It was a little frayed and had a missing button at the top, which was likely why Maggie picked it. She wasn’t the type to be greedy about shit that belonged to other people.
The jersey fell to the middle of her thighs, and her thick, black hair waved around her shoulders, nearly touching her elbows as she stepped closer.
But it wasn’t that sexy-as-hell, sleepy, sex kitten vibe she was pulling off that caught my attention. It was the way her eyes had gone all wide and glinting, how the lights from the lit tree twinkled against the moisture in those eyes as she stared at it.
“Smoke…”
Maggie didn’t need me to tell her whose names were written on all the presents under the tree. She could make out for herself that my family didn’t need a new crib or stroller. They didn’t need a tricycle or giant-sized stuffed bears. None of them had a need for a year’s supply of baby food or diapers or wipes or any of the shit Dino and the boys stacked around the tree, wrapped with red ribbons. Antonia had her own clothes. She didn’t need the ones wrapped up for Maggie or the coat and boots Ma sent up late last night along with jewelry and bags she’d never worn or used even once.
“Merry Christmas, beautiful,”I told Maggie, taking her hand when it looked like she wasn’t gonna move.
I expected a thank you.
Maybe a smile.
It was Christmas after all.
Before last night, I doubted Maggie had shit in the way of hope of a good holiday for her boy.
But I didn’t expect her to stop me just as we came to the tree.
I didn’t expect her to pull her hand from my hold and take the baby.
“Maggie?” I asked when she shook her head.
Her eyes welled with tears again before she dropped her head, clinging to the baby like he was gonna give her any kind of comfort.
“Why the fuck would you do something like this?” she asked.
