The BOAC 707 touched down at Idlewild just after noon, its landing gear thudding onto the wet tarmac with the soft screech of rubber against winter-cold concrete. After the long Atlantic crossing, the sudden jolt was almost welcome.
William sat upright, adjusting his seatbelt as the plane taxied toward the terminal. The cabin smelled faintly of coffee and cigarette smoke, the latter clinging to coats and luggage. He rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the scratch of a day's stubble, and glanced out the window at the dull, pewter sky.
Customs was its usual slow crawl. Passengers shuffled forward in weary increments, papers clutched in gloved hands, boots squeaking faintly on the linoleum. The officials looked half-frozen and wholly unimpressed by holiday cheer. By the time William had cleared inspection, retrieved his suitcase, and stepped outside, the afternoon was already wearing thin.
The air hit him first. It was sharp, cold, and brimming with that peculiar December energy New York wore so well. Strings of Christmas lights zig-zagged over the streets. Shop windows were explosions of red and green, mannequins draped in festive scarves, toy trains looping endlessly around snowy miniature villages. Somewhere, faint under the traffic hum, a brass band was playing Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.
The drive from the airport was slow. Fifth Avenue was clogged with cabs, delivery trucks, and holiday shoppers darting between cars with paper bags swinging at their sides. William sat back in the leather seat, coat open, watching the city move in fits and starts.
By the time the car nosed up to the Plaza Hotel, darkness had settled in. The doorman touched the brim of his hat in greeting. Inside, the lobby gleamed. It's marble floors polished to a mirror shine, gilded sconces casting warm light, and a towering Christmas tree dressed in glass baubles and silk ribbons.
William barely noticed. He was running on fumes. The porter whisked his luggage away, and minutes later he was in his suite. He dropped his coat over a chair, loosened his collar, and without bothering to undress, sprawled across the bed. Sleep took him in seconds.
It was nearly midday when he woke again, sunlight prying through the gap in the curtains. His head felt clearer, though his body protested leaving the warmth of the bed. He dressed with deliberate ease: crisp white shirt, top button undone; dark blue trousers; polished shoes. No tie, no jacket. He slipped on his silver-steel watch and gave himself a brief glance in the mirror.
Breakfast downstairs was quick, simple eggs, toast, black coffee with a side of fruits and then he was back in his car. His luggage was already stowed in the back. The car quickly zoomed towards Parsons.
Today, William was going to surprise Erica.
They hadn't seen much of each other lately. Erica's life revolved around classes, projects, and late nights in the studio. His revolved around boardrooms, site visits, and jumping from one program to other, with barely anything between him and insanity. When they did speak on the phone, it was usually once every week or two, just long enough to exchange headlines from their lives before exhaustion pulled them off to sleep.
As of now, she had no idea he was even in New York. As far as she knew, he was occupied with Harrow and his special pet project for Geneva. Like almost everybody else, all she had were little tidbits about the car and nothing else, despite her multiple attempts.
From what he was informed by George, her winter vacations had started a day prior. But she had to stay another day to finish some project, and she had requested a family vehicle to pick her up today at noon. And so, William had decided to intercept the plan. In the end, the idea of catching her off-guard appealed to his brotherly side immensely. Maybe it was something about being a brother, but annoying your little sister was hardwired into a human.
In William's own words, "Annoying one's younger sister was a sacred sibling rite."
Midtown was a tangle of holiday traffic. Pedestrians shuffled along in thick coats and scarves, dodging between delivery vans while shopfronts blared Bing Crosby. The car crept forward block by block.
Parsons was quieter than usual when he arrived, but not silent When he stepped into the Parsons lobby, the atmosphere was completely different from the quiet of the Plaza. Despite the lack of people due to winter vacations, the atmosphere was full of energy. The few students and faculty who were still present were carrying sheets of papers, fabrics, and other odd knick-knacks.
He spotted her before she saw him. She was heading for the doors, arms full of sketchbooks and folded pattern paper, a measuring tape looped carelessly around her neck. Despite her frazzled appearance, she still managed to look effortlessly beautiful. Her hair curled tight, her usual boutique dresses replaced with an odd mismatch of denim overalls and an oversized shirt. Her lips moved faintly, muttering something to herself.
William stepped directly into her path. "Excuse me, miss," he said, adopting an overly formal tone. "Could you direct me to the nearest coffee shop?"
Erica's head snapped up. She blinked once, twice, and then her eyes went wide. The sketchbooks slipped from her arms, slapping against the polished floor.
"Will!" Her voice was half-laugh, half-gasp. In three strides she was in his arms, nearly bowling him over.
He laughed, hugging her tightly. "Surprise."
She pulled back to look at him. "You're supposed to be home! You didn't— you—" She broke off, shaking her head. "You're infuriating."
"That's how surprises work," he said with a grin. "Though I admit, your expression was worth the trip."
They both bent to collect her papers. "But seriously! You just show up…You couldn't have given me a warning?" she said, scooping up a loose sheet of sketches.
"And rob myself of this moment? Absolutely not."
Outside, the cold bit at their cheeks as they crossed to the car.
"So," she said, eyeing him as she climbed in, "where exactly have you been? You've got that… transatlantic air about you."
"London," he said simply, sliding in beside her.
Erica froze, halfway through pulling her seatbelt. "London? And you didn't mention it?"
"You didn't ask," he said mildly.
"You can't just hop across the Atlantic like you're going to the corner store. And what kind of work takes you to England?"
"Apparently, I can. Work, Em. And besides" he quickly changed the topic, " Mother wants both of us home for Christmas. Couldn't risk leaving you here unsupervised. You'd probably get drunk and lost again."
Her jaw dropped. "That was one time."
"One very memorable time," he said, pulling into traffic.
"I was eighteen and the subway map was confusing."
"You ended up in Queens."
"I was exploring."
"You called me crying because your shoes were wet."
Her eyes narrowed. "Are you done?"
"For now."
They drove in companionable quiet for a few minutes before she asked, "So, how was London?"
William considered this as they stopped at a red light. "Cold. Wet. Still gloomy. Can't blame them, considering the last couple of decades."
"Sounds lovely."
"Not a holiday destination I'd recommend this time of year."
She glanced sideways at him. "You're not going to tell me why you were there, are you?"
"Not yet."
She sighed. "Fine. How's mother?"
"She's fine. Thinks you're coming alone. And I'm fairly certain she believes I'm not coming at all."
Erica smiled slowly. "She's going to be so happy. Any change with father?"
His voice went quiet. "No. Still the same. Doctors keep saying 'stable,' as if that's the same as good news."
"Do you remember," Erica said suddenly, "that Christmas when we were kids, and father let us open one present early?"
"The year you got the art supplies and immediately decided to 'improve' the wallpaper in the hallway?"
Erica laughed. "Mother was so angry. But father just stood there trying not to smile while she lectured me about respecting other people's property."
"He bought you your own wall to paint on the next week. Had it installed right in your room."
"Best father ever," she said quietly.
"Yeah. He is."
Neither spoke for a while, the hum of the engine filling the silence.
The city give way to suburbs, then to countryside. The snow from the previous night had transformed everything into a winter postcard – white fields stretching endlessly, bare trees etched against the pale sky.
Two hours later, the car turned up the long drive to the estate. Snow lay thick over the fields, the evergreen branches heavy under its weight. Strings of white lights ran the length of the drive, glowing softly in the fading light.
"Home," Erica breathed, and William could hear the relief in her voice.
Their mother was in the front hall when they stepped inside, speaking quietly to a butler. She turned at the sound of the door and froze, her eyes widening.
"William!" She crossed the marble floor quickly, smiling as she kissed his cheek. "I was certain you weren't coming!"
"That was the plan," William said. "But I had promised someone I will be coming for Christmas." Hearing this his mother's face lit up with a huge smile.
Their mother turned to Erica, who was hanging up her coat. "And you knew about this?"
"I had no idea!" Erica protested. "He just showed up at school like some kind of Houdini."
The house was dressed for Christmas, garlands twined along the banisters, a towering tree in the main hall hung with glass ornaments and ribbons, candles flickering in the sconces. The staff moved quietly in the background, adjusting place settings and checking silver.
Dinner was roast goose with crisp skin, potatoes, and buttered winter vegetables. Conversation flowed easily, punctuated by Erica's dramatic retelling of her near-disastrous project deadline and William's dry observations about travel.
"So," their mother said, "how was the trip?"
"It was business," William said. "Meetings, negotiations, the usual."
"He's being modest," Erica interjected. "Apparently he's been jetting around Europe like some kind of international man of mystery."
Their mother raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"
"It was just London" William said. "And it was work. Nothing as dramatic as the princess here is complaining about."
Their mother just smiled before asking, "The issue is sorted?"
Erica looked up confused, "Issue. What issue?"
William sighed and looked at Erica, "Nothing major. Just some issue at supplier end." Before he responded to his mother's question, "Mostly. It all ended on a good note."
"Hey! Stop hiding. I can also help." Erica complained before leaning forward. "What issues. Tell me."
William hesitated, "Nothing major. We had some issue with tyre quality. Technical stuff that would bore you to tears."
"Try me."
"Erica," their mother said gently, "let your brother eat his dinner. He's probably exhausted."
William took the opportunity and quickly changed the topic, "Anyway, I was in London majorly for Aston Martin. We were going through their future plans…"
Erica sensed the quick change of topic and looked at William with slight frustration. Slowly the conversation turning to lighter topics like Erica's classes, friends from school, plans for New Year's, their mother's new book find etc.
"How long will you stay?" their mother asked.
"Until New Year," William said.
"And I don't have to be back until the fifteenth," Erica added.
Hearing this their mother's face lit up.
After dinner, they moved to the drawing room. The firelight flickered over their faces, the scent of pine mingling with the faint aroma of coffee. Outside, snow began to fall again, blanketing the grounds in silence.
Erica curled up in her favourite chair, still in her traveling clothes but looking more relaxed than she had in months. "I miss this…All of us together, talking, laughing. It's been too long."
William stretched out his legs toward the fire. "We should do this more often."
"That would require you to actually stay in one place for more than a week," Erica teased.
"Fair point. But I'm working on it."
Their mother looked between them. "You're both so grown up. Sometimes I look at you and wonder where my children went."
"We're right here," Erica said softly.
"I know. But you're not the same little ones who used to curl up between your father and me during thunderstorms."
"Maybe not," William said. "But we're still your children. That hasn't changed."
Christmas morning came softly, with the smell of baking drifting up the stairs. Erica came down in a thick robe, hair still tousled and found William already by the fire with coffee in hand and reading the morning paper.
"Anything interesting happening in the world?" she asked, settling beside him on the sofa.
"The usual. Politics, economics, people arguing about things they can't control."
"Sounds depressing."
"It is, a little. But today's Christmas. We can ignore the world for one day."
"Good plan." She looked toward the tree, which seemed to have gained a few more presents overnight. "Ready?"
"Ready."
Their mother appeared in the doorway, dressed and perfectly put together despite the early hour. "I was wondering when you two would start eyeing those packages."
They took turns handing out gifts. Erica unwrapped a fine leather sketch portfolio from London and a pair of French tailoring shears. She held them up to the light, testing their weight.
"These are beautiful, Will." she beamed and exclaimed "It is perfect."
She gave William a soft charcoal cashmere scarf. "Now you can finally retire that awful one from last winter."
"It wasn't that bad."
"It was terrible. Mother, back me up."
"It was pretty terrible," their mother agreed with a smile.
Their mother opened a framed photograph of the three of them along with their father from before the accident. She traced the frame lightly before setting it on the mantel. She didn't say anything, but her eyes said everything.
Below the tree another set of gifts remained. No one said anything.
The rest of the day unfolded in a haze of warmth and cheer. William made sure gifts found their way into the hands of the estate staff, each exchange accompanied by smiles and murmured thanks. From the kitchens drifted the rich, irresistible aroma of fresh cake and buttery cookies, wrapping the house in a sweet, comforting blanket. Later, he and Erica plunged into another snowball fight on the front lawn. This time, William was thoroughly outmatched and pelted into surrender while Erica's triumphant, slightly maniacal laughter rang out across the winter air.
That night, after their mother retired, William lingered in the drawing room with a glass of brandy. He heard soft footsteps behind him. Erica padded in, wrapped in a blanket, her hair down. She curled up in the armchair opposite him, tucking her feet under herself.
"Couldn't sleep?" William asked.
"Not really. Too much excitement, I think. Plus, I had too much coffee at dinner." She watched the flames for a moment. "What about you? You look like you're thinking about something heavy."
He swirled the brandy in his glass. "Just processing the day, I suppose. It's been good to be home."
"But?"
"No but. Just... thinking."
Erica studied his profile in the firelight. "You know, you've changed since the last time I saw you. You seem older somehow. More serious."
"I feel older. The past few months have been challenging."
"Hmm…"
"It is difficult. Making decisions. Each decision impacts thousands. I have so many people depending on me now… It's just tiring. Sometimes I wonder if I'm ready for all of it."
Erica leaned forward. "Will, you're doing an amazing job. The company's improving. I am not part of all this…but even I have heard about the changes. Your new car, the expansion plans. That doesn't happen by accident.""
"I suppose not."
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the fire crackling between them.
"Can I ask you something?" Erica said. "And I want a real answer, not one of your diplomatic non-answers."
"Shoot."
"Are you happy? I mean, really happy. Not just satisfied with how things are going, but actually happy with your life?"
William considered this for a long moment. "That's a complicated question."
"Not really. It's the simplest question there is."
He took another sip of brandy. "I'm... content. Most of the time. There are moments when I feel like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be, doing exactly what I'm supposed to be doing. And then there are other moments when I wonder what would have happened if things had been different."
"Different how?"
"If father wasn't in coma. If I just needed to focus on Zephyr. If I didn't need to worry about Harrows. You know I could have travelled more, maybe lived abroad for a while, figured myself out before diving into all this…"
"You still could, you know. Travel, I mean. See more of the world."
"When? Between board meetings and contract negotiations?"
"You just went to London."
"For work."
"That is still travel."
"Touche." He surrendered and looked at her curiously. "What about you? Are you happy? With school, with New York… with everything?"
Erica pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. "Most of the time, yes. I love my classes, I love learning new techniques, being surrounded by other artists. But sometimes…"
"Sometimes?" William prompted gently.
"Sometimes I feel guilty," she admitted. "Here you are, carrying the weight of the family business, making sure mother and I are taken care of… and I'm in New York, playing with clothes and paints."
"That's not playing," William said firmly. "That's pursuing your passion. That's what education is for."
"It still feels frivolous, sometimes. Especially when I think about father upstairs, and you working so hard to keep everything together. You took over everything—Zephyr, the estate…and here I am…"
"Hey." William set his glass down and leaned toward her. His voice softened, but there was steel beneath it. "I didn't drop anything. I just picked up more. And what you're doing isn't frivolous, Erica, it's a craft. You have real talent, and I've seen your work. You're at one of the best schools in the world, learning alongside some of the most creative people out there. That is not wasted. Not in any way. And father… father would want you to finish. To become the designer, you're meant to be."
"You really think so?"
"I know so."
Erica's eyes glistened, but she smiled. "You always make it sound so simple."
"That's because it is," William replied with a half-smile. "You just need to believe it."
They stayed by the fire until the embers glowed low, talking about smaller things – her classes, mutual friends, old family stories, plans for the rest of the holiday break. Erica told him about her professors, her favourite projects, the other students in her program. William shared stories from the company, his meetings, his business travels, the interesting people he'd met etc.
"You know," Erica said as she prepared to head upstairs, "this was fun."
"Yeah, it was."
"Promise me we'll do this again. Not wait so long between real conversations."
"I promise. And Eri?"
"Yeah?"
"Goodnight."
She kissed his cheek. "Goodnight to you too."