Chapter Thirty-Four
Rye
Rye’sfingersfumbledwiththe tiny white bow on the package in his hands, and he glanced up at his mom for the third time in probably the last minute. She caught his eye and gave him a wink and an understanding smile as she finished drying the last of the dishes from breakfast.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about. He’s going to love it, sweetie,” she assured him, also probably for the third time.
He wanted to believe her, but he wasn’t so sure. After all, he’d never bought anyone a gift before. At least, not that he could remember. And Christmas... it just hadn’t existed for him for the last fifteen years. Not really, anyway.
All he had were little snippets of fuzzy memories that probably didn’t mean much. Times when the man had stayed gone for a really long time—multiple days, maybe—and then been extra mean when he’d returned. Rough. Violent. Angry. More angry than usual. And he’d ranted and raged and taken out his anger on Rye.
The last time had been the worst that Rye could remember. By far. He’d been so weak from hunger when the man had finally returned, and the man had wasted no time taking what he’d wanted. Rye could still hear his words, harsh and angry, as the man had held him down and hurt him.
“Merry fucking Christmas, huh? My least favorite time of the year. Goddamn holidays.” A rotten breath reeking of alcohol and cigarettes on his cheek. A hand pushing his head against the wall. “Stay fucking still, would you!”
Rye’s stomach churned, and he suddenly felt sick. Ifthatreally had been Christmas, it’d been the most awful Christmas ever. Awful and painful and dark, and he’d hated every minute of it. He could still feel—
No!
He closed his eyes with a sharp breath, willing himself to push the memory away before it could hurt him more. No, he wouldn’t go there. He wouldn’t go there. He’d stay here. Here, now, with his mom, in this warm, safe place.
His home.
He ran his fingers along the edges of the small package in his hands to try to keep himself present, or however his mom always said it.
The wrapping paper was smooth, the bow silky and soft. And though the package was small, it had weight to it. It was solid and real.
He took a deep breath in and then let it out slowly, though it shuddered a bit.
The gift was real. His mom and his home were real. Warmth and food and... happiness and joy and safety were all real. And his friend, Jake, who was coming over and should be here any minute, he was real.
This was a much, much better Christmas. ArealChristmas.
Opening his eyes again, Rye looked down at the package. He’d picked out the wrapping paper himself—blue and white with an ocean theme rather than traditional Christmas white, green, and red, because Jake loved the ocean. Rye had even wrapped it himself and tied the bow and everything. He’d planned to probably give it to Jake later that week, since they were supposed to have lunch again on Friday, when his mom had work. But then, when he’d texted Jake earlier, his mom had suggested inviting Jake over so Rye could give it to him today. She’d said maybe it would be more special that way.
So he had. Sort of. At least, he’d beenabout towhen Jake had beat him to it.
And the gift itself... HethoughtJake would love it. He’d immediately thought of Jake when he’d seen it in a magazine he’d been reading at the bookstore a couple of weeks ago, and his mom had agreed when he’d shown it to her. She’d said it was perfect. And he really did want to believe her.
Still, uncertainty gnawed at him. He looked up at her from where he sat at the dining table, and then he lowered his eyes again to the package.
“It’s... not much,” he managed. That wasn’t quite what he’d wanted to say, but his words were stuck, as they often were. And his chest was still tight, that earlier memory of what might have been last Christmas tugging at him, trying to bury him. He shook his head and glanced back up at his mom.
She’d just stuck the last dish into the cupboard with the other washed-and-dried dishes, and she smiled softly before walking around the island to join him at the dining table. She took the seat next to him and set her hands on top of his to steady his fidgeting.
The heaviness on his chest lifted slightly, and he took another deep breath. “He’ll... like it?”
“He will. It’s a lovely gift,” she said quietly. “And I just know he’ll appreciate it. You’re a thoughtful friend, Ryan. Jake will see that too.”
There was a light knock at the front door, and Rye tightened his fingers slightly on the gift.
His mom leaned over and kissed his temple, then patted his hands and stood. “Do you want me to answer it for you?”
He shook his head. “N-no. I can do it,” he said, and he pushed himself up to his feet.
“Okay, sweetie. I’m going to go to my room and finish wrapping a few more gifts.”
“O-okay.”
