Page 29 of Presley's Christmas Catch
“He looks smitten,” I agree.
“Absolutely.” Presley leans closer to me to look at the picture again, giving it star-eyes.
We arrive at her apartment, and she unlocks the door.
“Are you going to tell me what you were so excited to show me this morning?” I ask.
“Absolutely!” She claps her hands and then gestures for me to follow her inside. “I can’t believe I forgot all about it after you said you were in town.” I catch a flash of pink to her cheeks before she turns around and disappears into her bedroom.
She comes back a few moments later holding a paper bag. “Prepare yourself,” she says with so much faux seriousness I have to swallow back laughter. Hanging out more with Presley is going to be a major plus of playing for the Rays. She’s a light in my life that balances my intensity.
She slides a book out of the paper bag, and I recognize it immediately. It’s a rare-ish collector’s edition of book fifteen, but I’m not sure why she’s so excited. She knows I have this same set.
Then she flips open the front page and shows me the signature. My mouth drops open, and I know I’ve given her the exact reaction she wanted because she bounces again, like she did when she found out the Rays signed me.
“Signed?” I say when she holds out the book for me to inspect. I read the inscription and then look back up at her. “Your aunt met him?”
She throws up her hands. “I guess?” she cries. “She never saidanything, Brock. I’m thoroughly perplexed about how she would get this and never say anything about it and then just leave it to me when she’s dead.”
I hand the book back to Presley, and she slips it into the paper bag, setting it on a side table next to her couch. “I feel like I would have liked your aunt a lot.”
“Yeah. You would have. It’s exasperating that she did this, and I have no answers, but I’m pretty sure she’s up there laughing hysterically at me trying to figure this out.” Her expression tenses for a moment as she stares at the bag.
I crouch to peer at her. “Pres, it’s okay to be mad at her for not telling you.”
She shakes her head. “Oh. It’s not that. I mean, I’m annoyed, yeah. Because it was probably a great story. Maybe it’s in one of the letters she left me, and I have to wait to find out.” She sighs. “It’s fine.”
I pull her into a hug. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my mom, it’s that “fine” doesn’t always mean “fine,” and there’s an edginess to her words that says she feels more than she’s letting on. Presley melts into me, putting her face against my chest and wrapping her arms around me. She sighs, and I almost expect her to start crying. She’s not afraid to do that with me, something that makes me want to puff out my chest in pride that she trusts me that much. Another lesson my mom drilled into me: tears are normal and nothing to freak out about.
Unless it’s because someone hurt her. The same would go for Presley. She’s the closest friend I’ve had in a long time, besides Lincoln, I guess. And even with him, his life has been so busy since he met Layla and then basically became an instant dad.
“It really is okay, Brock. I promise,” she says into my chest, but she doesn’t make any effort to move.
“If you’re sure?” I lean back to look at her. Her cheeks are red, maybe with embarrassment even though she knows crying in front of me is fine.
She steps back and smooths her hair. “Really. Do you want to hang out, or do you need to go?”
“Hang out,” I say. Going back to my hotel room would mean thinking too much about everything that’s happened this week, even if it ended well. “Should we finish the Christmas movie I slept through?” I suggest, plopping down on her couch.
“Or we could … decorate Christmas cookies?” she says.
I sit up. “I’m in.”
She tilts her head toward the kitchen. “I already have everything. I made the cookies after work, and I was going to go over to my mom’s to decorate until you said you were in town.”
I stand and follow her as she moves toward the island that separates her kitchen area from the living room. “I feel bad for taking this opportunity from your mom.”
“Don’t. I’ll go over to her house and decorate again with her sometime. She’s big about Christmas too. Where do you think I got it?” She turns away from me, opening her fridge and depositing containers of frosting on the counter. I see the sugar cookies sitting on a cooling rack next to the stove. They’re the perfect shade of cream and golden brown on the bottom.
“Those look good,” I say, pointing to the cookies as she gathers decorating materials. It’s a lot, which shouldn’t be surprising since she’s told me how much she loves Christmas, and I can tell this is a tradition. She has a kit with frosting bags and tips for different shapes. I take a seat at the island on one of the stools, shifting around until I’m as comfortable as I’m going to get.
“Sorry,” Presley says as she watches me. “I don’t get many six-seven guys in here.”
“I’m used to other people’s furniture not being exactly the right size for me. It’s like being Goldilocks but the opposite,” I joke to make sure she doesn’t worry about it.
She brings a tray of cookies over and then takes a seat next to me. She starts chatting about the Rays as she begins spreading a layer of white frosting over a cookie, and I relax into the comfortof our friendship and the lightness to this moment. She turns on some Christmas music to play softly, and I feel settled and comfortable for the first time since Monday night.
I went to my mom’s house that night. Packed a bag and left Denver. She was there for me like she has been my whole life, but I couldn’t shake the failure that surrounded me in that moment. Mom, Tim, Lincoln, Jett, Presley, everyone assured me from the moment Denver let me go that it was Denver’s mistake. Some commentators said it too. Jett texted me as soon as he found out, saying the Devils are trying to right a sinking ship by tossing overboard the only people who care about saving it. I’m grateful for my friends and family and the ways they support me.
