“What does that mean?” “She sounds like somebody who organizes emotions with construction paper.” Claire laughed. “That is alarmingly accurate.”
“And the man she’s marrying?”
“Tom. Accountant. Very calm. Owns exactly two sweaters he considers formal.”
“Sounds stable.” “He is.” “You approve?” “I didn’t at first.”
“Why?” “He was boring.” Jack looked offended on Tom’s behalf. “And now?”
“I learned boring and peaceful are not synonyms.” “Good lesson.” Claire turned toward him. “You’re not boring.”
“Thank you?” “It was not entirely a compliment.” The terminal clock clicked past eleven. Christmas Eve had narrowed to an hour.
Some passengers slept. Others became louder in the false energy of exhaustion. The coffee kiosk closed. A gate agent distributed blankets from a supply cart.