Page 67 of The Surprise
She meets my gaze for a moment, and then she nods.
“So do gifts.” I smile. “Want yours now?”
She tenses. “I didn’t get—”
“Stop,” I say. “If you knew my mom, you’d know that our love language—pounded into us by her—is giving gifts. Ironically, my mom doesn’t seem to care about getting them much, but boy does she give good ones.”
“It’s just that—”
“You must not have many friends,” Ethan says. “This is what friends do.”
She freezes. “I don’t, no.”
You’re an idiot, Ethan. Change the subject, quick.“Okay, well. Wait here for one second.”
As soon as I grab the gift, I wonder if I made a huge misstep. I bought this thinking that I’d tell her how I felt andthenI’d give it to her. What will she think about it now?
“Why are you so happy?” she asks. “Are you just a huge fan of Christmas?”
I feel a little bit like a jerk, sharing my news when her day was clearly bad. “Well. The thing is, apparently Amanda Saddler bought the ranch for us, so it was a pretty good Christmas, as stuff like that goes. Oh yeah, and we aren’t moving back to Houston. Steve proposed to Mom, and she said yes.”
Beth straightens immediately, her eyes widening alarmingly. “What?”
She’s frozen like that for at least five seconds, and I’m worried she’s disappointed. Was she happy to be rid of me?
Then her entire face lights up. “I wish I’d known that earlier. I might not have melted down at all. What awesome news! Congrats to your mom, too.”
“Thanks.”
She reaches her hands out. “I’m ready for my gift now.”
I cringe a little bit. “The thing is.”
“Just give it.”
I swallow. “But you might think—”
“Ethan Elijah Brooks.”
She finally used my whole name, and it feels like she’s claiming me, somehow. Like she’s acknowledging that I’m hers.
She cocks her head, clearly tired of waiting. “Hand it over.”
I do, but my heart beats frantically while she opens it.
“What is this, exactly?” she asks.
I cringe a little. “So, I had atonof shirts from high school. My mom made me a quilt with one of them—”
“No way,” she says. “That’s something—”
“Dude,” I say. “Let me finish.”
Her mouth snaps shut.
“But these were leftover from that. They’re my B-string t-shirts.”
“Did youmake this?”
