“But this says Thursday? We leave for France in two days? Oh, my goodness! I have to start packing!” Mom looks a little frazzled, but it’s clear she’s happy, and that’s good enough for me.
The newlyweds cuddle together, no doubt making travel plans, as Lucy opens a gift from her dad. It’s a sweater and she’s going on about how soft it is.
I take this opportunity to refill my coffee. I don’t need to think about Lucy’s soft sweater or her soft skin or what that sweater would look like in a pile on my bedroom floor. Walking back into the room, I spot Lucy reaching under the tree. “This one is from Kristy to Caleb,” she announces and hands it over to me.
It’s a small square box, and I have no clue what could be in it. But, with my usual lack of grace, I rip into the package and peel back the lid. There, in a nest of cotton, is a shiny silver clip. I look up at my mom, a question in my eyes.
“It’s a money clip. I don’t think people even use those anymore, but your dad swore by them. It’s just been sitting in my jewelry box for way too long. I had it cleaned. You can see his initials on the one side, but we can get yours engraved over them, if you want?”
“No,” I tell her, inspecting the money clip and seeingJRWin fancy script on the rectangular plate. “This is perfect. Thank you.” I hold it in my palm, its cold weight a boon to my still-battered heart. Over the years, my mom’s given me a bunch of things that belonged to my dad: a Flyers jersey, his vinyl collection, even a gold chain necklace when I graduated high school. But this—something he used and wore everyday—means even more.
I’m aware of all the eyes on me, and though I’m always one to hog the spotlight, I don’t need Lucy and her dad to see me cry. “What else is under there, Luce?” I ask.
She hands a package to her dad, and he beams as he opens the personalized planner she gave him. They gush over the features—who knew planners had features—and then everyone gathers their trash, the gift-giving portion of the day coming to a close.
“Hold up, there’s one more,” I crouch down next to Lucy, and I swear I can feel heat radiating from her body. I pull the pitifully wrapped present from its hiding spot and hand it to Lucy with a flourish. “This one’s for you.”
She looks surprised, though she shouldn’t be. After all, she gave me a really nice hoodie. If she can be thoughtful, so can I.
She peels back a thick layer of tape to reveal a cardboard box. Flipping it over, she reads, “SonaVision: The baby monitor parents trust most. Um…”
I laugh. “Yeah, don’t go by the box. That one was lying around the house. Open it up. I assure you I didn’t buy you a baby monitor.”
She opens the lid and empties the contents. The look of joy on her face does something to my heart. “Whit, are you kidding? Is this...”
I smile. “Keep going.”
She pulls out a vintage t-shirt and a little booklet and sets them next to the album. She’s giddy with excitement and that soothes the part of me that felt like I was selling my soul when I went online to buy boy band merchandise. And not just any boy band—her favorite. There’s a concert recording from 2014, complete with interviews with the band. It’s funny, but I vaguely remember that tour, not that I was a fan—I wasn’t. But they visited all the major cities that summer, and we were stuck at camp. Lucy was bitching that they were playing an hour away and she couldn’t be there to see them. I could do fuck all about it then, except insult her taste in music. But now? Well, it’s not quite the same as being there, but short of giving her a time machine, it’s damn close.
“Where did you find this stuff?”
“Etsy,” I shrug, not wanting her to read too closely into the fact that I, Caleb Whitman, the man famous for leaving tasks to the last minute, planned ahead and executed a kick-ass gift.
Chapter 10
Lucy
Alyssa:Sorry you’re having a rough night, hon. But I’m at the bar with Britt and Kenzi. You should Uber over here. It’s not a good idea to wallow. I know you. You’re curled up in your bed, eating junk, and binge-watching reality TV. That’s no way to deal with adversity. You should come drinking with us!
Lucy: No thanks. Have fun.
Ugh. Could today get any worse? Dad and Kristy left for the airport hours ago, and Whit’s nowhere to be found, so, just like Alyssa predicted, I’m on the couch, stuffing my face with snacks and watching a “Say Yes to the Dress” marathon.
That’s not the bad part.
The bad part is that I didn’t get the internship. Well, I did, technically. But so did Derek Stillman, my nemesis. In the history of the internship, it’s never been split. Never. I checked. It dates all the way back to 1981, and it’s never been shared.
Until now.
Stupid Derek. We’re the same age and the same major, and he’s been nipping at my heels since freshman year. The guy’s slimy and smarmy and no one I want to waste my time on, but he’s literally everywhere I go. When I joined the student government, he did too. When I began volunteering at the career center, so did he. The man is incapable of original thought. Instead, he’s devoted himself to copying my every move.
It’s way past my bedtime, but I’m not tired in the least. Sometime in the last hour, I decided that wine is the perfect accompaniment to Christmas cookies, so I’m self-medicating and washing my sorrows away in Cabernet.
Ha. That rhymes. I giggle, and that’s how I know I’m a little past buzzed.
After watching a prospective bride cry over an overpriced dress for approximately the four-hundredth time, I switch off the TV and decide to do something productive. But as I stand, the room spins just a little, so I take a second to gain my balance. Ok, note to self: half a bottle of wine is more than a serving.
I’m not drunk, just a little...loose. I laugh out loud again. Whit would like that.
