“It was the only thing I could find at this particular time of the year.” Now he sounds annoyed. “I can keep this.” He pulls the present out of my reach.
I put my hands up like a hostage negotiator talking to a guy in a bank demanding all the money and a helicopter. “Whoa, there. Let’s not do something we’ll regret.” I do love presents. Even surprise presents from people I’m not prepared to give presents back to. I reach for the gift and Beau hands it over without any more threats.
I shake the present and start my pre-opening ritual. It involves most of the senses (I draw the line at tasting wrapping paper). Beau looks tolerant when I look at the gift from all angles. It’s in a long rectangular box that’s deep. I shake it a little and hear some smaller items bumping into each other. It feels like a medium weight.
Beau looks less tolerant when I move on to smelling the present. “Mom is waiting...”
“Okay, okay, since this isn’t a Christmas present, I guess I can forgo finishing the whole ritual.” My tone lets him know how much of a sacrifice I’m making in the name of expediency.
“Much obliged.” His tone lets me know he doesn’t grasp, or care about, the full extent of my sacrifice.
I get down to business, ignoring the monster trying to rush my enjoyment.
Most people choose one of two methods on how to open presents. There are the impatient ones like Ajay, who tears into them like he’s been out to sea for months and this is the first hot meal he’s had that hasn’t come out of a can. And then there are the meticulous people in the world who wouldn’t dare destroy the beauty of the paper, like Priya, slowly sliding their fingers under the tape to carefully unwrap and folding the paper when they’re done to save it for their elaborate organizational rituals, I assume, before they even get to the present.
Me, I’m an ambi-opener. Just depends on my mood.
And right now, I’m exceptionally curious as to what this gift is, so I take the Ajay route. I rip into the paper and leave the remnants at my feet like physical reminders of my conquest.
When I get to the gift, I stop my frenzy. Everything is in a plain white box, so I put it on the bed to investigate further. I open it, wary about what’s inside, already thinking about what I’ll need to get him. Because there’s no way I’m going to let anyone out-Christmas me.
Shoot, maybe I do see Christmas as a competition. A hard fact to swallow since I recently judged Priya for doing the same.
But then I see what’s inside and I stop thinking about winning Christmas. Because the box is full of a few canvases of different sizes, a leather sketchbook and pens, and a wide variety of paints: oil, water, and acrylic that I can see from my quick glance.
He remembered. He remembered when I said I liked to paint.
I run my hands over the paints, looking up at him in appreciation. “You remembered.”
Beau looks uncomfortable with the adoration. “I thought maybe you might want to paint something while you were here, or work on interior design sketches, but noticed you didn’t bring anything with you. So if you were feeling the creative bug on vacation, you could enjoy.”
“Thank you. This is really considerate of you.”
“There’s one more thing in there.” He reaches under the large white canvases and pulls out a maroon sweater.
“What is this?” I didn’t really see Beau getting me clothes.
“It’s an ugly Christmas sweater for the University of South Carolina. The gamecocks.” He holds up the small sweater against his large frame, modeling it for me.
The piece of clothing has lines of patterns, with little gamecocks in Christmas hats alternating with Santas, Christmas trees, and candy canes in rows across the fabric. Even the gamecocks and Santas have on ugly sweaters.
And it’s the perfect garment, not only because of the Christmas cheer, but because of its connection to Beau. I snatch it out of his hands and hug it against my chest.
“This. Is. More amazing than the art supplies.” I start slow and get the rest out in a rush.
Now I’m bouncing like all the kids who got a Tickle Me Elmo the year that toy was impossible to find for Christmas.
“Actually, I lied. There’s one more part of this present.”
“More?”
“Well, sort of.” He reaches back into the magic closet of gifts and takes out another sweater, the same design but in a larger size.
Matchingugly Christmas sweaters?? I don’t even care that they’re for some random school in the South I’ve never been to, this gift rocks.
“I was already getting myself this one because Mom loves an ugly Christmas sweater party, but then I saw they had one in your size and I knew I had to get it.”
“Can I wear this to the parade?” I want to wear it now and never take it off.
