Page 63 of The Ballad of Us
“Can I open it now?” I grin from ear to ear, like a child who just received an unexpected gift.
He leans his head back and laughs at my overzealousness. “That's the whole point.”
Inside is a delicate glass ornament shaped like a coffee cup, with “Our Beginning” etched in elegant script. A small silver card is tucked inside.
“For the place where everything started again. Mountain Mornings will always be sacred to us. - G”
Tears well in my eyes, despite making every effort to avoid them. “Gray. It's perfect.”
“So, you'll do it? Twenty-four days of surprises?” He seems more excited to give me gifts than to receive his own.
“I'd love to.” I reach under the counter where I'd stashed a small gift I'd wrapped on impulse yesterday. “Actually, I might have already started.”
His face lights up as he unwraps a custom keychain guitar pick that I found online with a picture of us from Halloween night together. “Rhea, baby, this is fucking perfect. Thank you.” He removes his keys from his pocket and slides his gift through the silver ring.
We look forward to our daily surprise gifts, turning each day into something special. December second brings a small gift. As I walk into Mountain Mornings, the door chimes, and Gray greets me with an envelope. I open it to find a bookmark engraved with For all the love stories yet to be read.
Gray smiles. “It's to remind you that every story matters.”
Later in the week, I give Gray a small succulent for his windowsill at the cabin. “You need a living, growing baby to care for,” I say.
He acknowledges the symbolism, voice thick with emotion. “It'll remind us that beauty can come from care and patience.”
The eighteenth stands out, though. The gift I've been most concerned about sits wrapped in a small velvet pouch. Gray has had a tough week, grappling with memories from his past that resurface unexpectedly during therapy, testing his resolve. He’s been quieter than usual, his smiles not quite reaching his eyes. It’s a clear sign that he's struggling more than he lets on. Knowing this, I put extra thought into today's gift, hoping it meets him where he is emotionally. Somehow, I know the Buddhist prayer beads will speak to what he’s been battling internally. When Gray eases the string open and finds a mala made of carved bone skulls, not the traditional wooden kind, his eyes widen slightly. He pauses, taking a deep breath that shakes just a little, before running the beads through his fingers with a kind of reverence. A moment of silence passes between us as he registers the significance. Pain crosses his features before settling into a soft expression.
“It's a meditation mala. The skulls represent impermanence, reminding us that joy and suffering are temporary and to cherish each moment.” Gray nods slowly, still absorbing the weight of the gift. He looks at me, his eyes glistening with tears and his voice barely above a whisper. “Rhea, this is incredible. I see what you're saying, and it means a lot.” He places it around his wrist. “I'll wear it every day.”
His gift for me that day is a small leather journal with my initials embossed on the cover. “For all the thoughts and dreams you're too humble to share. I want you to write down everything - all your hopes, fears, and ideas for the future. Our future.”
Christmas Eve brings Gray's adoptive parents to the cabin for a Christmas visit. I've been nervous about seeing David and Meg Garrison for weeks, knowing how important they are to Gray and Andrew's story.
David is a retired high school principal with kind eyes and calloused hands that speak of years spent building beautiful things in his workshop. Meg was a nurse for thirty years before retiring, and she possesses a gentle yet no-nonsense demeanor, reflecting the kind of person who has seen it all and still chooses kindness.
They took in Gray and Andrew when the boys were eight and ten, respectively, after their previous foster placement fell through. What was supposed to be temporary became permanent when the Garrison family realized these traumatized brothers needed the kind of stability that only unconditional love could provide.
“Hey, Rhea,” Meg greets me warmly when they arrive at the band’s cabin, pulling me into a hug that smells like vanilla and home. “We've missed you.”
“I missed you guys, too,” I reply, immediately feeling welcomed despite my earlier concerns.
Christmas Eve dinner is a revelation. The cabin is festive, and the air is filled with the aroma of Meg’s pies. She and I work in the kitchen, getting everything ready while the men handle the music.
Meg prepares the mashed potatoes, ensuring they’re whipped to the perfect consistency. “Gray called us from rehab every week, but the calls after he started talking to you again were different. Hopeful. Like he remembered what he was fighting for.”
“He's the one who did the work.” I don’t want to take credit for his hard-won sobriety.
“Sweetheart, love doesn't cure addiction, but it sure gives you a reason to fight. You gave him that reason.” Meg smiles warmly.
During dinner, David raises his glass of sparkling cider in a toast. “To our sons,” he says, looking directly at Gray and Andrew. “We've watched you both grow from little boys into incredible men. But Gray, this year especially, we want you to know how proud we are. One hundred and fifty-seven days of sobriety, and more importantly, one hundred and fifty-seven days of choosing to show up for your life and the people you love.”
Gray's eyes fill with tears, and I watch him absorb his father's words like a man who's been thirsty his whole life, finally finding water. The pride and emotion in the room momentarily overwhelm him, shifting the mood of the dinner from celebration to a deep, heartfelt connection.
“Thank you for never giving up on me and for believing I could get better even when I didn't believe it myself.” Gray’s voice is heavy with emotion.
“That's what families do, sweetheart. We hold onto hope when you can't hold it yourself.” She reminds him.
After dinner, the guys set up for an impromptu concert and play several new songs from their upcoming album. I watch David and Meg beam with pride, and I can’t help but smile. Gray performs with the harmony that comes only from years of making music. As they play “Solid Ground,” Gray sings a haunting melody with a lingering, unfinished chord, which casts a subtle shadow over the otherwise uplifting tunes.
“We have one more, but it's not quite finished yet. Maybe next time,” Gray says as the last song ends.
