Georgia gives me a hug, then blushes and runs to the car. Grant nods at me and says it was nice to meet me. I’m glad Jack was right and there was no lasting drama. The guy does just seem like a jerk.
Mrs. Benson hugs her brother for a long moment and watches them all leave from the door, waving them off. Then she sighs and leans against the wall. “It’s always bittersweet when they leave.”
Janet pats her arm. “I’ll take care of the kitchen tonight.”
I look at my coat. “I should probably go, too.”
“What?” Jack asks.
“Everyone’s tired. I thought you’d want to go to bed.”
“Not yet,” Mrs. Benson says, which surprises me. We had an early, active start after a late night, and she spent a long time today cooking and baking. “I need to wind down a bit.” She does seem high on energy again, all of a sudden. Second wind?
I don’t need a lot of convincing to go into the living room with them. “Oh, I’ll have to show you your gift tomorrow,” I tell Jack. “Or tonight, if you walk me to my house. I need something there.”
It’s a lame hint that gives a lot of my gift away, but Jack’s smile broadens. He’s practically buzzing with energy too. “Just wait. Mom, you ready?”
She leaves and re-enters the room carrying a large box, which she sets on the couch. “Merry Christmas, Eli.”
Their energy makes sense now. I shake my head, lifting my gaze from the box to her. “Mrs. Benson, you already got me gifts. You shouldn’t have gotten me anything else.”
“It’s kind of my gift too,” Jack says. “And it’s also kind of selfish on our part.”
“How?” I ask, almost laughing at the absurdity.
“Just open it!” he says, pushing me toward the present. His hand lingers on the small of my back for a moment before he urges me forward, sending warmth skirting through me. I sit on the couch and slide the box onto my lap. It borders on being heavy . . .
The paper comes off in a few easy pulls, exposing a brown cardboard box that’s clearly been opened. “I only peeked at it to make sure it wasn’t damaged when it shipped,” Mrs. Benson says. “And make sure it works.”
I’m not worried. There are words on the box, but I look away as I feel around for the flap to open it. It’s so rare to have a physical gift to open that I can’t ruin the surprise.
Finding the flap, I pull it and ease the box open, setting my gaze on the contents. My chest tightens. Black and white keys, lined up in a row.
“We thought you might set a keyboard up here,” Mrs. Benson says. “That way you can play whenever you want to.”
I sense the unspoken thought behind it. That way, I don’t have to go to the house that’s never felt like home to play the piano. I can stay here, in the place that felt like home the first time I entered it. I can play anything I’d like without fear of judgment.With the promise of warmth and acceptance after the last note has faded.
I ease the keyboard from its protective, clear plastic sleeve and run my fingers over the gleaming naturals and accidentals. These keys have a different feel to them than mine at home. Slightly lighter, maybe a shade narrower. It’ll probably have a slightly different sound.
None of it matters. I can’t speak.
“Do you get why it’s selfish?” Jack asks. “This way, we get to hear you play.”
My eyes burn. “I think it’s the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever gotten,” I manage.
Mrs. Benson wordlessly sits beside me and pulls me against her. I let myself sink into her embrace, closing my eyes. At this rate, it’s becoming a holiday tradition for me to cry. Thankfully it’s only a few tears this time, easily stopped. After all, I need to show them how appreciative I am for their gift.
“Will you play for us?” Jack asks.
“Were you reading my mind? That’s what I’m about to do.”
We set the keyboard up and Mrs. Benson brings in the padded bench seat that came with it, which she’d stored in the closet. I race through “Jingle Bells” as a warmup and launch into a few other carols. They’re far from perfect, since I haven’t practiced them before, but Jack and Mrs. Benson have matching smiles, and Janet and Hugh have come out to listen, too. Janet takes Hugh to bed a few minutes later, with a final “Merry Christmas” to everyone. I play two more songs after that, a bit quieter, and then lean back.
“It feels incredible,” I say, looking between Jack and Mrs. Benson. “It must have been too much . . .”
“You don’t get to worry about that,” Mrs. Benson says.
Jack leans closer. “So, you were saying you could show me my gift at your house . . . any chance you can show me here, now?”
