Page 148 of The Breaking Pointe
“I’m coming to bug you to come and open presents,” he says, sounding like an innocent child.
I smile, appreciating his youth for a moment before I say anything.
“Yeah, let’s go,” I say, turning him around and walking us down the hall to join everyone in the living room.
The living room is lit with colored Christmas lights, re-sembling something of a holiday magazine. It’s everything that I want for Steven to have.He’s never showed me this side of him—a side that’s happy to have me around. I know
my impact as a brother plays a fatal role in how he turns out to be as he grows into a man and leaves his teen years behind. I misunderstood his frustration for hatred. Although, some of it may have felt rooted in hatred, it wasn’t that at all.
Noelle’s parents are on the floor with her, all of them in various positions, waiting for us.We find places next to them, joining their circle and making ourselves comfortable while Noelle passes out each gift, eagerly.She must have done this a thousand times with the way her parents watch her and only react with solace. It’s comforting, the way they pay attention to her and only her when she’s in the room. It’s as if nothing else can be powerful enough to take their eyes away from her. I, too, have trouble taking my eyes off of her, but it goes to show how much she really is loved.I only hope that she knows.
“Okay, Mom—Daddy, go first,” Noelle says, clapping her hands together and squeezing them until they turn pale.
Mr. Mayberry looks at her mother, wanting to speak but letting her take the lead.
“We were thinking you guys could open yours first.It would be nice to watch,” she says, patting Noelle’s hands gently with a sincere smile.
Noelle looks at Steven and I before turning back to them and playfully groaning.“You guys are so theatrical.”She laughs, sliding one box close to me, and another in front of Steven. “These are from me.”
Both boxes are rather large in size, doubling my curiosity. There’s no possible way she can top last night. How could she find more ways to make me love her?
“You go first.” I tap Steven’s box, forcing myself to wait longer.
For a change, he picks the choice of not going against my words, and starts dismantling the wrapping paper like a savage until a large black box is unveiled, decorated with designs of the skateboard it contains.
His eyes mimic the glimmer of gold.He almost can’t make words, but finally figures it out, last minute.
“You picked this?” he relishes, tracing his fingers along it. Noelle nods with a prideful grin and closed eyes.
His hands release the large box from their handle and his arms toss themselves around her, hugging her tightly as the box sits between them.
A tiny gasp bursts from Noelle’s mouth as she hugs him back, closing her eyes and gathering his embrace for herself. She’sneverlefthimout.She’swelcomedhimintoher life just as much as she has me, and out of any gift I receive today, that might be the greatest gift of all.To be loved and
to share that with my closest kin.
“You wanna give it a test run?” Mr. Mayberry suggests, giving a furtive face.
Steven pulls away from Noelle and looks at him with his answer plastered on his face.
“Reggie, it’s too icy on the sidewalks…” Robin begins, her nerves disrupted by that idea.
“Relax, I’ll take him to the piano room.It’s Christmas, Robin, c’mon,” he declares cordially as he stands up, grum- bling and grunting in his efforts.
Steven grabs his board and follows him into the next room, leaving Robin with a countenance of skepticism.
“It’s okay. I can live with him missing my presents. He’s crazy about boarding,” I brazenly insist, wanting him to enjoy himself in whatever way he pleases.
Robin sips her coffee and subdues her concern, while Noelle scoots closer to me.
“Your turn,” she says, firmly poking my leg.
“You didn’t out do yourself enough, yet, did you?” I ask, picking up the neatly wrapped box with a smirk.
She lowers her chin to add depth to her non-threatening glare at me—commanding me to open it.
Taking a deep breath and deciding not to make her wait any longer, I help myself to roughing up the pretty paper. Each rip becomes bigger as I remove more until the box is free from its confinement.My fingertips connect with newly carved oak box with a gentle glossing. In the middle, on what seems to be the top of the box,sits two letters—
C. K.—engraved with a classy font.Holding all of the oak together in its place are golden latches, indicating that this contraption was never just a box to begin with, but much more.
