“It’s good.” But his voice is an octave higher than normal.
“You hate it,” I say, looking away.
“I said it’s good. It’s just not. . .”
“The same,” I finish for him.
“No, it’s not, but for your first try,” he raises his eyebrows in surprise, “It’s good.” His voice goes up again.
“Stop it; you don’t have to lie. My dad mostly made it. I burned the rice the first time,” I admit, frowning.
“I knew it!” He slaps the table, and I jump in surprise. “No way you could make this awesome jambalaya, have a perfectly clean kitchen, and look gorgeous in four hours. I knew you had help.” He claps his hands together like he won something.
All I hear is “awesome jambalaya,” which I repeat, questioning him.
“It’s definitely not the same, but it’s still really good,” he says, taking another bite and not hiding his satisfaction. I lightly hit his shoulder, making him laugh, and begin eating also. After we eat, clear the table, and finish loading the dishwasher, I put the leftovers up. Chase goes to put in the movie, and I go to the dining room to get his present. It’s a big box, and I really hope he likes it. I kind of stepped out on a limb for it. He’s never said he wanted anything like it, and it was expensive, but I ordered it before we were together, and well, here goes. I come back into the great room carrying it wrapped in plain blue paper with red, green, and yellow ribbons tied around it. Confused he jumps up and looks at me.
“Happy birthday, ta-da,” I sing softly.
“How did you know—is this why you—what did you do?” he asks. It’s dark, but I can see his face darken in an embarrassed blush.
“Technically, it’s Christmas and birthday combined. I hope that’s OK, but open it,” I say, as I put it down on the couch. He comes over and sits beside it. He looks at it for a long moment and then slowly pulls the ribbons one at a time. They fall open easily since I didn’t tie any knots in them, just bows. Then he tears off the paper. He’s so gentle in his unwrapping I could probably use this paper again for his next birthday present. The box is a shipping box, so I get the scissors so he can cut the tape. Once he does he sees the black logo’ed Gibson t-shirt and Gibson box. He looks at me as he moves the shirt and sees the picture of the ukulele. I can’t see his face; I don’t know what he’s thinking, if he likes it or not. I’m anxious. What if he doesn’t like it?
“It’s their Les Paul Vintage sunburst ukulele. I thought you could use it for a song or something. A lot of main stream bands and musicians use them. Train, Jason Mraz, Tom Petty, Eddie Vedder have all used them, and they have a cool sound,” I explain.
“I know,” is all he says as he traces the box with his finger.
“I didn’t think you or anyone had one, and I thought you guys might have fun with it. The other option was heritage cherry sunburst, but I thought the black suited you.” I wring my hands as he lifts the box out and opens the flaps to reveal the ukulele and its accessories.
“I know,” he repeats softly as he traces the strings. “My first guitar was my dad’s old one. Then three years ago he bought me the Gibson I have now. I’ve been looking at these because I agree it’s a cool sound, but I was going to get a used one to see if I liked it. I can’t believe you got this for me. It’s too much.” He lifts it out and strums the strings. We both smile.
“You like it?” I ask.
“I love it.”
“Play me a song,” I say, as I turn to go back to the kitchen. He begins to strum it, not really playing anything, just listening to it. I bring the cake out and hold it so he can see it.
“Cake too? How long have you planned this?” he asks rising and meeting me in the kitchen.
“I ordered the ukulele months ago, and I always intended on making you cake on your birthday. I made it all by myself, well with a little help from Pillsbury.”
“I never told you when my birthday was.”
“I noticed you before we ever spoke too,” I smile, as he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me tightly against him. He kisses me softly and tenderly. His kiss is pure, and my heart explodes with love. It overflows and feeds my blood with warmth to the rest of my body. “I love you,” I breathe against his cheek as he begins to trail soft kisses along my jawline leading to my neck.
“Best. Birthday. Ever,” he smiles between kisses.
Lana
Over the next few weeks, everyone seems busy, like lightning-speed busy. Between school, work, Chase, and her friends, Lacey is a whirlwind that I catch in passing. Mom works late almost every evening, Dad too actually, but I wonder how much work he’s doing. Lacey and I only get to spend one good Saturday afternoon Christmas shopping, and even that is at a zoom’s pace. Tomas spends his free time at my house; we only go to his when he knows his dad is at work. His mom seems to like me, but I’m not sure if I can trust that at face value. I mean, they seem like a pretty straight-forward family. After all, his dad gave me the cold shoulder right away when he met me at Thanksgiving. Britt and Tomas are getting along even better than before. I also still think it’s an act, but how does that saying go? “Fake it till you make it.” She and I are finishing up our Christmas shopping, of course the night before. Well, my Christmas shopping and her Christmas shoplifting. The past three weeks I’ve worked crazy chores trying to earn extra money; I even cleaned Lacey’s bathroom (ilk!) for ten dollars. I think she felt sorry for me since I don’t have a job. I stocked up on yarn and made long arm gloves, fingerless gloves, scarves, and neck warmers for everyone. I knitted Tomas a hat with the softest cashmere yarn. It was twenty-five dollars a skein, but I loved it’s black and grey mixture. I get all my yarn from a website that is literally my obsession. I want to get him something nice to go along with it, so Britt and I are wandering the department store.
“What about cologne?” Britt asks, fingering the labeled gift sets.
“I could get a nice frame and put in one of the pictures of us that I printed last week at the drugstore,” I suggest. “Match the frame to the hat I made him.” Britt had looked enviously at the hat when I showed it to her. She couldn’t stop touching it, going on and on about how soft it was. She didn’t know I made her a hat too, out of red and pink cashmere yarn, with ear flaps and long ties that had little poof-balls on the ends that matched the one on the top. I can’t wait to surprise her with it.
“You guys are such a couple. Did I tell you Todd asked me out?” She looks around before sliding a tester cologne into her purse. Really Britt? The tester? I think she’s a kleptomaniac. I wonder what Dr. Mase would say about it. We wander toward the home goods and picture frames.
“Did you say yes? You know you like him, especially since you dumped Jake. Will it be weird between them?”
“I said yes, but Jake is cool. He’s dating Samantha. You remember from the party, the one who gave you a hard time?” My eyes bug out of my face.
“Eww.”
“I know.” She rolls her eyes, but then begins to fidget. “Are you sure it’s OK that I spend the night tonight? I mean, I’ve never spent the night at your house, and it’s Christmas. Shouldn’t that be a family thing?” I’m not leaving her alone for another holiday; she and I both know her mom is going out tonight.
“It’s low key, dinner, presents, and Tomas will be there too. Just please be on your best behavior. My parents like you, so you don’t have to prove anything.”
“Will Chase be there?” I look up from the frame I’ve picked and give her my “Don’t start” look.
“I know, I know, best behavior. Besides the only girl that exists in the world is Lacey.” She rolls her eyes again, and I laugh at her. I make my purchase, and we arrive at my house. The tree is showcased in the living room window off the front porch, and you can see it from the street. Snow covers the ground, but my dad has re-shoveled any wandering, windblown snow so that the walk lo
oks clean. We enter and immediately take off our shoes. We hear Christmas music floating from the kitchen. Christmas is really the only time my mom becomes domestic. The past few days she’s seemed to be out of her funk. She’s baked crazy amounts of sugar cookies and snickerdoodles; she decorated a gingerbread house and made hot chocolate after dinner for us all. Britt follows me up the stairs carrying her overnight bag while I have my two bags of purchases.
“It smells so good in here,” she says as she follows me up.
“Mom’s baking a ham,” I smile. Every Christmas dinner for as long as I can remember has been ham. We walk past Lacey’s room, and Britt pauses to watch Lacey and Chase play a video game. They sit on the other side of her bed on the floor, laughing and flirting, but overall are just acting like Lacey and Chase— Well the Lacey and Chase that they are when they don’t know anyone is watching. I pause too. Chase says something that we don’t hear, and she turns to look at him. Then they lean in and kiss. She watches them with sad eyes. I grab her arm and drag her to my room. She drops her bag by the door and looks around.
“My house is shit,” she says as she crosses the room and plops down on my bed.
“Huh?” I ask, disappearing into my closet to get my wrapping paper and gift boxes.
“Nothing,” she mutters.
“Help me wrap this.” I spread the paper across the floor and take out the picture frame. She crawls down and helps me. I also wrap the tie I bought my dad, careful to remove the discount tag (original price, $29.95; sale price, $4.98), and the pretty blouse I got my mom. Everyone else gets the knitted treats, but those are already wrapped and under the tree. We don’t open all of our presents on Christmas Eve. It has always been always a tradition to open one, and this year since we have friends, we’re exchanging with them too. Britt and I hang out until there’s a knock at the door; it’s Tomas, and I jump up and hug him.
“Merry Christmas,” he smiles. My mom stands behind him and looks at me. I beg her with my eyes because I know the rule. Tomas and I have to hang out in a communal area, i.e. with Chase and Lacey (though our parents still don’t know their dating) or downstairs with her or Dad. We spend a lot of time watching reality TV with Dad on the couch.
“Britt’s here,” I plead before she ships us downstairs. She looks at me for a long moment.
“OK. Dinner will be ready in about a half hour, and Nana should be here anytime.” As soon as she goes downstairs, I steal a kiss from Tomas. We hang out until dinner; then everyone goes downstairs to the dining room where my favorite dishes like green bean casserole and cornbread casserole, Nana’s flakey, buttery, from scratch croissant rolls, and the ham line the buffet on the side wall. We serve ourselves and sit to eat together. Dad says grace, and we dig in. No one talks while we all savor our food. If someone were to look in our window, we’d seem like a normal happy family. I pause and look around me. My mom and dad are pleasant and pretending to like each other while Chase and Lacey whisper between themselves, flirtingly bump elbows and who knows what else under the table. Tomas smiles at me sweetly, and Britt is totally charming Nana. I want to save this moment, and my heart swells as I realize how much I really love these people.
After we fill up on sweet treats for dessert until we all feel like we will explode, clean the dishes from dinner, and put the leftovers away, we all sit in the living room around the tree. It got really crowded in the kitchen as everyone worked feverishly, but now we each get to pick one present to open. I pick the one from Tomas which is a huge square box that is easily four feet by four feet. It feels like it takes up the whole room.
“Who goes first?” Britt asks, almost salivating over hers.
“You can, Dad smiles, “or we can all go together.” We all look at each other, and everyone laughs and tears into their gifts.
“Shut up!” Britt says, as she opens her hat and matching, fingerless, arm gloves. “I love them!” She rubs them against her face.
“Wow,” Tomas whispers. He puts on his new hat and smiles at the picture he took of us one day last week when we played in the snow. Our noses are pink, and our eyes are bright. It’s my favorite picture.
“Nice,” Chase says as he examines the twenty-dollar guitar picks Nana got him. I’m sure Lacey helped with that gift. He gets up and hugs Nana.
“Oh, honey; it’s so pretty,” Mom says as she opens Lacey’s gift, a elegant, antique brass candelabra and cream candles.
“This is nice.” Dad holds up his tie, pleased.
Nana has a tear in her eye as she looks at the quilt Mom has given her. “I remember you liked it when we went to Brown County last spring, and when I went back over the summer, it was still there. Do you like it, Mom?” I always feel weird when my mom calls her mom, Mom.
“What did you get?” Lacey asks me. I look at Tomas shyly. I see now why Chase and Lacey are saving their gift exchange for later. I open it and find a cardboard box under the wrapping paper—big shocker. I open it and am confused at what I see— thin wood pieces, what look like canvases for painting, multiple sizes from large to postcard size. There’s a box that holds about fifty tubes of paint, and a leather case holding some really nice brushes.
“This is too much,” I say looking at him.
No, it’s perfect, and I know where to put it. You can set up the easel by the window and paint or draw or whatever. You said you wanted to get into art, and I thought this would be a great place to start.” He was so thoughtful. I reach over and hug him. He smiles. We decide to watch National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation in the great room as Mom walks Nana out to her car. My parents go to bed and the rest of us pile up and watch the movie, laughing and having fun, rounding out this Christmas as my favorite of all times.
Later that night as Britt and I lie in my bed talking ourselves to sleep, she whispers, and I barely hear her. “You’re really lucky, you know.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Your family, I know it’s been rough, but you can tell that you all care for each other. You should be grateful for that; not everyone has that.” Her voice shakes, but it’s dark, and I can’t tell if she’s OK.
“I know,” I say softly.
“I don’t even know who my dad is. It wasn’t the guy my mom was married to. And he left us before I was born. I was twelve, and she was drunk when she told me that. She’s bipolar and can’t or won’t hold down a job. She gets in these manic moods, and I can’t do anything with her, or else she’s down and lays on the couch all day. I can’t even imagine what you think every time you come over, especially after seeing your house and your life.” I turn and face her. “Sorry for getting so dramatic,” she says, wiping her eyes. “It’s just, I’d probably be like you and Lacey, so confident if I grew up like this. But I understand why you’ve never brought me around. I get it.” I feel like mud. I didn’t want her to feel bad; I wanted her to have a good memory.
“That’s not true. I didn’t want you to see our dysfunction. And I admit; I was a little afraid your badass-ness would scare my parents. You are a survivor. You terrify me with your shoplifting, but I get it, why you do it. I’m not anyone to judge another person. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that you don’t know what kind of life someone lives that lead to the decisions they make. You’re my best friend; you accepted me for who I am, scars and all.” I lift up my arm and pull down my sleeve and show her my arm. She’s never asked to see my scars; I’ve never offered. She begins to cry again. “And I accept you, scars and all.” I cry a little too, and then sometime much later, we finally fall asleep.
Lacey
Christmas presents are the usual. Clothes, gift cards, and more clothes are strewn across my bed. I try to decide what to wear to Chase’s. I’m kind of sad. He’s leaving this evening to visit his grandparents in Michigan for five days. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but they haven’t met Chase Livingston. I decide on an oversized wool sweater and j
eans with boots. After I’m ready, I get the Boulder Creek Restaurant gift card that I got for Mike and put it in a signed Christmas card. I figure he can take a date if he even dates. Chase has never mentioned his dad having a girlfriend, and I don’t think he ever goes out. He should; he’s hot for an old guy. I get lost in my daydream of Chase and me still being together when we’re Mike’s age, and of course, Chase will be hotter than Mike. I shake my head, jarring myself back to reality. I’m giving Chase a flash drive with a playlist of songs that remind me of him and pictures of us that we’ve been taking over the months. I’ve actually been promising the pictures for a while. We started taking shots when we’d spend our Saturdays together. There are a lot of pictures from the summer by the pool, riding around concerts we attended, and so on. At his birthday, I told him I wasn’t getting him a present because of the ukulele, but I only spent ten dollars on the flash drive, so it’s OK. I slide them into my purse, and I am on my way.
When I arrive at Chase’s house, he’s lounging on his couch in his TV room. I come in and drop my purse by the couch and collapse on it sideways, sighing heavily.
“Hey, love,” he says, not looking away from the 80’s action movie he’s watching.
“Hey,” I say, still not comfortable calling him anything but Chase, or old man. We sit silently for a few minutes before I take a deep breath and reach into my purse to retrieve the flash drive. “Here, Merry Christmas.” I toss it at him, and he catches it perfectly.
“What’s this?” He glances from me to the flash.
“Go check it out.” He rises, and I follow him to his bedroom where he sits at his computer. After he loads it, we listen to the music as we go through the pictures. Once we are done, he leans in and softly kisses my nose.
“Thank you.” He rises and leaves his room through the kitchenette.
Mia Castile - [The Butterfly Chronicles 02] Page 20
