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Living the Life of Holly
By Holly Winter
The Best Present

“Merry Christmas!” I said into the phone.

“Yeah.” My little sister said.

“What’s wrong?”

“Kyle lost my new Christmas CD. I can’t believe it. I’m searching everywhere. ‘Kyle. Did you have it in the daycare?’ She sighed. “He doesn’t know.”

I laughed. “Your Christmas is way nicer than mine so far.”

“Why. What’s going on?”

“Well. Remember those nice, expensive pottery bowls I bought Cool-guy for Christmas from Uncle Rudy’s shop?”

“Yeah. Did he like them?”

“Well. He didn’t open them yet. But. Yesterday he told me that he didn’t like pottery. He prefers wooden bowls.”

Little sister stopped breathing. “That’s not funny.”

“I know. And get this. Last night we had this party and everyone there knew what he had gotten me for Christmas. They said I was going to love it and that he had been really, really sneaky about getting just the right thing for me.”

“That’s great.”

“No it’s not. I’m not earning money this year, remember? I got him a few photographs of our trip and those pottery bowls and a couple of books.”

“Oh. No.” She said. “It’s too late to buy him a shirt, isn’t it?”

I was downstairs in my writing room wrapping the last of the gifts. “A shirt? That’s the best you can come up with on Christmas morning?”

“Oh. Good. I found the CD.”

“I feel so much better.” I lied.

“Yeah. Well. Maybe you should make him a certificate promising him a week away.”

“No. I can’t afford that. No. He’ll have to suffer through the pottery.”

I carried all my wrapped gifts upstairs and placed them under our miniature Christmas tree. My pile of gifts to give away was by far the smallest.

The giving started. There was no escaping. Was it still too late to have something delivered here… to his house… say in the next ten minutes or so? I had wanted to buy him bigger, more elaborate gifts. Maybe I should have put more on my credit card?

No. I’d spent enough. And. It wasn’t my fault if he didn’t like what I gave him. He’d pointed the stuff out, not knowing I was paying close attention. Maybe he’d learn to give out long, detailed hints. And maybe I’d have to learn to ask more.

He opened the Harry Potter book and laughed. “Thanks honey. I wanted to read that.”

I opened two little picture frames. “Love these.” I said, leaning in for a kiss.

He opened the antique wooden spoon. “I’ve never seen a spoon like this. Where’d you get it?”

“I picked it up somewhere.” I said, coyly. Actually it came from my parent’s house. My dad was about to archive it in the garage as my mother was tired of it. I nabbed it as a perfect gift for my favorite chef. It had been my grandmother’s.

I opened a medium box and undid the tissue paper. There was a rough, heart shaped crystal rock wedged inside.

“Where’d you get this?”

“I found it on a walk behind my house.” He smiled. “Do you think you’re the only one who can find heart shaped rocks?”

“Nobody has EVER given me a heart rock before. Well. Eliza did once. From Hawaii. But. This? This’s amazing. I LOVE it.” I got up and gave him a big kiss. “Thanks so much. It’s perfect for my collection.”

He laughed. “Good.”

He opened the photo of me walking in the sand. His favorite photo of our trip. The one where I’m not facing the camera. “I love this.” He smiled. “Thanks so much.”

I pulled the biggest box closer. He had cut out butterflies and taped them all over the wrapping paper. “I like the butterflies.” I smiled as I ripped the box open. Oh. Oh. Just what I wanted. A laptop carrying case. “Thanks so much, honey-boy.”

“Yeah. I’m not carrying your computer around Europe ever again.”

“Oh. This is perfect.”

“You sure? You can get a different one if it isn’t right.”

“Thanks. But. I don’t need two cases. One’s enough.”

He laughed and opened the larger pottery bowl. “Cool. I love it. Look at these glazes.”

I relaxed. “I wasn’t sure you would like it. You pointed it out in Uncle’s shop then said a few days ago that you hate pottery.”

“You’re dreaming. I never said I don’t like pottery. I love this. I’m going to eat cereal out of it as soon as we’re done.”

I started breathing.

I opened the next box. Slippers. Sheepskin slippers. “Oh. Perfect.” I said, slipping them on.

“Do they fit?”

“Yes. Yes. Yes. And man. They’re so fluffy.” I took one off and stuck it over his hand. “Look at how fluffy it is.”

“I know how fluffy it is.” He laughed. “I bought it, remember?”

He opened his next gift. A smaller pottery dish with three legs. “Oh.” He laughed. “I remember loving this, but not loving the price.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“This is the new guacamole dish, isn’t it?”

“Whatever you say.” I laughed.

I opened some stationary. He opened a photo collage I’d made with nineteen photos from our European vacation. I opened a necklace. He opened a mug. I opened a gift certificate for a two hour, professional massage. He opened the book, Tuesdays with Morrie.

“I love my presents.” He laughed.

“Why is that funny?”

“Nobody ever gets me presents I like.” He chuckled. “You did great honey.” He kissed me tenderly.

“Yeah? I’m glad you like them. But. Um. Next time how ‘bout some hints.”

I started cleaning up the wrapping paper that was strewn across the room. I organized my gifts into a neat little pile. I unzipped my laptop case. You know. It’s fun to play with new zippers. And besides. I wanted to remove all that foam filling that they stuff into new luggage.

“Hey. There’s a gift in here.” I said. It was the last thing I expected to see.

“Really?” He smiled. “Who would leave a present in a computer suitcase?”

A shirt. Another shirt. Some socks. A CD. Each pocket had another wrapped gift.

“What kind of man would wrap a series of gifts and hide them in another gift and wait for them to be discovered?” I teased.

“A man who loves you very much.”

I froze. We hadn’t said the ‘love’ word yet. But. That’s not what we were talking about, was it? “Sweet Cool-guy. That’s not what I’m talking about, that ‘L’ word. I’m saying that I love my gifts but you really bought too many.”

He laughed. “You may not be talking about the ‘Love’ word, but I am. And I plan on using it a whole lot more, so you’d better get some color back in your face and breathe when you hear it.”

I smiled. I tried to breathe. Sure. I liked him. I liked him a lot. And. There were many, many lovable things about him. Tons and tons. He treated me so well. We had so much fun together. We had everything in common.

He laughed again and rubbed my jaw. “You don’t have to say that you love me.” He said quietly. “I know you do. I know by the way you rub my beard and the way you wake up early in the morning even when you don’t have to to make me muffins and the way you drive up here to see me even if we can’t have much time together. You don’t have to say it.” He kissed me.

I know I didn’t have to say it. He started telling a funny story about stirring brown rice with a wooden spoon. I wasn’t listening. I wanted to say the “love” word. I was ready. It scared the hell out of me. It was as if once I said it, I would be held to that word for the rest of my life.

I was hyperventilating and trying to listen to his story and trying to sort through my feelings. I did love him. He knew it. And. He knew that I knew it. Why did I have to make things so difficult? I could say that I loved my presents, but not that I loved him? Ok. Now. Now. Now. I was going to say it now. I was going to interrupt him right now and say it.

“So.” He was saying. “He would call me wherever I was and tattle, ‘Josh’s breaking the glutens.”

I took a deep breath. Why do I make everything so damn difficult? How ridiculous I was. Oh. I know. I know. The best present I could give him didn’t cost any money. Ok. Ok. Ok. I was ready.

I took another deep breath which made my voice come out a bit high. “You know. I love you, too. I love you so much… But… boy. You’ve gone too far with all those presents.” Oh. God. That present part slipped out. I didn’t want to say that. Oh. Man. I messed it up. I messed it up.

“Too far?” He asked while the sweetest smile spread across his face. “That’s exactly where I intended to go.”

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