but it’s there, gnawing like a termite. I’ve been counting down to her visit since I left New York—phone calls, Facetimes, text messages all day long, a playlist titled Kait Jamison: California Edition. And now? Poof. Gone.
We spend the rest of the day in a weird limbo. Kait’s on her laptop, emailing her advisor, rescheduling her flight. I help—sort of—by stress-eating cookies and pacing the living room like a caged tiger. Her dad pulls me aside while she’s packing, his hand heavy on my shoulder.
“You take care of her, son,” he says, voice gruff. “Long distance or not.”
“I’m trying, sir,” I say, and it comes out rougher than I mean. “I’m really trying.”
He nods, the closest thing to a hug I’m gonna get. “Good.”
Kait’s flight leaves at midnight, and I’m at the airport with her, Ryan snoring in the backseat of his truck.
The terminal’s a ghost town, all fluorescent lights and bad coffee.
She’s in my hoodie, eyes red from lack of sleep, clutching a to-go mug like it’s a lifeline.
I pull her into me, her face buried in my chest, and try not to let her feel how hard my heart’s hammering.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” she says, voice muffled.
“I know.” I kiss her hair, her forehead, her lips—soft, desperate, like I can memorize her in thirty seconds. “Go kick this test’s ass. Then come home to me.”
She nods, tears spilling, and I wipe them away with my thumbs. The gate agent calls her group, and she’s gone, disappearing through security with one last wave. I stand there until she’s out of sight, then drive back to the Jamison’s in silence, Ryan snoring the whole way.
The next few days are torture. I’m back in California, my apartment a sad bachelor pad with a dead cactus and a roommate who thinks “clean” means hiding dishes in the oven.
Kait’s in New York, retaking her test, then stuck—flights booked solid, weather delays, the universe conspiring to keep us apart.
We text constantly, FaceTime every night, but it’s not enough.
I miss her laugh in the same room, the way she steals my fries, the way she fits against me like we were built for it.
Test done. Aced it. But every flight’s delayed or canceled. Earliest is Jan 2. I’m dying.
You’re killing me, Jamison. I had a whole beach picnic planned. Tacos. Tequila. You in my hoodie. In my arms.
I’m about ready to drive there. I’m living on vending machine Cheetos and rage. And I miss you.
I send a selfie in my kitchen, holding a Cali Burrito and pouting.
This burrito is lonely without you. I miss you.
I hate everything.
Internally, I’m a wreck. I’m interning at the firm starting next week, and the New York office is an option—a real option.
I’ve got the paperwork, the recruiter’s number, a pros-and-cons list that’s 90% Kait.
California might not be a suitable option, what if this is our life?
Her stuck in academic hell in New York, me in California, both of us drowning in missed connections?
I can’t lose her again. I won’t. I’m halfway through an email to the NYC office—Interested in discussing relocation—when my phone buzzes.
FLIGHT BOOKED. Found something earlier! Dec. 30, 6 p.m. LAX. I’m coming. New Year’s is OURS.
Relief hits like a tidal wave. I’m grinning like an idiot, texting her back before I can stop myself.
I fist pump to the sky! I’m picking you up with a sign that says something sappy, I don’t know what yet, but it will be good.
LAX is a zoo—horns, luggage, people in sequins still hungover from the eggnog on Christmas.
I’m at arrivals, holding a cardboard sign I scrawled with Kait Jamison: My Favorite Human in Sharpie, a bag of tacos from my favorite truck balanced on my knee.
My heart’s doing backflips, and I’m sweating through my flannel like a rookie on prom night.
Then I see her. She’s in my UCLA sweatshirt, backpack slung low, dragging her suitcase like it’s holding her back. Her eyes scan the crowd, and when they land on me, she drops everything and runs. I catch her as she launches into my arms, legs around my waist, tacos miraculously surviving.
“Josh!” she squeals, kissing me like we’re in a rom-com with a $200 million budget.
“Kait!” I spin her, kissing her back—lips, cheeks, nose, anywhere I can reach. “God, you have no idea, how much I missed you.”
She’s crying and laughing, her face buried in my neck. “I’m here. I’m here. I’m finally fucking here!”
I set her down, but don’t let go, my hands on her waist like she’ll vanish if I blink. The panic, the spiral, the what ifs—gone. She’s here, warm and real and mine.
Wiping her tears with my thumbs. “I have been a mess. Full-on spiral. Thought this was gonna be our life—canceled flights, missed holidays, me crying into tacos alone.”
She laughs, watery but real. “I’ve been freaking out too. Thought you’d get sick of waiting, find someone else with a trust fund.”
“Never,” I say, kissing her again. “I was this close to emailing the New York office. Like, Hi, please take me, I’m in love with a girl in Brooklyn.”
Her eyes widen. “You were gonna move, even before your internship started?”
“If it meant keeping you? In a heartbeat.” I pull her close, forehead to forehead.
“I’m so fucking happy you’re here. You took care of business, kicked that test’s ass, and now we’ve got a week.
Tacos, beaches, my bed. You’re not leaving till I’ve made you forget vending machine Cheetos exist and that I’m the only man for you. ”
She grins, stealing a taco from the bag. “Deal. But first, kiss me like you mean it.”
I do—slow, deep, pouring every ounce of I missed you into it. The airport fades, the horns, the luggage, the sequined hangovers. It’s just us, tacos, and a new year that’s ours.
“Welcome home, Jamison,” I murmur against her lips.
“Home’s wherever you are,” she says, and kisses me until the tacos get cold.
We’ve got a week. Then New York, then my internship, then whatever comes next. Long distance is a beast, but with her in my arms, I’m ready to slay it—one taco, one kiss, one I love you at a time.