They dissolved into laughter that felt too easy, too good. The kind of morning she’d forgotten existed. Alix watched as Grace stretched, yawned, and finally climbed out of bed.
“Wait,” Alix said suddenly. “Before we go downstairs, I, uh, I wanted to give you my present in private.”
Grace looked up, eyes curious. “You do? Alix, I just told you?—”
“It’s a real present,” Alix said with a laugh. “I just want it to not be like… I just don’t want you to laugh, and I don’t want to explain it to my mom, and… I just…” She shifted nervously on the bed.
Grace pressed a hand to her chest. “I’d never laugh at anything you gave me, ever.”
Alix reached under the nightstand and pulled out a thin, awkwardly wrapped bundle. The wrapping job was imperfect, to say the least. She’d clearly missed that lesson in the Helen Wolf School of Gift-Giving. She handed it over with butterflies in her stomach.
Grace smiled, looking down at the doodles covering the front — tiny hearts, coffee cups, and scissors.
“Don’t get too excited,” Alix said, rubbing the back of her neck. “I ran out of ribbon and self-restraint.” She’d finished the present only yesterday, adding details until the last possible second, and then wrapped it in secret after excusing herself duringWhite Christmas.
Grace tore it open carefully, revealing a small hand-bound zine. Made from cardstock and staples, its cover was collaged with pictures and doodles. Across the front, in a combination of bold black marker and magazine letter cutouts, it read:
THE BREAKUP BUDDIES FIELD GUIDE TO SURVIVAL
Compiled & Illustrated by A. Wolf, Certified Dumbass
Grace blinked, then started laughing. “You did not.”
“Oh, I absolutely did.” Alix leaned forward, elbows on her knees, grinning nervously. “It’s a limited edition. Only one copy exists. Probably for good reason.”
Alix held her breath as Grace flipped it open, immediately met with a cartoon drawing of the two of them on a boat in the River Styx, Alix as Charon and Grace sitting with a tiny alligator in her lap.
The next page was a fake Yelp review of Alix’s heartbreak connoisseur services.
Then, a magazine cover ofEsquirewith Grace on the cover, wearing a medal that proudly said WORLD’S BEST GATOR.
It went on in that fashion, including a page with magazine cutouts of a jar of olives and glittery fangs from their first pantry FaceTime. On a page titledHow to Survive a Miami Thanksgiving Without Dying (of Tummy Aches or Unexpected Pool Dips),Alix had doodled the two of them holding cafecitosand giving thumbs-ups while Baby sat at their feet. Grace snorted, covering her mouth.
“Oh my God, Alix.”
“It’s insane, I know. And it only gets worse.”
Each page was a snapshot of their story — inside jokes, disasters, tender moments disguised as comedy.
Avoid brownies unless supervised.
Don’t text the lawyer after midnight unless you want feelings.
Snow boots are not optional, even if you’re hot.
And then Grace reached the last page.
It wasn’t a cartoon. It was a printed photograph — grainy, imperfect, taken through a window. The two of them standing outside in Miami, mid-laugh, Alix’s head thrown back, Grace looking at her like she’d already decided.
Alix looked down at the photograph as an idea sparked in her mind. “Ah, wait, I just realized it needs one more thing.” She grabbed a pen and leaned over Grace to write around the edges of the photograph:Field Guide Update: Survival achieved. Next mission — see where this thing goes.
She caught Grace’s eye, her own cheeks warm with the kind of embarrassment of giving someone a gift that felt like a piece of your heart.
Grace didn’t speak for a long moment. The laughter that had bubbled so easily just seconds before softened into something that made Alix’s heart trip over itself.
“This is…” Grace swallowed hard, running her thumb along the photo’s edge. “Alix, this is the best thing anyone’s ever made for me.”
Alix shrugged, trying for casual and failing spectacularly. “I know it’s ridiculous, but?—”
