12 Days 'til Christmas ✓

chapter thirty

t h i r t y

*

two years later

Even on Christmas Day, the city that never sleeps lives up to its name. Even with two inches of snow on the ground, business seems to continue as usual: the roads are filled with iconic yellow taxis and grumpy drivers; the pavements are filled with fast-walking natives and dawdling tourists, on their way to catch a show or go ice skating or grab Chinese food and a hot drink.

But up here, on the blowy observation deck at the top of the Rockefeller Center, I feel a million miles away from the commotion of New York City. The wind is whipping through my hair, turning it into a wild windmill as I try to tame it to enjoy the view of Manhattan from eight hundred and fifty feet up. It's the epitome of breath-taking.

Casper takes a bobble off his wrist and stands behind me, scooping my hair into a manageable ponytail that he twists into a bun and secures with the hair tie.

"Don't want to get sued when your hair takes someone's eye out," he says, looping his arm through my elbow. Together, we gaze at the south end of the island, the icy, snow-filled clouds just high enough that we can see the One World Observatory where the twin towers last stood more than two decades ago.

I lean in closer to Casper, resting my head on his shoulder. He rests his head on mine and moves his arm so it's draped around me, his fingers splayed over my waist.

The past two years have been leading up to this moment. One hundred and three weeks since I gave him that five pound note; fifty-two weeks since we spent last Christmas at home, not quite enough saved to make the trip worthwhile; one week since we landed at Newark Liberty International Airport to kickstart a fortnight in New York City.

We didn't want to be scrimping and saving while we're here, having to carefully pick which tourist traps to fall into: we wanted to do them all, from gimmicky restaurants and as many Broadway shows as possible, to all of the city's best views and a horse and carriage ride around Central Park. The only thing we were stingy about was the flight – the cheapest seats in economy, only splashing out to make sure we'd be next to each other – and it's worth it. Our hotel's incredible, a huge room on the twenty-first floor, overlooking the park, and almost every meal has been a dream.

And now, to celebrate the biggest day of the year – the twenty-fifth of December; my twenty-seventh birthday; Casper's twenty-eighth – we're watching over the city dressed in snow, a surprise white Christmas. It's absolutely freezing up here, closer to the clouds, but I don't care that my cheeks are raw and red and stinging.

"This was a really good idea," I say to Casper. "The whole trip, I mean. Kudos to you. You got me out of the country for Christmas."

"I was pretty determined," he says. "Honestly, I didn't think I'd ever succeed, so this is ... wow. This is pretty fucking amazing."

"Definitely a success. As if we're in America. I still can't believe it!" I feel on top of the world, standing up here with my boyfriend, Manhattan sprawled out below us like a puzzle, roads and buildings slotting together on a grid that makes more sense than any other city I've visited.

I've never so much as left the UK, let alone travelled three thousand miles across the Atlantic ocean for two weeks in the USA. I've never even flown down to London from Scotland, or taken the Eurostar to Paris – my travelling experience is pitiful, and mostly limited to within fifty miles of my house. But now I'm in the Big Apple, and I'm overwhelmed.

When the wind picks up and the snow returns, soft flakes fluttering down on us, we head back inside at long last and take the lift down to the ground floor, rejoining reality when we step outside into the thrum of a chaotic city.