Page 48 of The Significance of Moving On

Casey and I work well together getting the tree up, stringing the large multicolored lights and finally the garland. He has to do the star by himself because there are just some things the vertically challenged cannot accomplish no matter how much we want to.

As for the smaller box inside the bin, well let’s just say he never fails to surprise me. There are his ornaments, important ones resting on egg crate foam, but then there are mine. The ones Tom and I used to put on our tree every year. And I lose it, a complete and utter ugly sobbing failure.

“You rescued Tom’s ornaments,” I cry. “That’s… you’re just…”

He stares at me with his hands on his hips and a smile on his face.

“Hug me now Casey Davenport or I’ll slug you.”

When he wraps those strong arms around me, I forget to cry. “I have an idea,” he whispers against my hair. “Why don’t you tell me about the ornament while you hook it on the tree?”

“Will you tell me about yours?”

He nods and hugs me tighter.

I pick up the first one to hang. Brown Puppy—a bloodhound. I’d wanted a puppy for Christmas, but Tom was allergic, hence he bought me Brown Puppy.

The next one belongs to Casey. It’s nothing special to look at, a clothes pin Rudolph Luke helped him make the first year after their mother got rid of them. He stares at it, holding it with all the tenderness one would reserve for a much cared for person.

“He made this with me that first Christmas after Mom left. We were wards of the state staying in this little shelter house run by Child and Family Services. There were about thirteen of us waiting for foster care—anyway—Mrs. Lembeck was her name, she loved to do crafts with the kids. We had nothing to give each other; it had been such a hard year. When Luke and I finished it, and he gave it to me, it was like he’d given me all of Santa’s toyshop, you know?”

“I got you something.” His story moves me and I can’t wait until Christmas. “Well I actually got you a couple of things, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to give one to you now.”

“You didn’t have—”

“Shh…” I cover his mouth with my hand. “I did.” I walk the few steps from the couch to my bedroom where his gift has been hidden since his Traverse City trip in my underwear drawer.

I find him sitting on the edge of his recliner when I come back out.

“Here.” I hand it off to him. “Merry Christmas.”

He holds my gaze. The longer he does so, the more my heart rate kicks up. When he tears his eyes away it’s to unwrap the package slowly, and watching him becomes pure agony.

My gift isn’t anything special, a little ornament I found while window shopping one day. Two little, red stockings hung from a fireplace mantle. Since it could be personalized, where the last name would normally be painted on the mantle, I had them write, Finally Home, with Casey and Tally written on each stocking.

I’m not sure if he likes the gift or hates it because he just stares at it, not speaking or even blinking, just lightly fingering the little stockings with the index finger of the hand he holds it in.

He continues to stare.

I continue to wait.

“If you don’t like it, I can—well it’s personalized so I can’t take it back—but I can replace it, I guess.”

“No. No. It’s just… it’s just perfect. Thank you.”

“I just thought, with this being our first Christmas in the house together, it should be commemorated.”

“Tally, you’re rambling.”

Yes. I’m rambling because I’m nervous. Giving a gift to Casey is a huge deal. He saved me and that’s not something you ever take lightly with fluff gifts or false images of gratitude. When he stands and walks over to the tree, hanging the ornament on the very front of the tree, that means everything. I guess he likes it.

Then he turns around to face me. “I have something for you, too. I should probably wait until Christmas day, but now, now I don’t think I want to.” He walks to his bedroom where I can hear him rustle through his dresser drawers.

If anyone had asked me at Halloween if we’d ever be here exchanging gifts, I’d had given a resoundinghell no. But here we are, living the dream as he walks back into the living room carrying a thin, wrapped package and hands it to me. “Here.”

“What is it?”

“Well, you could open it and find out.”

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