Between Swerves and Stillness
A Short Story About Winter Nights, Holiday Lights, and Going It Alone
This little winter story—about wearing pajamas under winter coats and finding your own holiday coziness and joy—began with a single sentence from a prompt given to me by a fellow Substacker. I originally wrote it for her publication, but then I thought my subscribers might enjoy a little holiday magic, a cozy tale, and some festive Снегурочка Катя (Baby Winter Princess Katya) photos, too...
Her breath fogs up the windshield glass in wintertime. She draws a devil, crooked-grinned and mischievous, with a Santa hat. A yawn escapes her throat.
KC eyes the driver, who yawns too.
The other night, she had taken an Uber at 1 AM after a night out dancing in Bushwick. That night, she wasn’t alone.
After buckling her seatbelt, she bubbled on about how grateful she was for cozy corners of Brooklyn, dancing with friends, and celebrating the best people in the universe. Her bestie nodded, eyes fixed warily on the Uber driver. KC’s chatter filled the car while her friend clutched her seat, bracing for every turn.
It had taken KC too long to ask what was wrong. One of them had fight-or-flight instincts; the other didn’t want the night to end.
Turns out, the driver had been yawning and swerving.
“So sorry, we feel really dizzy—can you drop us off?” they had said.
He stopped. They’d lived to Uber another day.
Tonight, KC doesn’t care if the driver is yawning or swerving. They are gridlocked anyway. Fifth Avenue is a glittering standstill of brake lights, decorated awnings, and bundled-up pedestrians spilling into the street. She isn’t the only one trying to see the tree at the dark of night.
She leans her forehead against the cool glass, absentmindedly tracing loops and faces in the fog as the car inches forward. The crowds thicken as the sidewalks overflow with people wrapped in scarves and wonder. The tree comes into view at last—a glowing marvel towering above the ice rink, its lights spilling out into the night.
The car stops a few blocks away, unable to go farther in the holiday gridlock.
“That’s fine,” she mumbles, stepping out into the sharp cold.
She's seen the tree every December for years, but this is the first year no one invited her to go. When the thought had struck her, alone in bed that night, she had gotten up, thrown on a winter coat over her pajamas, and called a car.
KC marvels at the tree, feeling waves of joy—joy in following her own whims, joy in the holiday magic, joy in witnessing the smiles and laughter of strangers around her.
With a peaceful sigh, she pulls out her phone to order a ride home. But when the app matches her with the same drowsy driver, she cancels so fast she nearly drops her phone.
Freezing a little longer doesn't seem so bad beneath the blanket of the crowd...
I came from Russia, where New Year's is very festive, and every household has a tree to decorate. I grew up surrounded by the scent of pine needles and the excitement of decorating our favorite tree each year. So, when I visit the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree every year—even though I don’t celebrate Christmas, and Jews here like to tell me I’m not supposed to have a Christmas tree, and the crowds are awful—it still reminds me of something familiar, even if it’s different now.
Seeing the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree—and December in general—isn’t always the coziest or happiest time. Last year, my sister had a full-on panic attack from being squished in the crowd.
And yet, it’s so romantic. I’ve only gone to the tree once for a kiss with a man—a great kiss and an even better picture—which sometimes feels like the main reason people go there.
The Christmas trees and I, we’re in an ongoing romance.
Every year, a new tree (Ёлка), and yet it always feels the same—comforting, and awe-inspiring, even in the chaos.
Our love lasts through continents, cultures, traditions, religions, and across time. I couldn’t resist writing this love story.
Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it—let me know!
I keep writing short stories and not publishing, but since Olivia shared it in her publication, I felt like I could share it in mine.
Sharing this feels like a step toward being braver in 2025. Instead of getting stuck on specific goals, I’m aiming to grow braver, more authentic, and more romantic with each year—feeling that this is a good direction.
Like many fiction stories, this one is true.
Although I never went to the tree alone as my main destination, I totally would—it's just that my friends and family always invite me first.
That said, I dedicate this story to Falls, who brings the holiday spirit every year with her caroling and texted me: "I'm so lucky—so many great friends, including you. Was just hearing something about being alone this weekend and was remembering our conversation about the last chapter of Good Material. With good friends, being single does not mean being alone."
I also dedicate this story to Debbie, one of my oldest friends, who is my rock, who listens to me yap so patiently, and who has saved me many times, including getting us out of the swerving car after Falls' birthday party.
Debbie, Falls, and all my other readers, I’m wishing you a safe, cozy, and joyful holiday season as you cherish your own traditions. Here’s to making more memories in 2025!
Cheers,
Katya