My eyes drift over to Aria. She’s looking at her plate and cutting her turkey but doesn’t seem to have noticed that her knife’s been scraping the plate for quite a while. Ruth lays a hand on her arm, subtly and discreetly. Aria’s hands are trembling as she puts her silverware down. Then they disappear beneath the table.
“How’s Brown?” my father asks, and Aria immediately picks up the thread, as if he’d tossed her a lifeline. I can see the relief shoot through her body. “It’s wonderful. Really. I love the people there.” She casts Wyatt a brief glance. “And with the exception of Mom and the mountains, I don’t miss a thing, really,not a thing.”
Wyatt’s Adam’s apple jerks up and down. He just stares at hisplate and grinds his teeth.
His sister is looking at him, then Aria, then back to him before clicking her tongue. “We got it, Aria, all right? He understands how happy you are without him. You knew that he would be here, and you knew that he fucked Gwen. Deal with it.”
My Dad curses. “Camila!”
But she just grunts, shrugs, and empties her champagne in one go. The legs of Gwen’s chair scrape across the floor as she pushes it backward and disappears through the door behind the counter. Paisley gives my arm a brief squeeze then follows.
Kate looks shocked. Her beets fall off her fork. She’s sitting stock-still in her chair and staring at Wyatt, who is tensed up next to me, holding onto the tablecloth with all his might. He wants to go, I know that much. He wants to go, but he’s holding back because he doesn’t want Camila to end up sitting around with him alone on Christmas Eve. He’s putting up with this for his sister, and I can feel that it’s tearing him apart.
The mood is awful. Gwen and Paisley haven’t come back, no one’s speaking, suddenly the Christmas music sounds like a funeral march, and William alone is humming along as if he were walking with the bees in a field of sunflowers on a hot summer’s day with his soul at ease and a pot of honey in his arms.
For the rest of the evening I count the number of glances that Aria and Wyatt exchange.
Obvious glances: zero.
Secret glances: the number is too high, the champagne too good, and, at some point, I simply can’t count anymore.
The next morning I’m woken up by something scratching my nose. I need three tries before I manage to open my eyes. A green ribbon finds its way into my nostril: Paisley’s dangling a little present in front of my nose. I look at the clock. Seven. Her eyes are glowing.
“Merry Christmas.”
I rub my eyes, sit up, and lean back against the head of the bed. It’s too early. I’m still out of order.
“What’s that?” My voice is sleepy and hoarse.
Paisley rolls her eyes. “Yeah, hmm, what is it, Knox? Looks like a giant shrimp, don’t you think? But I’m not sure. It’s reallysohard to figure out.”
I laugh, ruffle her blond hair, and take the package. It is big and heavy. I shake it, but it doesn’t make any sound.
Paisley impatiently waves her hands. “Open it already!”
To annoy her, I take my time. I look at the paper and amusedly note that Paisley is terrible at wrapping gifts. She patched the paper together in all sorts of places and used a hundred thousand strips of Scotch tape.
She punches my shoulder. “Come on! Do it already!”
I laugh, then tear open the paper. It’s a brown leather shoulder bag. Exactly the kind I wanted to buy myself.
“Now you’vegotto accept your offer to study,” Paisley says, bobbing up and down next to me in bed. She is so ridiculously happy about her present that I can’t do anything but pull her toward me and bury my nose in her flowery smelling hair. “Do you like it?”
“Just as much as I like you.” I can feel her smile against my cheek. “I’ve got something for you as well.” I softly push her to the side, get out of bed, and dig around in my desk drawer until I find the two little packages. “Here.” I clear my throat, and start to feel warm, as I’ve never given any woman other than my mom a gift.
Paisley looks so excited that I have to wonder when the last time she got Christmas gifts was.
In the first is a photo of the two of us that she took with my phone to show me how a story works on Instagram. I saved it, had it printed, and then framed for her. It’s just a photo, but Paisley clutches it to her chest and looks so happy that I almost believe it’smore than that.
“Thank you,” she says warmly.
I shift my weight from one foot to the other and notice my heart is beginning to race. “Open the next one.”
She dampens her lips with the tip of her tongue while her fingers strip the paper from the second packet in careful, excited movements and lift the lid of the small box.
Jackpot. Any moment now and Paisley’s eyes are going to fall out of their sockets. Every kind of emotion and delight crosses her face as she takes the silver charm bracelet out of the velvet cushion and looks intently at the small pendants. A pair of ice skates, some mountains, a heart, and a little bird. She takes it in her hand.
“Wyatt once told me that birds still sing even when they’re sad. That’s why there’s the little bird there. You remind me of one because you’re so strong.”
