Snowflakes in Seattle

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

OLIVE

F or paradise as the destination, this sure had been the crappiest flight in memory.

First of all, was my halmeoni flying this thing? My grandma liked to drive straight down the bumpy rumble strip that divided the lanes, “so she knows right where she is.” A ride with her was likely to shake a couple teeth loose. Likewise, the turbulence on this flight was so bad I could barely hold, let alone read, the new Brené Brown book I’d been dying to devour.

Maybe I shouldn’t use the word “dying” when on a flight this rough.

Glancing out the window, I spotted nothing but fluffy white clouds and a cerulean sky, the serenity at odds with my jostled body and mind. Turning away, I accidentally locked eyes with the guy next to me.

Again.

Again, he said, “How you doin’?” accompanied by that chin nod-eyebrow raise combo guys did.

That cocky greeting didn’t match the rest of him. The man was barefoot , rocking hipster glasses and a mustache straight from the 1970s. I guessed he was mid-thirties and went to yoga religiously.

Offering a tight smile, I turned back to the window and lost myself in my thoughts.

I’d been in Anchorage for business and the meetings had gone better than I’d expected. Bidding on a construction project outside of the Phoenix metropolitan area, where I lived and worked, had been a long shot, but somehow Blake Builds had won the contract for the elementary school on Alaska Native land. My family and I could not have been more elated. Everything had to go right as we branched out geographically. As the diversity director, I’d insisted on holding hiring fairs in person, making sure to meet with sub firms owned by tribes, women, minorities, or veterans.

The disadvantaged businesses had shown up in droves, and I’d signed more than I’d ever signed to a project before. I was still glowing. I had virtual training sessions planned, mentorship partners picked out.

After the holidays, of course. After my vacation.

Only two stops and thirty-three hours to go until I met up with my bestie, Pear, in the Maldives for white sand, turquoise sea, and tropical drinks. Pear’s choice. This year, all she wanted for Christmas was a distraction.

The sound of a container popping open brought my attention back to my neighbor.

Oh, good. He’d brought his own food.

A familiar smell hit my nose like a tidal wave. Kimchi. On a plane .

I watched as the guy took a giant bite and breathed a happy, full-mouthed sigh. Blinking, I attempted to hide my surprise. And annoyance. And maybe a bit of jealousy.

Look, I’m half-Korean. I will put kimchi on my oatmeal . I love fermented anything. Just not when it’s exhaled into my face second-hand in a cramped airplane row.

Also, I might have been a bit hangry.

It was lunchtime and my protein pack from the airport Starbucks was long gone. We were an hour outside Seattle, my birthplace and the next destination, where coffee and more food awaited.

Though we’d only lived in Seattle until I was ten, I still missed the seasons that were lacking in Phoenix. We’d even had a white Christmas in Seattle once, and I remembered the magic of waking up to a winter wonderland. The sparkling snow and silent world had felt like a gift just for me.

At thirty, I was less self-absorbed. Now I understood that snow days were fun for everyone, not just me. I’d been hoping there’d be snow in Anchorage, but it had instead been dry and frigid.

I tore my attention away from my kimchi-munching neighbor and my own growling stomach to stare out the window again.

Sometime later, a loud bang jolted me out of my hangry haze. Immediately, the plane tipped sharply to the right. A startled gasp escaped my lips as the quiet cabin filled with anxious voices.

My gaze flew back out the window, to the wing. Had we been hit by lightning or something? A dense green fog blocked my view. For a wild moment, I thought that maybe we’d flown into a fireworks display, but it was Christmas Eve, not New Year’s Eve, and we were too high up for all that, weren’t we? But the air outside was decidedly green, like Ninja Turtle ooze green, and sparkling .

The pilot righted the plane, but the turbulence seemed to have gotten worse. We were back on the rumble strips. Even my seatmate looked rattled as he clutched his kimchi container to his chest with one hand and gripped the armrest with the other.

The shaking intensified to massive earthquake levels. A lady a few rows ahead of me started screaming. Screaming was worse than kimchi, I decided.

“I see something! There’s something out there!” she shouted.

Her panic spread like wildfire, and my stomach dropped to the floor. This was bad .

“It’s reindeer,” the woman shrieked. “Swear to God, it’s a herd of reindeer! Who else sees them? They’re right there!”

I snorted. I couldn’t help it. Okay, maybe not so bad. Santa’s reindeer, really?

Sure, it was Christmas Eve, but the shrieking lady had to be in her fifties. She knew Santa wasn’t real, right? That caribou couldn’t fly?

I was glad Pear wasn’t here for this drama. Flying was at the top of her fears list. She’d have been screaming louder than this lady.

People were crowding around her to look, like they actually believed her. The flight attendants were trying to encourage everyone back to their seats. The captain, barely audible on the PA, was telling everyone to stay calm and fasten seatbelts. I heard the words “atmospheric disturbance” through all the other noise.

A bony knee landed in my lap, sending my mouth open in surprise. Hipster next to me was meditating, Sukhasana style.

Yep, it was official. Crappiest flight in memory.

My day got no better after we landed in Seattle.

The atmospheric disturbance had grounded all planes in the area, and the airport, full of stranded holiday travelers, had been in complete chaos. The flight attendants had told us to secure accommodations and await further communication from the airline. I’d grabbed my bags, full of swimsuits and sundresses for my holiday in paradise, and gotten the hell out of there.

Or, I had tried.

Instead, I joined a zillion other people in line at the taxi stand outside. There was a hint of snow on the ground, or at least a heavy frost, but I couldn’t enjoy the novelty until I figured out what I was going to do next.

First, I texted Pear that I’d miss my connecting flight. I would not miss our trip, though. Hell, no. We’d spent way too much time on Pinterest planning this girls-only revenge getaway.

After that, I checked my favorite hotel app. No availability anywhere near Seattle. I checked my next favorite app. Same. Then Airbnb. Nothing. The longer I swiped and scrolled, the tighter my stomach clenched.

Was I actually stranded in this city with nowhere to go? Should I just stay at the airport?

The chatter in line made me more nervous. We’d be stuck for days. Maybe weeks. NORAD was investigating. So was NOAA. No answers. No flights.

If any of that were true, I’d be stuck here while poor Pear would be alone in the Maldives, spending Christmas by herself when what she’d needed was a drunken holiday with her bestie where we planned her new future.

Ugh. One thing at a time.

I wracked my brain for people I knew in Seattle. None of my elementary school friends were close enough acquaintances to bug for a place to crash on Christmas Eve.

Then it hit me. The Parkers. My parents’ friends. My dad had started his construction career at Vertex, the company owned by the Parker family, before he’d branched off and started his own in a much sunnier state. They’d let me stay with them for the night despite the holiday, surely.

Quickly, I dialed my mom.

“Olive, how are you? Where are you?”

Her familiar voice quelled some of the chaos that had seeped into my body from the last few hectic hours. Normally, I was pretty unflappable. I was a director at a multimillion-dollar construction company. Graduated with distinction from University of Arizona. I’d skydived twice, and had once walked up to a complete stranger in a bar and kissed him simply because I wanted to. Turned out, he’d been there with someone and I’d had to run outta there posthaste, but hey, I’d followed my heart.

My confidence in myself was healthy, but today had tried me and I was not too proud to admit I needed my mom.

“I’m stranded in Seattle, umma . Something weird in the sky grounded all the planes.”

“What?” Her tone jumped from excited to alarmed.

“No, it’s fine,” I assured her. “I just need a favor. There are no hotels available in the area and I need a place to stay. I was wondering if you could get in touch with Chris and Anita for me.”

“Of course, but are you sure that you’re okay?”

“Yes. Just trying not to be homeless on Christmas Eve,” I answered, shivering. The warm wool coat didn’t offset the cold creeping in through my leather leggings.

She clucked in concern. “I’ll call you right back. Don’t worry about a thing, gwiyomi .”

I nodded, though she couldn’t see me, before slipping my phone into my coat pocket.

Five minutes passed, then ten. My place in line now felt too close to the front. I had no address to give the driver yet. Finally, my wrist and pocket vibrated. I whipped the phone up to my ear. “Are they home?” I asked without preamble.

“They’re at their vacation home in California.”

I gripped the handle on my suitcase tighter. Guess I was sleeping on the airport floor, if I could find a place among the masses.

“But their son Wyatt is home for the holidays,” my mom continued. “They said you can stay with him. You remember Wyatt, don’t you?”

My stomach dropped yet again. Hard. Like splat onto the concrete from twenty stories hard. Jumping from a plane with no parachute hard.

Did I remember Wyatt Parker?

Eight years older, yet, as kids, had let me tag along with him and my older brother without complaint? Let me win at Mario Kart? Had taken me kayaking for the first time and quite possibly awakened my adventurous side? Unruly hair and hazel eyes that had struck me in the gut like lightning? My first crush? My longest crush? That Wyatt?

“Yeah,” I whispered. “I remember.”