Page 35 of Boyfriend
“Wouldn’t that be an honor?” Stevie asks, his voice a challenge. “I mean—rumor has it that you’ve taken the most eligible bachelor in Burlington off the market. Unless I’m wrong about that?”
“Oh, you’re right,” I say quickly. “But this isn’t 1965. These days a girl likes to stake her claim with a tattoo. I mean, it doesn’t really say love unless you bleed for it, am I right?”
Weston and his dad both crack up. Mr. Griggs gets up, pulls on his new fireproof glove, and feeds a log to the fire.
And that reminds me. “I have something for you, Mickey.”
“You do?” He straightens up, a look of surprise on his face.
“Absolutely. It’s right here.” I pull out my other wrapped gift. “My mother was big on hostess gifts. She never stopped by anyone’s house without a complete set of dishtowels, or a handmade candle.” I’m babbling now, because I can’t seem to shut up when I’m talking to Mr. Griggs. “So I wanted to bring you a thank-you gift, and the company where I did my internship makes nice stuff.” I hand over a wrapped present. “It’s just a little thing.”
Mickey gives me a funny smile and rips off the paper to find a pair of wool flannel slippers inside. “Thank you, Abbi. These are great.”
He’s not wrong. They’re charcoal gray with blue stitching, because Vermont Tartan makes snazzy things, especially for the forty and older set. “I’m glad you like them. It’s a nice local company, and I hope they’re around forever.”
“Well…” He sets the slippers down on the floor and slips his feet right into them. “As it happens, I have a little gift for you, too.”
“Oh, you didn’t have to do that.” I feel my face heat, because I never meant to put him in this position. And now I’m bracing myself for whatever emergency thing he’s just thought of to hand me.
“I know,” he says. “But this is for you, because I bet you could use it.” From beside his chair he pulls a shiny gift bag, with tissue paper sticking up from the top. He stands and hands it to me.
To my surprise, there’s a gift card tied to the handle reading Abbi.
“Oh,” I say stupidly. “Wow.”
“Go on,” he says quietly. “Open it.”
Nervously, I pluck the tissue paper off the top. And when I reach inside, my hand collides with buttery leather. I pull out a gorgeous new satchel, large enough for a laptop computer. It’s cut in a curvy, feminine style, in cognac leather.
I don’t know if I’ve ever held such a gorgeous bag. And when I flip open the top, there’s even a padded laptop pocket inside. “This is…wow.” I babble. “So fancy. It even has that new bag smell.”
He gives a startled chuckle.
“Way to upstage me, Dad,” Weston jokes.
“Well, Abbi,” his father says. “I gave one of these to my daughter the year she graduated from college. She needed an upgrade from her book bag, to look more professional. And I thought you could use one, too. Especially…” He clears his throat. “If you don’t have a parent handy who can give you one.”
“Oh,” I say, looking up suddenly. And he’s watching me with a father’s compassion in his eyes. “Thank you,” I say, but I choke on the words. It’s such a generous thing to do, and for such a lovely reason. And—oh shit. Tears have sprung into my eyes.
I look back down at this gorgeous piece of craftsmanship and try to hold it together. But my next breath comes out as a sob. Because it’s Christmas. And I’m graduating this spring. And my mom won’t be there to congratulate me at all.
“Oh nooo!” Weston croons. He drops an arm around my shoulders, and this time he manages to pull me into a hug without violence. “You broke my girlfriend on Christmas. Quick! Someone put on a funny movie.”
I laugh and cry at the same time, and Weston pats my back.
“Th-thank you,” I stammer at Mr. Griggs when I’m able. “It’s just gorgeous.”
“You’re welcome,” he says, looking a little uncomfortable at the mess he’s created of me. He gets up to find a box of tissues, which I need, badly.
And then Stevie puts on Home Alone 2, and we all watch it.
Somehow, I end the evening smiling.
Twelve
Did She Just Moan My Name?
Weston
