“Not to mention zodiac sign pairings,” Sula says, her holiday sweater a lime-green sequined number that reads in cherry-red letters, i’ve been naughty while Margo’s red one says in green letters, i’ve been nice, then written below it, naughtier. “The accuracy of compatibility in pairings, that’s what blows my mind.”
Toni sits up from resting inside Hamza’s arm, the newlyweds wearing the only exception to the weird holiday sweaters theme. Theirs are silvery white and simply say in pretty cursive, mr., with jaunty Santa hats hanging on the m’s. Pulling out his phone, Toni says, “Let’s check this. Are everyone’s partner signs highly compatible?”
While he searches some website on his phone devoted to the subject, I slip my hand across the sofa and brush pinkies with Jules, the only one here who isn’t partnered.
I know what it’s like to feel as if you’re the odd one out, and I never want her to. I never want any of us to, ever again.
Glancing my way, Jules says, “Thanks for planning all this, KitKat. It’s really special.”
I smile. “Course, JuJu. I did have help, though.” I tip my head toward Christopher, who sits at my feet, his hand idly curled around my calf, rubbing up and down. “Thanks for holding off on celebrating until I could come back from my work trip.”
“Always.” She slips her hand around mine and squeezes. “I do have one complaint about your work travels, though,” she says, a sparkle in her eyes. “You hardly go on them anymore, and I feel like I’m due for another life swap. Now what am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know what to tell you. It seems I’ve become a domesticated Kat.” That makes her laugh. “Maybe it’s time for you to give in to the pull of our family’s wanderlust gene, strike out on your own.”
She smiles to herself, sipping her mulled wine. “Maybe I will. Try somewhere quieter for a while. Maybe upstate. Maybe halfway across the world. We’ll see.”
“To no one’s surprise . . .” Toni calls, drawing us back into the group’s conversation. “Nick’s and Bianca’s signs share extremely high compatibility.” He peers over at the lovebirds, who wear matching powder-blue sweaters covered in fluffy white snowfall appliqués. With a snowperson on each sweater stitched to lean toward the edge, lips poised for a smooch, as Nick and Bianca sit beside each other, it looks like they’re kissing. “Of course,” he adds sweetly.
“Of course,” we all singsong, with a few extra awwws, making Nick grin and Bianca laugh happily as he kisses her cheek.
“Next!” Toni says dramatically. “Kate, our Aquarius queen.” I give a regal wave. “And then Christopher! A Taurus, if ever there was one.”
Hoots go up. Christopher rolls his eyes from his seat at my feet. His hand slips down my leg and hooks around my ankle, squeezing gently.
Toni squints, reading the screen. “So let’s see the Taurus and Aquarius sign compatibility.”
“It’s abysmal,” Christopher says.
The whole room dims to a hush.
Christopher peers my way. “You’re all obsessed with this astrological stuff, so I looked it up months ago, and when I saw in the summary that by all zodiac wisdom, an Aquarius and a Taurus are a terrible match, I decided it was bullshit.”
Slowly, he turns, stretching an arm across my lap and threading his hand with mine. “But then I kept reading, and I came across a little paragraph that said there’s a sliver of a chance that two people of these signs can be the exception that proves the rule. It said, if they’re willing to do the work to get to a place of trust and understanding, they’re rewarded with a passionate, electric connection—the kind of love that feels new every day.” He smiles wide, his gaze warm and tender, only for me. “So I decided it wasn’t absolute bullshit, after all.”
I’m still shy about being affectionate in front of everyone else, but this time I don’t hesitate to lean in and kiss Christopher, long and slow, for everyone to see.
“All right!” Sula says, springing up from her chair toward the vintage record player behind her. “Time to dance. Not only is it Jules’s and Bea’s fortieth birthdays—”
“Hey!” they call, offended.
“Okay, fine, thirtieth,” Sula concedes, sifting through the records, “but it’s a celebration of love!”
“Ooh, wait,” I tell her, breaking away reluctantly from Christopher, then rushing over to the record player. “Let me.”
I find just the record I wanted and lift the needle. As it drops with a crackle, followed by a burst of the tango’s opening bars, I turn and stroll his way.
“Christopher.”
He grins up at me from his seat on the floor, a flash of excitement in his handsome eyes. “Katerina.”
I offer a hand, smiling at the man I love with all my heart. “May I have this dance?”
Christopher takes it and stands, then pulls me tight against him. One slow step, then another, a quick, breathless turn. Finally, a weightless, thrilling dip that I knew was coming.
He presses a kiss beneath my ear and whispers, “I thought you’d never ask.”
* * *
—
Each time I leave home, it’s harder. Of course, I still love experiencing new places for assignments, meeting new people, telling new stories. But the ache gets a little sharper, the longing lingers a little more, every time I’m gone from home.
I should be soaking up the white-hot beauty of Croatia in July, proud and happy that my work for this long-form piece on female entrepreneurship and growing economies is coming together so well, but as I sit, eating my meal and staring at the glorious view of the Adriatic Sea at sunset, all I can think about is how much damn fun we had at my sisters’ birthday party last week, how Mom and Dad came over and joined in on the dance party, how I talked so much and laughed so hard my voice was hoarse by the time I saw people off, and then after everyone was gone, and Christopher made love to me over and over, I screamed in pleasure so much I lost my voice completely.
Turning back to my food, I poke an olive listlessly.
But then a shadow cuts across my little table, swallowing up the sun and turning the world as bleak as I feel inside.
I frown up from my plate, prepared to tell whoever’s standing over me to move along, when I freeze.
Christopher stands there, breathtaking—sandstone slacks draping down his long, solid legs, a linen shirt rolled up to his elbows, golden sunlight spilling around his windblown dark hair. His amber eyes glow, warm and soft, as he stares down at me. “Hi, Katydid.”
My fork drops to the plate. Tears blur my vision. “What the hell?” I croak.
Then I launch myself at him, knocking a shocked, deep laugh out of Christopher as he wraps his arms around me, swinging me around. “What are you doing here?” I shriek.
“Following you like a lovesick fool, of course,” he says, before kissing me, slow and sweet. “I’ve been practicing while you’ve traveled for work, taking domestic flights and using those chances to do some more widespread networking. Once I could fly coast to coast, my therapist and I agreed I could probably survive a transatlantic flight.”
My heart clutches. I set my hand over his chest, soothing it gently. “And did you?”
He tips his head side to side. “Eh, it was touch and go. I have a hunch being with you on my flight home will help. And that means I’ll just have to fly with you everywhere from now on.”
Fresh tears spill down my cheeks as I laugh. “And here I was, moping, being homesick, and deciding that my traveling-for-work days were over.”
“Well now, I won’t complain if you want to stay home more,” he says, before he presses a kiss to my lips. “But I’m not giving up travel with you either. I think there’s a happy balance there for us, waiting to be found.”
“I think so, too.” I kiss him, hungry and deep, drawing him close. “Let’s go to bed.”
“Katerina,” he says, feigning offense, as my hands start to wander down his back, lower, over his backside. “I just got here, and you’re objectifying me already.”
“Damn right, I am.”