Page 8 of The Plus Ones
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.” I stand up and smirk at Roxy.
“Show me!” He claps his hands together.
“Okay, but you have to wait until your parents say it’s okay to open them, right?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
I pull three professionally wrapped gift boxes out from one of the shopping bags for him to inspect and shake. He looks so happy. And Roxy looks so worried.
This kid is definitely coming straight to me when he runs away from home one of these days.
“Hmmm,” he says. “I think I know what this one is.”
“I bet you don’t.”
He drops the box to the floor and turns to Roxy. “Where’s yours?”
That fucking Wham song, “Last Christmas” comes on, and I shudder. Tamara loved that song, and she’d play it over and over and over, from Thanksgiving to New Years. I don’t think about her all that much anymore, but she sends me e-cards every Christmas, and it haunts me for weeks afterwards. Especially since the cards never say anything other than Merry Christmas. It’s like she wants to make sure I don’t forget her, even though she has no intention of actually keeping in touch with me or seeing me ever again.
There was a time when I would have responded to her indifference by going out and dating as many models and socialites as I could handle.
But I guess you get to a point in your life where getting the girl isn’t as important to you as actually finding a girl you want to get to know and love.
Christ, that’s cheesy.
But like so many of the things I rarely say out loud—it’s true.
Fuck you, Wham.
Finn’s exclamation of “Yeaaahhh!” brings me back to the room and Roxy’s smug face. “I know what this is!” he shouts and jumps up and down.
“Maybe you do and maybe you don’t,” she says coyly.
“I know what it is, I know what it is, I know what it is!” he chants, even as he drops it to the ground and skips off out of the room.
Roxy and I are left here to put the presents back under the tree.
“I got it,” I say as she bends down next to me. Because God forbid she’d actually listen to me for once.
“You okay?” She sounds genuinely concerned, and I barely recognize her voice.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Your face just clouded over all of a sudden.”
I shake my head. No need to give her a real answer. “You going somewhere later?”
“You mean like yet another holiday party? Yeah. Why?”
I shrug as we stand up. “Just wondering. You aren’t exactly dressed for a family and friends Christmas party.”
“Am I not?” Her fists are planted on her sexy fucking hips again. I can really only think of one time in all the years that I’ve known her when she hasn’t assumed that stance with me. But I can’t think about it right now. “And what exactly would be the appropriate attire for a single woman who’s attending a family and friends Christmas party, in your opinion?” she continues. Of course she does, because she can’t just drop it and not give me a hard time. “Would a bulky Rudolph sweater and corduroy pants be more to your liking?”
“Forget I said anything.”
“Oh, but how could I? Every single thing you say is so perfect and memorable.”
