Page 105 of Backlash

“Let’s keep looking.”

“Your lips are blue,” he says, fixing my scarf for the tenth time. “Let’s head back, and I’ll warm you up.”

The offer is tempting, and I’m on the verge of giving in, when I spot a few smaller trees near the lot’s business office. The trees are only two or three feet tall, but they’re healthy.

“There!” I point.

“You want a Charlie Brown tree?”

“A what?” I ask.

He stares at me. “And I’m the one who doesn’t do Christmas, right?”

The lot gives us the tree, which pleases Sterling, and because it’s so small it takes no effort to carry it back to his place. We spend the afternoon crafting ornaments from some of the old racist history books he never got rid of—it’s obviously the best use for them—and watching the Charlie Brown Christmas Special.

When we’re finished with our homemade decorations, we stand back to admire our work.

“It’s actually awesome,” Sterling says.

“It’s perfect.”

“What else am I supposed to do on Christmas?” he asks. “What do you do at home?”

“We unwrap presents on Christmas Eve, and then we have breakfast the next morning before we go on a trip. Mom always planned them.” My voice breaks as I realize that this tradition is gone forever. Being in New York is distracting me, but it doesn’t change it.

“Let’s open presents then,” he says.

“Really?” I say. “You got me a present?”

“Of course I got you a present,” he says, groaning. “I’m not a complete amateur—but it’s not much.”

“I got you something, too. Something small,” I say quickly.

“I haven’t wrapped it yet.”

“Me either.”

“We’re not very good at this, are we?” he asks.

“It’s just practice for next year,” I say.

“Keeping me around that long?” He manages to make this sound like a joke, but there’s an edge of something to it.

“Give me a second to get yours.”

We meet back in the living room a few minutes later and sit in front of our tree.

“You first.” I thrust the bag from The Strand at him.

A bemused smile cracks his mouth.

“What?” I ask.

“You’ll see.” He takes out the novel slowly, and I can’t get a read on him.

“I saw you looking at it,” I say when he remains silent. “So I cheated and bought it.”

“It’s wonderful,” he says in a quiet voice. “Better than my old library copy.”