This is my second story for the WINTER HOLIDAY 2025 contest. What can I say, I love me some Christmas. This one is significantly less serious than my last. I hope you enjoy it!

CGN

Holiday Coverage

PROLOGUE

December 21, 2025 - Evening

Tufts Medical Center, Boston

"The good news is that your EKG is clean, and your troponins are normal, so it's unlikely that you're having a heart attack."

It was just after 9 p.m. on the Sunday before Christmas. I was standing in a curtained bay in the emergency department at Tufts Medical Center, speaking to Mrs. Bella Amato, who'd come in a few hours earlier with chest pains radiating to her throat, nausea, and anxiety. She'd been evaluated and undergone a battery of diagnostic tests.

Normally, calls from East Boston, or "Eastie" as we native Bostonians like to call it, were routed downtown to Massachusetts General Hospital, but it was one of those crazy nights for hospitals across the city, and MGH was on divert, so the Eastie rigs were coming our way instead.

Mrs. Amato looked like she'd stepped straight out of central casting to play the role of "classic Italian grandmother." She was tiny, her back bent with age, her gray hair barely kept at bay by a practical, if somewhat severe, bun. Her dark brown, almost amber eyes were framed by deep laugh lines, but her tongue was as sharp as a chef's carving knife. I hadn't yet fallen victim to it, but her daughter, Gina D'Angelo, who was sitting beside her in a standard-issue blue-and-green vinyl hospital chair, hadn't been so lucky.

Gina was a striking woman whose lustrous black hair cascaded in soft waves over her shoulders. I did my best to focus on her mother, but Gina's beauty couldn't help but draw me in. From the ghost of a smile that played across her lips, I suspected I wasn't the first man she'd flustered so effortlessly.

Mrs. Amato looked relieved at her diagnosis and started to get out of bed.

"You see, Gina. I told you we were wasting the good doctor's time by coming here. Now I have to get home to finish getting ready for dinner tomorrow."

Gina gave me a long-suffering look before reaching out to stop her mother from getting out of bed.

"Mamma, even if it's not a heart attack, we still need to find out what was causing you all that discomfort. It could still be something serious. Isn't that right, Dr. Fitzgerald?"

I didn't want to get between Mrs. Amato and her daughter, but Gina was making a good point.

"We won't know for sure until we get the results from the other diagnostic tests, but given your mom's symptoms, and the tenderness in her epigastric region," she stared at me blankly, "that is to say her belly," that got a small smile, "and her earlier meal of," I checked my notes, "penne all'arrabbiata, it could very well be gastroesophageal reflux."

Faced with another blank stare, I continued, "That is to say, a bad case of heartburn. If you watch what you eat and cut down on spicy foods, though, you shouldn't have too many problems in the future."

Mrs. Amato looked stricken.

"Are you sure it's not a heart attack? Can't you run some more tests?"

It seemed that a heart attack would've been preferable to cutting back on spicy foods.

"Don't be dramatic, Mamma. You can survive with a smaller bowl of slightly less spicy penne, but how would the rest of the family survive without your sharp tongue to keep us in line?"

"But what joy will be left in my life, Gina? First, Peppe leaves me, and now my all'arribbiatta too?

"Papa didn't leave you, Mamma. He died. He would've stayed by your side forever, if not for his cancer. You know that. And as to what's left, you'll just have to survive on the love of your children, grandchildren, brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, and the endless stragglers that you and Papa adopted over the years."

There was a brief pause as they remembered their departed husband and father.

"Your daughter didn't waste your time, Ma'am. In fact, it's a good thing you came in to get checked out. While I'm confident you aren't having a heart attack, I'd like to admit you to the hospital for a couple of days to keep you under observation, just to be safe."

That sparked an angry flurry of conversation in Italian between Gina and Mrs. Amato. Finally, Gina looked at me apologetically, "My mom says she's not staying in the hospital overnight. I tried to convince her, but she's so stubborn."

That was a worrisome development. Her symptoms likely weren't that serious, but I'd have felt better if she'd been admitted at least for the night. As I marshalled my arguments to try and convince her, she gave me a sly look and smiled.

"Dr. Fitzgerald, do you like baked lasagna?"

"It's pretty hard not to like baked lasagna, ma'am."

Her smile broadened, and she reached out and took my hand.

"Call me Bella. I will go home tonight, and you will join us for dinner tomorrow." Bella paused to cross herself while looking skyward, "If I stay overnight, Gina will use store-bought noodles in the lasagna!"

Despite my worries, something about Bella's longing to go home touched me.

"Alright, I'll give you a prescription that should help you feel better and stop the heartburn from recurring at least for the next while."

Gina started to protest, but I continued.

"And I'll come by your place for dinner tomorrow night to make sure that everything's alright."

I paused and gave Bella my very best "stern doctor" look.

"But if your daughter thinks you need to come back to the hospital, then you have to promise me that you'll listen to her."

Gina gave a wordless snort. It was clear that Hurricane Bella would do what she wanted, promise or no, and everyone in her path had better batten down their hatches.

CHAPTER 1

December 22, 2025 - Early Evening

Bella's Home, Orient Heights, East Boston

The next evening, I found myself on the Blue Line heading into the heart of Eastie. Bella and her family lived in a neighborhood called Orient Heights, less than a five-minute walk from the Suffolk Downs station. Their street was in a small enclave of houses east of Bennington St., surrounded on three sides by the Belle Isle Marsh Reservation. Their house was close enough to the old track that they'd have heard the crowds roar back when the ponies still ran, and close enough to Logan that, when the winds lined up right, jets would rattle their windows as they came in to land.

Orient Heights felt like a completely different world from South Boston, where I lived on the third floor of a three-story red-brick walk-up I'd inherited from my Aunt Margaret. She'd been a successful photojournalist, spending most of her life traveling the world, but Boston had always been her home.

As a teen, I'd apartment-sat for her while she traveled, so I could look after her beloved corgi, Valentine. As I got older, I realized this arrangement was as much for my benefit as for the dog's, giving me an excuse to escape the emotional wasteland that was my family home.

Aunt Margaret had never married and had no children of her own, so when she died at the tragically young age of 53, she left her entire estate to me. My parents thought this was a grave injustice, despite not having bothered to discuss the arrangements with her while she was still alive, or to visit her while she wasted away in the hospital.

"Your aunt clearly wasn't in her right mind at the end. Your brothers and sisters have families to look after and houses to maintain. You've barely started college, and you'll just waste her money on parties and alcohol. It's for the best if you turn the estate over to us to manage."

I didn't know who it would've been "for the best" for, exactly, but it certainly wouldn't have been me.

Luckily, Aunt Margaret was well acquainted with my parents' shenanigans, and she'd placed her entire estate in an irrevocable trust, with me as its sole beneficiary. I couldn't have liquidated it if I'd wanted to, and I needed the Trustee's approval for any major expenditures until I turned 35. The rest of my family was furious when they found out, but there wasn't much they could do to her on account of her being dead.

To be clear, it's not that my parents needed the money. They both came from "old stock" Boston families, and our ancestral mansion in Beacon Hill alone was worth well north of $10 million. They didn't need Aunt Margaret's money, but that didn't stop them from coveting it or using every sneaky trick they could think of to get their hands on it.

In the years after her death, when I was feeling most alone, I'd picture Aunt Margaret looking down at my family from heaven with her patented half-smirk. I don't imagine she had a place reserved for her in the afterlife, being an avowed atheist and all, but you never know.

God moves in mysterious ways.

******

It was getting dark by the time I reached Suffolk Downs station, and I set a brisk pace as I walked the last few blocks to Bella's home, past older wood-sided triple-deckers and smaller single-family homes. Despite the crisp chill in the air, there were still kids out playing in the street, and I couldn't help but smile at their antics.

Bella's house was typical of the neighborhood, having started as a small, late-forties bungalow before the addition, in later years, of a large living room out back, a single-car garage, and a partial second floor overlooking the street. The original brick exterior was imperfectly matched with newer vinyl siding and wooden shingles on the extensions.

It was more functional than beautiful, but it looked like home.

As I started up the walkway, I saw Gina coming out of the house next door, holding a large salad bowl covered in plastic wrap.

"Good thing you came out when you did. I think I was about to ring the wrong doorbell."

Gina laughed as she replied, "My extended family owns close to half this block. This is my house, and my brother Tony owns the bungalow over there. My cousins, Angela and Vinnie, own the two sides of that duplex, and my uncle, Sal, owns the garage on the corner and the houses on either side. But you found the right home. Mamma is still the beating heart of our family."

She walked past and opened the front door, yelling, "Mamma, your doctor's here, and he's brought you flowers."

"I told you he was a nice boy," came the shouted reply. Gina set her salad down on the crowded entry table and turned to me.

"Come on, you're letting the cold air in."

******

The inside of Bella's house was filled to overflowing with mismatched furniture, artwork, and people. The front entry hall was covered in plastic mats to protect the parquet floor from melting snow and road salt. The mats, in turn, were covered in a rat's nest of winter boots and shoes. The dining room and kitchen looked like snapshots from the seventies, being dragged, kicking and screaming, into the new millennium.

There had to be a couple of dozen people spread throughout the main floor, ranging from a girl just old enough to walk to a man who was old enough that he now matched her mobility, but without her enthusiasm. There was conversation and laughter on all sides, and Gina was immediately pulled away into a discussion.

I couldn't help but notice the smells wafting through the house. The sweet aroma of tomato sauce seasoned with fresh-grown herbs, the savory warmth of ground pork mixed with homemade Italian sausage, and the creamy tang of real buffalo mozzarella as it melted over both. Layered over top was the unmistakable scent of garlic butter baking into fresh bread. My mouth was watering before I'd even taken off my shoes.

I was about to give my compliments to the chef when the windows started rattling. A few seconds later, a jetliner passed straight overhead on its final descent into Logan.

"That's JetBlue flight B6 652 from Orlando to Boston, flying an Airbus A321neo with the new LEAP-1A engines."

I looked down to see a young boy, maybe 9 or 10, looking up at me with a serious expression. After a moment, I realized he was waiting for a reply.

"Is the Airbus A321neo your favorite?"

"I prefer the Boeing 777-300ER. It's the biggest twin-engine jet in the world. Its GE90 engines are the largest turbofans ever built. But my favorite is the Airbus A380-800. It's the world's largest passenger jet, and it has two passenger decks. But they don't fly into Logan very often anymore, just the Lufthansa flight from Munich."

He sure knew his airplanes.

"I flew on an A380 once, with Singapore Airlines out of New York City, when I went to visit my aunt in Japan for the summer. I was only a little bit older than you are, and it had only been in service for a couple of years at the time."

The child's eyes grew as wide as saucers, and he was rendered temporarily speechless, although he quickly recovered.

"Did you count the passengers?"

I was saved from admitting that I hadn't by the boy's mother, who arrived just in time to distract him.

"My apologies if Gio's bothering you, as you can probably tell, he really likes his airplanes. And I'm Maria."

"I'm Alex, and he seems like a great kid," I replied with a smile. "You can never know too much about airplanes, right, buddy?"

"Be that as it may," Maria replied before Gio could answer, "We should still give you time to get settled."

She gave me a quick tilt of her head in thanks for my kindness as she led Gio to the family room at the back of the house. I made my way into the kitchen and saw that Bella was putting the finishing touches on a Caprese salad.

"Everything smells wonderful, Bella. You must have spent all day cooking."

Bella waved her hand and made some dismissive noises, as if to say it was nothing. With so many people in the house, I didn't know when I'd have another chance to speak with her, so I asked about her health.

"How are you feeling today? Did the medication help with your symptoms?"

"You know how it is, you get old, and your body stops working properly. Just this summer, I could still walk to the grocer and back without trouble; now I get winded going up and down the stairs. But not to complain; I'm still on the right side of the grass."

"Would you consider coming back into the hospital to follow up? Nothing to worry about, but I'd feel more comfortable if we did a little more testing on your heart. My colleague, Dr. Singh, is a top-notch cardiologist, and she'd take very good care of you."

Bella seemed unconcerned and waved her hand again as she went to the fridge.

"I'll come see you when things settle down in the new year, I promise."

"I'll hold you to that."

******

I spent the next hour meeting various members of Bella's extended family. I tried to remember everyone's names, but the task was made exponentially harder by the stream of people coming and going with distressing regularity. Just as the food was being brought to the table, however, a final member of the family came storming through the front door, preceded by a blast of cold air and her sultry, but clearly annoyed, voice.

"I made it, Nonna, no thanks to my damned car. You and Mamma can stop with the texting now. I still don't know what's so special about this dinner that you needed me to drive all the way across town to be here."

The room fell silent around me, but I hardly noticed. As sultry as her voice had been, it didn't hold a candle to the woman herself. She looked like a younger version of Gina, with high cheekbones, aquiline features, and dark almond-shaped eyes, framed by thick lashes. She was tall enough to be a fashion model and carried herself with an easy, athletic grace, even while wearing a heavy winter coat and stylish, calf-high boots.

Bella gave the new arrival a welcoming smile as she said, "Isabella, this is our dinner guest, Dr. Fitzgerald."

I blushed deeply as I realized why I'd been invited. I started to stammer a greeting, but Isabella cut me off.

"Oh, hell no, Nonna, not this again. And Mamma, shame on you. You pulled me out of the lab for this?"

As she berated her mother and grandmother, Isabella sat back down in the front entry and began to put her boots back on. Before she could go, I found my voice.

"Please stay. I'll leave instead. I didn't realize... I wouldn't want to make you feel uncomfortable in your family's home."

There was a momentary pause as Bella, Gina, and Isabella prepared to resume their argument, but Gio spoke first.

"No. I don't want my friend to leave. He's flown in an A380, Isabella. Please?"

As he spoke, Isabella's scowl softened into a smile.

"He flew in a real A380? How many passengers were on it?"

"I don't know, Mamma took me away before he could tell me."

"That sounds like something my sister would do," she replied, glancing affectionately at Maria. Then she turned her intense espresso-colored eyes on me, and I froze.

"So, Dr. Fitzgerald. How many passengers were there on this A380?"

I could see the barest flicker of a smile on her lush lips as she put me on the spot. With an effort, I pulled my gaze away from her and tried to think of a response.

"Well, I was just a teenager at the time, and I..."

Gio was now watching me along with Isabella, while the rest of the family waited with bated breath.

"I don't know, Gio, that sounds like an excuse to me."

I did my best to think back to that wretched flight, when I had been exiled to Japan for the summer, while the rest of my family took an "adults only" holiday together in Europe. How many seats had there been across the center of the plane...? Then I remembered the kind stewardess who'd noticed my tears, and I had my answer.

"Gio, how many passengers could an A380, flying for Singapore Airlines in 2011, carry?"

"475. Six in First Class, 82 in Business, 44 in Premium Economy, and 343 in Economy," he replied without hesitation.

"In that case, there were 474 passengers on my flight," I stated as I broke into a cocky grin.

"How can you be sure?" Isabella asked, but in a more playful tone.

"Well, I charmed one of the stewardesses into giving me an upgrade, and she told me that the only free seat on the flight was in first class, so that's where she put me."

Gio's eyes grew comically wide once again.

"You flew in first class?"

"I did. Why don't you sit beside me at dinner, and I can tell you all about it? If your aunt is okay with me staying..."

Isabella knew she'd been outmaneuvered, so she surrendered gracefully.

"I guess that would be alright. It would be a shame for you to come all this way and miss out on my Nonna's lasagna."

******

Dinner with the Amato family was like nothing I'd ever experienced. They were loud and gregarious, talking at and over each other constantly, punctuating their thoughts with hand gestures and the occasional insult. Bella presided over the chaos from the corner of the table closest to the kitchen, and everyone else pitched in to keep the food moving and the wine glasses full.

I couldn't help but steal an occasional glance at Isabella, but she seemed to make a point of ignoring me, which was fair enough, I guess. She hadn't asked to be set up with some random doctor, and, from her reaction, this wasn't the first time that something like this had happened to her. I was shaken from my reflection by a question from Gio.

"What do you think Santa Claus will bring you for Christmas this year?"

"I'm on holiday coverage this year, so I'll be working at the hospital from Christmas Eve to Christmas morning. I think Santa will probably just skip me this year."