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Becks shrieks and throws herself into Liv’s arms.“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!This is the best giftever!”
Liv closes her eyes as she hugs her back.“I’m so glad, sweetheart.”
Drea, meanwhile, holds up the green container of pistachio horchata.“Cool.Thanks,” she says in her typical deadpan fashion.Then she does a double take and reaches back into the cooler.“The art too?”She holds up a small watercolor painting of the ice cream that’s in her other hand.
“It’s the actual one we used in the ad,” Liv says, and now Drea’s hugging her too, and since fucking when does all this joy at Christmas make me want to cry?
While Liv and Becks explore the other flavors in the cooler, Drea wraps her arms around me in a stranglehold, pressing the uncomfortably cold ice cream container against my neck.
“I love her so much,” she whispers.
“I know the feeling,” I whisper back.
Liv looks at me like I’m short a few swans a-swimming when I pull to a stop in front of a dark, looming warehouse on our way home from Mom and Phil’s.
“We’re here!”I say brightly.I asked her if we could hold off on our gift exchange until later tonight, and she agreed, although she’s clearly doubting her judgment now.
“This is even scarier than the basement at Verdant,” she says as I let us in with Deke’s key and lead her to the freight elevator that’ll take us to the third floor.
“But not as scary as the haunted section, right?”
“Nothing’s scarier than that cold spot.”She shudders as the ancient metal elevator rattles to a stop, and I grab her hand and pull her out of the car.My gift for her is under my arm, and she’s carrying the flat square package that she wrapped for me.
I flip on the lights to reveal the third floor.It’s a completely open space with chipped, weathered brick walls and a soaring ceiling that’s all metal ducts and support beams.In one corner, just like Deke and I arranged, sits a vintage metal desk and chair as well as a retro-cool gold velvet couch.A faded oriental rug defines the space, clearly carving out a work area on the wide-beamed floor that’s scarred and stained after a century of existence.
“What is this place?”Liv’s eyes are wide as she walks to the couch and sets the present down so she can check out the view of downtown Beaucoeur from one of the massive windows.
“I’ll explain,” I say, holding up her gift.She claps her hands and happily snuggles into a gold cushion, making gimme motions with her fingers.I sit down next to her, but I don’t hand it over yet.
“Okay.”I take a deep breath.Here goes.“Derek—you know him as Diesel—works for a demolition and salvage company.”
“Hold up.”She lifts a hand like a traffic cop.“Diesel’s name isDerek?”
“And he’s dying to meet you,” I say.“Anyway, this is his company’s warehouse, and this floor is for rent.Lots of space, lots of sunlight.And I know you like to use, like, found and reclaimed objects in your ad campaigns.His boss said that as a tenant, you’d be able to use the materials they salvage for cheap.In your campaigns.”
She looks around in confusion, so I rush on.“But there’s no lease or anything yet.I wanted to let you know that it’s an option if you were still thinking about maybe sticking around town and wanted a place where you could shoot your ads.Even the furniture is negotiable if you don’t like it.”
She glances down at the couch, running her hand back and forth over the gold velvet nap so the color changes from dark to light.This isn’t going well, I don’t think.But it’s not like I can stop now.
I set the gift in her lap.“Then there’s this.”
She looks at me curiously as she slides her finger under the tape and folds back the paper to reveal the item I had Mrs.Washington hunt down for me from a local leather worker.
“It’s a travel bag,” I say as she stares down at it.“Like a portfolio, but also good for art supplies and things.”She flips it open to reveal all the different-sized compartments inside.“I figured if you take the Minneapolis job, you might come back to Beaucoeur sometimes, and this would let you bring your work with you.Or if you do the freelance thing here and have to travel for shoots, this would be handy.”
She slides her hand into the wide pocket that could hold sketchbooks or small finished paintings like the ice cream water colors.Her continued silence makes me babble even more.
“And maybe you end up moving away and never coming back.”I swallow hard.“If that’s the case, I’ll just be happy knowing you’re out there in the world carrying something I bought for you.”
Her fingertip traces the embossed LF that I asked the artisan to add.
“I didn’t know if you’d want an L for Liv or an O for Olivia,” I say nervously.“I picked the name I call you.I hope that’s okay.So.Um.Merry Christmas.”
Finally, mercifully, I stop talking, and she strokes the tan surface of the bag one more time before she sets it next to her on the couch.Then she turns and reaches for my fingers.
“I’m not leaving town.And even if I did—which again, I’m definitely not—I wouldn’t forget you.I could never forget you, okay?”
In the four days since we gave the Crimson Lounge crowd the show of their lives, we’ve had sex and wrapped gifts and cooked dinners and watched movies and kissed for hours on the couch until CJ threatened to throw a bucket of cold water on us, but we haven’t talked about Liv’s plans after the New Year.I was fine being in denial a little longer if she was still planning on leaving, so I just… haven’t asked.
