I climb out of bed and put my slippers on before I leave my bedroom. I head for the living room, where I hear Christmas music playing softly. The sound of my mother talking to someone—she must be on the phone. Maybe calling her sister. My aunt lives in Florida and I wish I could see her more, but I’m always away at school when Mom goes to visit her.
Which lately has been often.
When I enter the living room, the Christmas tree is lit with twinkling white lights, an array of presents lying beneath, all wrapped in cream and dark green wrapping paper. There’s one gift that stands out though.
The stark white box that is signature Crew.
“Oh, she’s awake. I should go. Yes, I’ll talk to you later. Merry Christmas!” Mom ends the calls and smiles at me. “Happy Birthday, darling. Your aunt says Happy Birthday too.”
“Thank you. I should call her later.” I settle on the floor, staring at the presents.
At one in particular.
“Oh, she’d like that. We can call her back.” Mom smiles, reaching out to brush my hair away from my face.
“Where’s Daddy?”
Her expression hardens. “He’s not here.”
My mouth falls open. “Where is he?”
She shrugs. “He never came home.”
“Oh, Mama.” My heart breaks for her. I rise up and scoot over to her chair on my knees, wrapping her up in a hug. We cling to each other for a moment, and I close my eyes, disappointed in my father. That he would abandon her—us—so completely. On Christmas Day.
On my birthday.
“It’s okay, sweetie. It’s been bad between us for a while. I was trying to keep it together through the rest of the year like your father asked, but I am definitely filing for divorce in January. I can’t pretend any longer.” She pulls away slightly so she can look at me. “We haven’t been in a good place for at least a year. Maybe longer.”
I frown. “He told me you were trying to work it out after all.”
Her frown matches my own. “When did he tell you that?”
“After your divorce announcement. He called me and said he had good news. That you two were going to counseling and wanted to make it work,” I explain.
A sigh leaves her, and she shakes her head. “We never had that conversation. It was always going to end in divorce. He knew that. He asked if we could be civil to each other for the rest of the year. Specifically, when you were home. I agreed only because he seemed so concerned for your wellbeing.”
“More like was saving face in front of me,” I mutter.
“Or trying to convince himself that things would eventually be okay. It’s hard to face your problems, especially when you’re the one creating the majority of them.” Her smile is faint, tinged with sadness. “Let’s forget about him and focus on your birthday. And Christmas.”
I force her to open her present from me first—the little carved wooden bird I found at that store in Vermont.
“Is it a wren?” she asks as she studies it. “It looks like one.”
“Maybe? Crew found it. Said it reminded him of me,” I admit.
Her expression softens when her gaze meets mine. “I think he really likes you.”
Such an understatement.
“I think so too,” I admit.
“It’s not every day someone buys a very expensive piece of art for someone else, just because they’re friends,” she continues.
“I know. He said he just wanted to make me happy.” I’m feeling misty-eyed just thinking about it.
“Is he kind to you? Honest with you? Does he make you laugh?”
Yes. Yes. Yes.
“He is the very last person I ever imagined myself with,” I say, blinking back the tears. What is with me and crying the last couple of days? I’m so emotional. “But now I can’t imagine my life without him.”
“Ah, darling, I’m so happy for you. And I love my gift.” She smiles down at the wooden bird. It looks so rustic now that it’s in our showcase of an apartment, but hopefully, she really does like it.
“I have more for you.” I hand over a small box with a pair of earrings I found here in the city, and she loves those too.
I open the presents from my parents. Some clothes. A Louis Vuitton scarf with lip prints scattered all over it—I sense a theme here. A couple of gift cards to my favorite stores. A necklace I admired a long time ago that I forgot all about it, which makes it extra special since she remembered and bought it for me.
I’ve unwrapped everything for me except the box from Crew, and I stare at it, letting the anticipation curl through me.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” Mom asks.
My heart starts to thump extra hard when she hands it over. “I almost don’t want to know.”
“Of course you want to know. Don’t be silly.” She waves a hand at me, clearly impatient. She’s enjoyed this week and my gifts almost as much as I have. “Open it.”
I pull the lid off to find another black and white box almost the same size, wrapped with the signature white ribbon and camellia flower that indicates it’s from Chanel.
Oh God, I think I might know what it is.
I pull the lid off. Push back the tissue paper to see a black protective bag surrounded by boxes of lipstick. I pull out the bag, the lipsticks falling to the bottom of the box, and open the drawstring.
“He got you a bag? Oh, he is so, so clever. I love this boy. I do,” Mom says, making me laugh.
I pull the bag out to see it’s the pink one I admired in the store only a couple of days ago. And when I undo the clasp and peek inside, there’s no paper stuffing filling it.
Just box after box of lipstick.
“Is there a note?” Mom asks.
I find it at the very bottom. A small white envelope, as usual. I open it, his familiar handwriting scrawled across the card.
Merry Christmas. I bought you every shade of lipstick Chanel carries, so you can create your own million kisses in your lifetime. Hopefully you’ll share some of those kisses with me.
Love,
Crew
“I’m keeping him,”I announce, making my mom laugh.
“You definitely should,” she says, her gaze on the pink bag sitting on my lap. “He chooses well.”
“I picked out the bag. I told him if I could have any Chanel bag, I wanted it to be pink,” I admit.
“You’ve always loved pink. And the lipsticks. That’s very romantic. He understands you, doesn’t he?”
“I guess he does.” For the first time, I feel understood.
Utterly and completely.
“I need to call him.”
“Go on, call your boyfriend,” Mom urges as I get up, the purse clutched in one hand and my phone in the other. “You’re going to see him today, correct?”
I stop and turn to face her, suddenly sad. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”
“Oh, darling, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Go be with him. Spend your birthday with him. I know that’s what you want. I’m grateful we had last night together. And this morning.” Her smile is sad. “I’ve wasted too much time being upset with you and your father when I should’ve inserted myself into your life more. I’m sorry about that.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” I tell her. “Not anymore.”
She shakes her head. Sits up straighter. “Go call him. I’m sure he’s waiting to hear from you.”