“Sorry—you got the full glare of my ‘thinking about seeing Twenty One Pilots’ face there.” I laughed slightly too manically. “Now, how about I take some photos of you for a change? I want full posing in front of the venue, like a proper band douchebag, please.”

And surprisingly he obliged.

We made Macy’s our next stop. I’d planned to do some serious shopping—but it was so crowded, I switched for a quick in and out. Nick was down for that—but was less down with how I got on the escalator. Full-on lunge. I was trying to get photos for Ruby and Fred of me re-creating the scene from Elf they shot there, of Buddy doing accidental splits on it. But the escalator went faster than I thought, and what with me also trying to take a selfie, I ended up in a real-life-medical-emergency splits. Nick had to physically scoop me up as I wailed, “Help meeeee,” whilst at least two hundred confused tourists stared at me.

And then I remembered Nick hadn’t seen the film anyway.

After that, things went more smoothly. Give or take my limp from pulling twenty-three muscles I didn’t even know I had. By the time we hit the cute stalls at Union Square market, I wondered if it was time for me to bring up what happened yesterday.

“So Dottie said you used to come here with your family for Christmas, right? What did you used to get up to?”

“Oh, you don’t want to know…” Nick was looking with suspicion at a stall of terrible Christmas trees painted on old records. “Stupid stuff.”

“Stupid stuff is my favorite.” A person dressed as a candy cane offered me a piece of cinnamon-toasted white chocolate. I paused my investigation to take it. Never say no to free festive food. “So?”

“Guess it was just the usual…” Argh. Sometimes he was a Christmas nut that I just couldn’t crack.

“There is no usual. C’mon, Nick. You’re talking to someone who is losing their mind over those steamy magic jets things.” I pointed to the street where the steam was billowing up from the floor.

“Pipe condensation outlets?”

“The magic?! Soooo? What was it? Stockings? Carols? Matching family onesies?! What?”

He laughed at the merest suggestion of onesies. Which made me doubt whether I should unleash the personalized ones I’d packed for them in my suitcase. The Millers were probably way too cool for matching.

We sat down on a bench under a speaker playing “Driving Home for Christmas.” My mum’s favorite. Wow, I wished she could be here right now.