I WAKE up on Christmas Eve to my mother rushing into my room, her eyes wide, her white silk robe billowing behind her.
“You have a gift,” she announces.
Rubbing my eyes, I blink at her, still half asleep. “Where is it?”
“I couldn’t carry it into your room. You’ll have to come out and see it.” She is giddy, practically jumping up and down in one place. And giddy is never a word I use to describe my mother.
I leave the bed and pull on the hoodie that’s draped over the back of my desk chair, then slip my feet into the slippers I got for Christmas last year. I follow Mom and she leads me into the foyer where a large brown box is leaning against the wall right by the door.
“Is it one of your paintings?” I ask her.
She shakes her head. “Your name is on it. I had to sign for it.”
“Maybe it’s the piece I bought from Hannah Walsh.” Though I was told it wouldn’t be delivered until the beginning of the new year.
Mom goes to the nearby console table and pulls a drawer open, withdrawing a box cutter. “Let’s open it.”
“Wow. You’re prepared,” I say with a huff.
“I’m opening boxes like this all the time.” She pushes up the blade and goes to the box, careful as she cuts it open. I watch, anticipation curling through my veins, curiosity leaving me stumped.
I seriously have no idea what’s inside this box.
“Do you think it’s from Crew?” I ask, not wanting to get my hopes up.
Hasn’t he given me enough already?
“It came from a different delivery service, so maybe not,” Mom says as she slices the box open with the blade. “Oh, I think it’s a painting.”
She pulls at the cut cardboard, tossing it aside.
“It’s not large enough to be the one I bought,” I say, staring at the canvas wrapped in white.
“Tear it off and let’s see what it is!” My mother is practically vibrating with excitement. This is the kind of thing she lives for.
My mind is scrambling, but I’m drawing a complete blank. I have no idea what this could be or who it’s from.
Crew has sent me plenty, so I doubt it’s from him…
“If you don’t open it, I’m going to open it for you,” she finally says, reaching for the painting.
“Hey, that’s mine.” I push her out of the way with my hip, making her laugh.
Carefully, I pull the gauzy wrap from the painting, which isn’t really a painting at all. My heart’s starting to race as it’s slowly revealed and my hands begin to shake. I recognize it immediately, of course. The lip prints in multiple colors on white canvas, how they almost cover the entire space. The way all of those lips clustered together seem to undulate.
It’s the piece I’ve wanted for so long.
My heart is beating so fast, it threatens to pop straight out of my chest.
I rest shaking fingers to my lips, tears springing to my eyes the longer I stare at it. Is this moment even real right now? “Oh my God.”
“A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime,” Mom whispers, staring at it. “Oh, it’s lovely.”
“Who sent this? Where did it come from?” I can’t tear my eyes off of it. I can’t believe it’s actually here, sitting in my parents’ foyer.
And that it belongs to me.
“I don’t know.” Mom starts for the discarded box that she left in pieces on the floor. “Let’s check the—”
“It was me.”
We both turn to find my father standing there, beaming at us.
Mom frowns. “You never told me you were going—”
“Oh Daddy!” I run toward him, wrapping him up in a big hug, crying tears of pure joy against his dark green sweatshirt. I’m guessing he didn’t plan on going into work today, and I’m so glad.
I can’t believe he did this for me. That he found this piece for me, after all.
“Do you like it?” he asks, squeezing me tight.
“I love it. You know how badly I wanted it.” I pull away from him so I can stare at it again, completely enchanted. It’s so beautiful. All the various shades of Chanel lipstick. The different shapes of the lip prints. Some of them hard, others soft. All of them on top of each other, layers upon layers of kisses.
And it’s all mine.
I could never recreate this, despite what Crew has said. It would never look the same. Would never be as beautiful as this.
“I do, Pumpkin. And now the piece finally belongs to you. Happy early Birthday.” Daddy glances over at Mom, who’s still frowning. “We should celebrate this moment, don’t you think? Let’s go out to breakfast.”
“I’m not even dressed yet, Harvey.” She’s watching him carefully, as if she can’t…what? Believe he bought it for me? Is she mad that he did? I remember her saying last year when I wanted it so badly that she thought it might be too pricey as a starter piece for me. “And neither is Wren.”
“I can get dressed quickly. We’ll just go to the diner down the street, right?” It’s my absolute favorite, though Mom hates the place. But they have the best French toast, and I’m suddenly hungry.
“Perfect. Whatever you want, since tomorrow is your birthday.” He turns to Mom. “Get dressed, Cecily. It’s Christmas Eve! We should spend it together as a family.”
I stare at the piece once more, unable to look away. I’m as giddy as my mother was only a few minutes before. “Can I take it to my bedroom?”
“Of course, darling,” Mom says, her smile brittle. “It’s yours now. You can do whatever you want with it.”
I carefully grab hold of the piece and slowly walk back to my bedroom, praying I don’t trip and put a foot through the canvas.
I would never be able to forgive myself if I did.
Once it’s in my room, I prop the canvas against the wall and take a step back, admiring it. It’s gorgeous.
Stunning.
All mine.
I clutch my hands in front of myself and start jumping up and down like I’m five, a weird squealing noise leaving me. I can’t contain myself, or my excitement. This is like…the best birthday present ever.
I should text Crew. Tell him all about it. He’ll be so happy for me, though I know he’s busy today. He has plans with his family and they were supposed to leave earlier this morning to go to his uncle’s house to celebrate Christmas Eve.
Daddy knocks on the door and then barges into my room, a false smile on his face. “Come on, get ready, Pumpkin. We don’t have time to waste. I’m starving.”
“Hold on.” I check my phone to see I already have a text from Crew.
Hey lazy bird, you up yet?
I snap a photo of the piece leaning against my wall before I send him a response.
Me: Look what my father got me for my birthday! Can you believe it? I’m in L O V E.
I then send a string of kissing lip emojis to him.
“Let’s go,” my father practically demands, and I set my phone down on the nightstand, turning to face him.
“Give me just a minute. Okay?”
“Put on some sweats and let’s go. You look fine. I’m going like this.” He waves a hand at his sweatshirt and jeans. “And your mother isn’t dressing up. It’s just the diner.”
“I know. Okay, hold on.” I find it odd he doesn’t leave my room when I change, but I do it in my walk-in closet so I have privacy. I kick off my pajama bottoms, slip on a pair of black sweats, put on my favorite Nikes and I’m out of the closet in less than two minutes. “I’m ready.”
He strides toward me, grabbing my arm and steering me out of my room. “Let’s go. Like I said, I’m hungry. Can’t wait to dig into my favorite chicken fried steak.”
We pause in the foyer, waiting for my mother.
“The one dish that Mom says will give you a heart attack?” I’m teasing. Mom used to say that to him all the time when we were on a kick one summer and went there almost every Sunday morning for breakfast. She forced us to break the habit, and I remember thinking she was such a buzzkill.
“That’s the one.” He smiles and taps his index finger against my nose. “You like your present?”
“I love it so much.” I wrap him up in another hug, holding him tight. “I know we haven’t really gotten along lately, and I’m sorry. It means so much, that you got me this. It’s all I could ever want.”
“You’re welcome. You know I love you more than anything, right?” He runs his hand over my hair, clutching my head against his chest for a brief moment. The way he does it, just like he used to when I was little and he was my true everything, makes my throat tighten up. And I don’t want to cry.
I’m too happy to cry.
“I love you too,” I whisper, slowly pulling away so I can smile up at him. When I extract myself from his arms, I turn to find my mother watching us, her gaze flashing with irritation.
What, is she jealous of our relationship again? After we just had that talk? All over a piece she probably didn’t want me to have? I don’t get it.
I don’t think I’ll ever understand my mother and her mood swings.
The French toast is to die for, just as I remember, and the diner is packed with people, every table full and a line of customers waiting to be seated. Christmas music plays over the speakers so loudly, everyone is trying to talk over it, which makes the restaurant beyond noisy, but I am relishing every moment.
Despite my mother’s bad mood.
And my father’s seemingly cagey nervousness.
I’m too happy to let them bother me for long, still giddy over my early Christmas gift. Or birthday gift. I devour my bacon and French toast, drenching it with maple syrup. Tiny pockets of powdered sugar explode in my mouth with the occasional bite, and I have to hold back the rapturous food moans that want to leave me.
Maybe everything tastes better because I’m so happy. This is like…the best day ever. And it’s not even my actual birthday yet.
The only thing missing is Crew. I wish he were here with us to share in this. To celebrate with me. I know he would understand my love for the piece Daddy gave me, and he would be happy for me too. This piece is now mine, forever and always.
It belongs to me.
Like an idiot I forgot to grab my phone when my father rushed me out of my bedroom, eager to get to the diner, and I left it on my nightstand. He wanted to get here quickly since he figured the restaurant would be packed. Who knew so many people went out to breakfast on Christmas Eve?
“Are you happy, Pumpkin?” Daddy asks at one point, when I’m almost finished eating my breakfast. He’s sitting across from me, smiling in that nostalgic way he gets, like he can’t believe I’m not his little girl anymore.
“You don’t even know how happy I am right now,” I tell him with a beaming smile. “I still can’t believe you got it for me.”
Mom has totally checked out, too busy scrolling on her phone.
Unease slips over me and I can’t ignore it, even though I want to. This all feels so familiar, like it used to be between the three of us. What hurts is that I thought we’d fixed this. At least, fixed what was broken between me and Mom. My relationship with my father needed some repair, but I wasn’t too worried about it. I knew he’d come around.
Look at him, making me come around first with his present—like a peace offering. He knew I couldn’t stay mad at him if he gave me the one piece of art I wanted more than anything else in the world.
I’m still having a hard time believing that it’s mine.
My father gets a phone call right when the server drops off our bill at the table and he answers it, rising from the booth seat and covering his phone to whisper to us, “I’ll be right back,” before he exits the restaurant.
The moment he’s gone, I glance over at Mom, who’s sitting directly across from me, her concerned gaze meeting mine. “What’s wrong? Tell me you’re not mad at him for getting that piece for me. I know it must’ve cost a lot, but I love it so, so much and I swear I’ll—”
She interrupts me.
“He didn’t get it for you.”
I blink at her, silent for a beat. Trying to comprehend what she just said. “What?”
“He’s lying to you. I knew it from the start, though I didn’t want to believe it.”
“I don’t understand.” I shake my head, baffled.
Mom glances around as if looking for him before she continues, “I know when your father isn’t telling the truth. He didn’t buy that piece for you. I never thought he did.”
“I’m so confused.” My chest aches. I feel like I could burst into tears at any moment. If Daddy didn’t buy it then…
“It was the Lancaster boy, Wren. It had to have been him.”
