Page 57 of Hilarina and the Ogre

“I wouldn’t mind. Everything tastes better when I’m with you anyway.”

Chapter Fifteen

Paper Stars

It was like some part of Hilary had become a monk, mindful of everything, his awareness catching on the little things. The sound of Trenton brushing his teeth in the next room, his father humming the DuckTales theme song as he baked cookies for ‘Santa,’ his mother’s inventive curses as she tried to input a receipt into QuickBooks. It wasn’t that he was hoarding the moments, or even consciously aware that he was noticing them, but it was affecting him anyway. When Hilary woke on Christmas morning, he just lay there for a minute, his mind empty. Not blank, but also not running right into thoughts as it usually did. He smiled to see Trenton already awake and looking at him.

“How long have you been staring, you freak?”

“Long enough to almost nudge you awake.”

Hilary smiled. “You should have. I wanted to be with you.”

“You were with me already.”

“But I miss you even when I’m sleeping.”

There was a groan from the doorway. “You two get worse by the day.”

Annette was holding The Bag. The one all Hilary’s presents had come in since he was six years old. The first year it had just been recycling, but then it had become a Christmas tradition as strong as any other. Albert kicked open the door the rest of the way. In his hands was a tray of French toast so buried under cinnamon sugar it was hard to see the bread beneath—exactly the way they all liked it. Sensing the urgency, Hilary took hold of Trenton and said, before anyone else could beat him to it, “Merry Christmas.”

Trenton laughed at his panic. “You told me last night.”

Hilary took a bite of the toast, just enough to freshen his mouth, gave a quick hug to each of his parents, and yelled at them not to open any presents or do anything interesting until he could finish peeing—a lie. As soon as he was out in the hall, he turned left instead of right and thumped down to the basement where his secret stash was hidden. He’d been careful this year. Albert had a special sixth sense for things he wasn’t supposed to find, and that usually meant comically bad fake-surprise every time it came time to open presents. But this time Hilary was sure he’d maintained the secret. He’d hidden his things in the dustiest box he could find, and if it had been disturbed there would have been evidence in the form of fingerprints—and there were none.

A minute later he was back in the room, still having to pee, and adorned with multiple cobwebs. “Open mine first.”

For his mom, they’d gotten a letter blanket. He and Trenton had written the letter together, and Annette cried a little on the spread-out blanket, reading it. “Thank you, boys,” she said, pulling them into a hug at the same time. For Albert, they’d gotten a cutting board with the man’s not-so-secret marinade recipe (considered by him to be his life’s crowning achievement) carved into the wood. “Does this mean you’re hankering for a barbecue?” the man demanded, “Because I can have the grill out of the shed and fired up in less time than it takes your mom to gear up to yell at me for it properly.”

Hilary thought the presents were from them both, so he was more surprised than the parents when Trenton pulled out a box from under the bed that was professionally wrapped in green and silver paper. In it was a digital photo frame with over a thousand images—all that the pair had uploaded to the computer’s hard drive and been “meaning to get around to printing” for years. Some of the pictures went as far back as Hilary’s infancy. He could only imagine how long it had taken to filter out the blurry and stupid photos and upload them all into the new frame. When Trenton had done it, he had no idea, though it had to have been either after everyone had gone to sleep, or before everyone had woken up. Either way, it had obviously been quite a sacrifice, though Trenton didn’t think so.

“I’m just glad I got the bigger SD card or there might not have been enough space.”

The boy had printed a magnet photo as well to go on the fridge. It was a picture of all four of them taken on Thanksgiving. Why Trenton had used that specific picture of him lying on the couch like a bloated carcass after eating too much, Hilary had no idea. The boy had strange tastes.

“Alright, get out,” he told his parents after they’d given him three million cheek pinches and a lecture about properly cherishing Trenton.

“What’s so private you can’t have a couple of witnesses?” Albert asked. “Is it that kind of present?”

There was nothing to feel guilty about, but Hilary felt himself flushing simply from the implication. “None of your business!”

“I can’t believe you raised such a rude son,” was Albert’s complaint to Annette.

“Me? You’re the one who was home more.”

They did finally leave, and Hilary made sure to shut the door as soon as they were out. “Shit.”

Trenton was enjoying the reaction. “Is it that kind of present?”

Hilary tossed the envelope at the boy’s head. “DON’T read it out loud.”

He didn’t know why he gave over the letter first. Maybe to get it over with. As much as he’d improved at embarrassing shit, things like love letters were still way out of his league. There was really nothing romantic in it. Mostly embarrassed rambling with a couple of stilted confessions thrown in. Trenton seemed to like it though, or maybe he was just misty-eyed from thinking about his future with a barely literate buffoon.

“Come here,” Trenton said.

But there was still the rest to be gotten over with first.

Hilary shoved the bag his way. “I don’t know how to do wrapping, sorry.”