Page 27 of Pining for You

“Mission: Battle a Blizzard for Love,” Diya adds.

Izaac bangs his fist like a gavel on the table and sets the plan in motion. “Let’s split up and meet at the station at”—he looks at his phone—“9:45. Bring coffee,” he says, pointing at me. “A first kiss requires extra fortitude.”

7

“Did you know the phrase Grand Central Station is actually a misnomer?” Diya asks.

We’ve just passed under the archway from Track 127, and into another world entirely. It seems unfathomable that this place exists in the same universe as Pag’s Diner, and yet I can smell pancakes here, too.

I’ve been to Grand Central before, but the constellations on the ceiling seem to crackle today as if they might just come to life. When I point my camera to the sky to take in that cerulean firmament, I feel a current go through me. This was the right decision. I scan for Scorpio while Diya continues. True to form, she spent most of the train time studying up on New York City because “Knowledge is power.”

“The accurate term is Grand Central Terminal. Terminus,” she goes on now, “meaning the end of the line.”

“That sounds creepy,” Cash says.

“But it’s so freaking beautiful,” I say.

The station—er, terminal—is an ocean of humanity, rippling through the cavernous Grand Concourse. It casts waves of travelers out onto 42nd Street, and reels throngs of others back toward the numbered tracks, each a portal to what feels like another world.

And even better, the Beaux Arts–style halls are magnificently decked with mistletoe and holly, and filled with thick aromas of rich baking spices rising up from the dining concourse below.

Diya and Izaac are the order Muppets, keeping Cash and me from ping-ponging off the walls of the station, but I can at least invoke a professional interest in everything, because I have to document it all. I take out my camera and capture the holiday market stalls and the seasonal gingerbread lattes at Bourke Street Bakery, the tinsel and the wreaths hung with care around the info booth, the travelers carrying packages wrapped up in gold and silver, topped with red and green bows.

“There’s so much material here,” I say.

“Well, it’s a very good thing you made it, then,” Izaac says with no small measure of snark.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say, rolling my eyes. Okay, so I almost missed the train, but that’s only because I was preparing our coffee with the same peppermint syrup I made last year on Christmas Eve Eve, which everyone loved. I didn’t want everything I’d prepped to go to waste. I had to sprint all the way down the platform to find them with the hot thermos, and managed to jump on just before the conductor closed the door. I still feel winded even after the ride, but I regret nothing.

“Come on, that peppermint latte was worth it,” I say, and he gives a concessionary nod.

I pan around the space and suddenly Diya pops into frame. Since I had the zoom on 8x, what I see through the viewfinder is a giant version of her nostril. She puts a mitten over the lens and smirks at me.

“So I think the subway is that way,” Izaac says, pointing. “But I’m going to check out the return time board and make sure it’s the same as what’s online.”

“I’ll come,” Diya says.

“Perf. You guys manage that. Bennie and I are going to investigate the doughnuts,” Cash says quickly.

“We are?” I ask, and he glares at me. “I mean, hell yes we are!”

I’m happy to go on this doughnut finding mission, and also to have a few minutes of one-on-one time with Cash. It’s a good chance to gauge what’s going on with him.

He and I head downstairs and I keep the camera going the whole time. This could not be a more perfect place to kick off my project. A train station is a contact zone that connects all kinds of people, one of the great social equalizers in history. All walks of life are forced to rub elbows if they want to get where they’re going.

There’s a row of raised chairs along one wall, and for a second they look like stadium seats for spectators of the station crowds. But then a man in a fedora with a briefcase, looking straight out of Mad Men, climbs up and takes a seat. It’s a shoeshine station. I didn’t know that was still a thing! Nostalgia is a major element of Christmas, so I pause to film the process. This is a perfect demonstration that not all traditions have gone by the wayside, that there’s still room in the world for true human interaction.

I’m imagining how well this will fit into my narrative, when the man having his shoes shined suddenly yanks his foot away and swats the man doing the work with his newspaper.

“Be careful!” he snarls. “That’s genuine Italian leather!”

I lower the camera, because damn—that’s not an example of goodwill toward your fellow man.

“This way!” Cash says, pulling me by the arm as I try to shake it off. It’s only the first stop, and fortunately, the second at least smells magical.

Doughnut Plant is a little kiosk, but there’s still a whole glass display bursting with doughnut varieties.

“Oh my god, look at that one!” Cash points to a doughnut shaped like a Christmas tree, with green frosting and mint filling.