I wonder how much of her attachment to Mulholland was about his parents, but I don’t ask. The fact that she seems to be more upset about missing Christmas with them than lamenting the dissolution of her engagement is pretty telling.
“But I guess losing a parent is never easy. With your father, was it ...” She trails off, like she’s afraid to ask for details. And while it’s painful, I don’t mind telling her. After all, she knows this particular grief well.
“It was a pretty rapid decline. Only three months from the time he found out he was sick. And he didn’t tell me, initially. He’d known for a month before I figured it out and asked my mom. So for me, it was more like two months.”
It hadn’t been enough time for me to wrap my head around it, to come to grips with watching him waste away, then scrambling to pack in a lifetime’s worth of closure with a man who had no real interest in it.
“He did say he was proud of me,” I say quietly. “During our last two-sided conversation, before he couldn’t talk anymore. He said he was proud of me, but I don’t ... I don’t know if he meant it. Sometimes I think he just said it because he was dying.”
She doesn’t speak for a while, just keeps wrapping, before she asks, “Does it matter?”
I shake my head ruefully. “My therapist has asked me that so many fucking times.”
“And?”
I heave a sigh, and my gaze flicks to the TV, where the woman is getting spit roasted. Shaking my head, I look away. “No, it doesn’t matter. Even if he only said it because he was dying, he still thought to say it. And it doesn’t matter that he did, because I can’t live my life to try to make him proud. It was impossible then, and it’s even more impossible now. I can only try to be proud of myself.”
Her eyes shine as she presses her lips together. Finally, she whispers, “I really want to say I’m proud of you, but that seems counterproductive.”
I open my mouth to tell her that maybe it shouldn’t mean anything to me, but itdoes. But at that very moment, the woman on screen yells, “Do it! Fuck my little holes with those monster cocks!”
There’s a beat of silence. Valencia and I stare at the TV, then we both burst out laughing.
“This is too weird!” Valencia digs through a pile of discarded wrapping paper for the remote. “I can’t talk about grief and wrap a walking, talking Elmo during a DP scene. I’m sorry, I just can’t do it.”
I shudder as she hits pause. “I thought this would be sexy, but it just feelswrong.”
“I’m putting on a movie instead.” She navigates to the dashboard and picksThe Muppet Christmas Carol.
“Excellent choice, but this doesn’t count toward Day 10.” I jab a finger at her. “You’re not getting out of our agreement early.”
“Don’t worry,” she says breezily. “We’re still on for movies this weekend.”
We wrap presents while Valencia sings along with the movie. She knows every word, and it’s fucking adorable. Her voice isn’t very strong, but she can carry a tune, and there’s something pleasant about tying elaborate bows and thinking about the child who’ll open this gift, while Valencia sings “One More Sleep ’til Christmas” with Kermit the Frog.
When the song ends, she passes me another box. “Does your firm do this toy drive every year?”
“Yeah. Rodrigo’s in charge of it.”
She side-eyes me. “You give money, too, don’t you?”
“I can confirm that a monetary donation is also made on behalf of the Noble Foundation.”
“The Noble Foundation.” She repeats it under her breath, but she’s smiling. I have a feeling she’s going to look it up, so I save her the trouble.
“Do you want to see the press release listing our other charitable donations from the year?”
“Actually, I would.” She gives me a sunny smile. “And then I have a list of environmental groups you should recommend for next year.”
“Consider it done.”
She stares at me. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.” It’s funny that she thinks there’s anything I wouldn’t do for her. “My mother and I are the ones who make those decisions now. And she doesn’t require convincing the way my ...”
I can’t finish the sentence, but I don’t have to. Valencia pats my knee, and when a new song begins, she sings along with gusto. In between songs, we talk about work. She tells me about the Clean Air Act presentation she’s giving tomorrow, and I talk about a win with my latest immigration case.
Once all the presents are wrapped, she holds up three fingers. “Wrapping presents—three stars.”
