Page 58 of The Fake Dating Plan

“Open that one,” she said, pointing to Caiden and Hailey’s gift.

“Okay.” I tried to sound less amused than I was. I picked up the box. It felt heavy and as I was about to open it, I handed it to her.

“You do the honors.”

“It’s your gift.”

I shrugged and handed it to her. She seemed way more enthusiastic about this than I was. It was infectious, and I didn’t want whatever this geyser of energy that had sprung from her to stop gushing.

She ripped the paper off and revealed a matte black box. It was embossed in silver on top with the name of a popular sports brand. She glanced at me, smiling. “I didn’t know they made such special packaging.”

“It must be bespoke. Knowing Caiden, he must have requested only the best.” She opened it and in it was a polo mallet, a set of balls, a whip, gloves, and other equipment. Everything had my name engraved.

“Wow, looks expensive even though I do not know what it is.”

“Polo gear.”

“Still into the sport I see.”

“Not as much. This is his way of teasing me to get back into it.”

“I remember you liking it so much. Why did you stop?”

Because of you? Because the last time I went to play, all I could see was the ghost of where you used to stand and cheer me on? Playing was tainted afterward. “Reasons.” I threw the box to the side. “Next.”

She grabbed another gift. It was a rectangular box on the side of a bottle. She unwrapped it and, sure enough, there was a bottle of wine in it. “That must be from Dad.”

“Bordeaux 1961. Was it a good year?”

“How the hell should I know?”

“And here I was thinking you’re the wine connoisseur.”

“I only know what I must.”

“He must think you’re an alcoholic with the number of drinks he gives you as gifts.”

“He has a tough time choosing one and thinks a bottle of Cognac or a Bordeaux is a universal gift that never fails.”

She chuckled. It was a small, lilting sound that made me want to say something funny so I could hear it again.

“Which one’s next?” she grabbed a hastily wrapped gift that could only be from Francie. “How about this one?”

“I’ve never seen anyone enjoy opening someone else’s gifts. It’s a wondrous phenomenon.”

“That’s because I’ve never had the joy of experiencing it.” Her head was down when she spoke. When she lifted it, her eyes were glassy. “Most of the foster homes I stayed in didn’t do Christmas most of the time. And when they did, well, let’s just say it wasn’t like you people do it.”

“It must have been tough for you.”

“I pulled through. It was bad most of the time, anyway. It could have been worse.” She brightened suddenly and shook the gift she had in hand. “Should I open this one?”

I pointed to a small red box peaking beneath a blue and silver box. “How about that one?”

She shook her head. “No. I don’t think you have to.”

Was it from her? If it was, the curiosity of seeing what was in it increased tenfold.

“Now I want to,” I said and snatched it before her hand could reach it.

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