She remembers the exact moment.
"It doesn't make me uncomfortable," she continues, still not meeting my eye. "It's nice to feel seen. To be seen as something other than a widow or a baby incubator. It helps me remember that I'm a real person, that I'm not just the sum of all the tragedies of the last six months."
"You are very much a real person," I say, stepping up close to her, wishing more than anything that our hands weren't full right now. "I see you, Abby. And I don't see tragedy, or a monolith, or any of the other things your brain is trying to tell you that you are—I just see my pretty girl."
Her breath hitches, and I hold mine in tandem, waiting for her response. Did I push it too far by calling hermypretty girl?
"For what it's worth," she says, her tone taking a playful edge. "I don't see you as a minion or a reindeer."
"Oh yeah?" I chuckle, deciding in a split second to crack open a door I've kept closed shut. "What do you see, then?"
She pauses, her eyes searching my face like I'm the one holding the answer.
"I just see my Jack Robbit."
Hers.
No nickname on the planet has ever sounded better.
***
"Aw, Jacky boy," Ellie cries when she rips the rainbow tissue paper out of the bag to reveal her gift. "It's beautiful. Where did you find it?"
She holds up the antique painting of an iris, showing it off to a chorus of "oohs" and "awws."
"Granny frequents antique shops," I say with a shrug, groaning when she plants a kiss on my cheek with a dramatic flourish. "Which means I frequent antique shops."
"That feels like cheating," David says crossly.
"No, that feels like someone who pays attention," Griffin laughs. "Great job, man."
"Okay, Abby is next," Ellie says, clapping her hands excitedly. "Who had Abby?"
"Okay, let me say something," David says, keeping his gift out of Abby's reach. "I thought we were doing gag gifts. I didn't know you guys were showing up with sentimental shit."
"What gave you that impression?" Ellie scoffs. "It's Secret Santa, not White Elephant."
"Gag gifts are the only kind he knows how to give," I say in a patronizing tone, which gets me a swift middle finger from David.
"I don't care," Abby huffs, her hands stretched in front of her, grasping at nothing. "Gimme, gimme, gimme."
David begrudgingly hands her the box, burying his face in his hands when she snatches it from him. She takes the lid off the box, chokes, and immediately slams it back down. Her head whips toward David, mouth hanging open and face turning bright red.
"David Romero, what the hell is wrong with you?" she gasps.
"I'm sorry," he groans, the sound muffled through his fingers. "I really thought we were doing jokes."
"What's the joke here?"
"You know, from a few months ago when Jack—"
"STOP TALKING," she shouts, so loudly we all jump.
"What did he get you?" Ellie yells, ripping the box away from Abby and taking the lid off again. Like Abby, she quickly replaces the top, cheeks turning a startling shade of pink. "David, have you lost your mind?"
Griffin and I make eye contact, grinning wickedly before rushing the girls and stealing the box before they realize what's happening. We ignore the overlapping protests, removing the lid and chucking it clear across the room. Griffin hoots loudly, rolling off the edge of the chair and onto the floor, gripping his stomach as he laughs harder than I've ever seen before.
I, on the other hand, find absolutely nothing funny about the situation. Inside the box lays another box, bright purple with the words "Sex Toys For Moms" printed across the top in white. Below the words is a photo of an enormous purple vibrator, bookended with the words "Moms Deserve Orgasms Too" scrawled in a fancy cursive along the bottom of the box.
