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“They got engaged?” His face scrunches into one of complete disbelief.
“Not yet, but it’s coming. Now that she’s moved here, I can’t imagine it will take long. Does he talk to you about her?” Oliver was slow to open up to me about Kate, but once he did, well, he talks about her all the time now.
“Not really. You’ve told me more about her than he has. You like her, right?”
“I do. She’s down to earth. A much better fit than Camilla.”
“Well, thank god for that.” Oliver’s ex-fiancée was a world class bitch, but I’d never say that out loud. “I think we all let out a big sigh of relief when that relationship hit the crapper.”
I swirl my wine, considering his statement. I suppose all families tend to think that way about the exes. Yet, here I am, the ex.
“Anyway, enough about my brother. I want you to open some gifts.”
“Gifts? As in multiple?” He grins, and I mentally kick myself. I purposefully went small so he wouldn’t think I was seeing our arrangement as more than it is.
“Don’t get too excited. I’m not the best shopper. But here you go.” The shopping bag crinkles as he sifts through it, lifting out eight wrapped boxes.
“Ian. These are all for me?” If there is one thing I hate, it is under-giving, and I am so short on gifts. I have one present for Ian. One.
“Yes, ma’am.” He lifts his eyebrows and smirks. “Get to opening.”
“But… I only—”
“Hey, it’s okay. I may have gotten carried away today. Don’t worry, I know you don’t need a man in your life, and if you wanted one, you wouldn’t choose someone who is as unavailable as I am, but we’re together for now… so, let me treat you right.”
I force a smile I don’t feel. He’s correct about his limited availability. Once he enters those hospital doors, he seems to become another person. The people outside the hospital walls fall to lower priority status. He goes days without responding to texts. And now he’s entering another specialty, spinal surgery. He’s been accepted to a fellowship in Seattle.
The first box is wrapped in Tiffany blue paper with a white bow, but the shape of the box doesn’t say jewelry, not that I would expect jewelry. I open the paper carefully, not wanting to tear the robin’s egg blue wrapping.
“You. Take. Forever.” He complains, and I slip a nail beneath the side of the gray cardboard box. “What were you like as a kid?”
I shrug, smiling. I once heard my dad joking with Ian’s parents about how it took forever to wrap the presents and in less than five minutes the kids would tear through them all.
“Not much different from ya’ll.” A gleam of silver shines through the side of the box. Thin protective padding covers a silver frame, and I gasp.
“Where’d you find this?” The photo in the classic silver frame is one of Polly with a ribbon hanging over her neck and me beaming. She looks so much younger. Heck, we both do.
“Mom had it in one of her electronic photo files. I’d seen it before and knew she had it. Took me a while to find it, though. Mom’s organization leaves something to be desired, and you’re so young in it Google didn’t do facial recognition at first.”
I clasp it to my chest, then lean closer to plant a chaste, heartfelt kiss on his lips. Feelings of inadequacy sink down over me, because I did nothing thoughtful for him. I bought him clothes because I didn’t want him to read into it or to think I saw us as more than we are.
“You liked the other photo, so I went with tried and true.”
I stare down into the photo in my lap, remembering that Christmas Day so long ago when Dad—or back then, it was Santa—surprised me with Polly. There’d been a tack box sitting in the den along with a note card that read “Go To the Stable.” That had been a simpler time. All I cared about was horses, and the boys down the road were nothing but friends and occasional nuisances.
Another present pushes into my periphery, this one in gold wrapping with a forest green bow. I let out a sigh.
“I didn’t do enough for you.”
“Open this. We can open the rest tomorrow.”
The box in my hand is light, so light it might be empty. Dutifully, I open the present, curiosity driving me forward. The lines on the paper aren’t as neatly pressed as the Tiffany box, and clumps of tape cover the sides.
“Did you wrap this yourself?”
His boyish grin speaks the truth. “It’s a little obvious, huh?”
“No, you did a good job.”
