Page 98 of A Class of Her Own

He shook his head. “I mean, to be honest, it would feel kind of strange, but I’d live.”

“You’d live.”

“Yes. I’d manage; I’d be fine; I’d survive.”

“If you got less than you’re used to, you’d survive?” My voice was creeping up at the same speed as terror was rising. I wasn’t sure what had triggered it, but I felt claustrophobic and panicked, and I wanted to throw the gifts across the room and run away. “But you’d be disappointed. In me. I would let you down. Iwilllet you down.”

I put the gift back on the table, and he pinched his lips.

“What’s happening here?”

“I can’t accept those gifts because I’ll never in a million years be able to reciprocate. I don’t have as much money as you do, and any extra I manage to eek out usually goes to taking care of my dad. I manage to pull off exactly four gifts per year. One for each of my sisters, my dad, and one for a gift exchange with my friends.”

“I don’t see what this has to do with me giving you gifts.”

“We’ll never be even. I’ll always owe you, and I’ll always come up short.”

He blew out a breath. “This is a complete overreaction.”

I hated that word being associated with me, and it caused me to sit back away from him and watch him with raised eyebrows. “This is not an overreaction. I’m telling you that you went way overboard and are setting expectations I will never be able to meet.”

“So, are you going to make this one of your rules, then? No gifts over five dollars? No occasional spoiling of each other?”

I gasped. “You aren’t even trying to see where I’m coming from.”

“Because I spent days looking for little trinkets or things I thought you’d like. I watched a stupid online tutorial on how to wrap gifts. I knew you preferred simple birthdays, so I tried to keep it that way. And honestly, I think I did a fantastic job doing something so different from what I’d normally do. Everything about this night took you into consideration. You haven’t even opened the gift, Meredith. How do you know it’s more than you could ever reciprocate?” He stood. “And who said relationships are about reciprocation? It will never be totally even. Maybe one week I’ll need to hold you up. Maybe I’ll get hurt, and you’ll nurse me for a month. The point is that we both give whatever we have, and, together, it’s enough.”

He stormed out of the room, and I sat back against the couch cushions, my hands bunched into fists, my arms shaking. I was miserable and angry, surging with righteous indignation. How dare he give me that speech? I wanted to follow him and give him a taste of his own medicine. I wanted to hurl the gifts at his hard head. Then I wanted to tear them open one-by-one, so I could shove it in his face that these were more than mere trinkets.

In fact, I leaned forward and grabbed the gift he’d handed me first. I tore at the wrapping and sucked in a breath when I saw what was inside. It was a tiny skunk figurine, the type you’d find at a dollar store, nothing real special, but still meaningful. Some of my anger cooled, and I set it to the side to open another. The second one couldn’t possibly be that small. Yet, it was. It was an obviously homemade knit cap that looked identical to the one he’d said Hazel had made him.

“It’s so we can be cheesy twinners next time it snows,” he said from over my shoulder and across the room.

His tone was hesitant and still a little cross as I spun around to look up at him. His arms were folded, his sleeves pulled up, and I remembered running my finger over that compass tattoo.

“I kind of love it,” I said over the lump forming in my throat. I’d never had someone want to be twinners with me before.

“Hazel made it.”

“So, you commissioned it for me?”

He shrugged and didn’t move from his position leaning against the wall, so I turned back to the gifts, almost hesitant to see what else he’d come up with. The next gift was one candy cane and, as I laughed, remembering how hard he’d laughed when I’d told him about the candy cane hat trying to strangle me, I hugged it to my chest. These gifts were inexpensive, but they were so very dialed in to me and us and our story.

The fourth and fifth gifts were an ice cream sundae kit (minus the ice cream) and work gloves I could use at my dad’s house.

“I got a pair for myself, too. Thought we could keep them over there for when we go help with things,” he mumbled.

He’d said ‘we,’ and my heart positively shattered. I didn’t care what was in the last box. I jumped off the couch and hurried to where he was standing. I gave him no warning at all before I launched at him, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing my cheek to his. He caught me with a grunt and held me close.

“Forgive me, please,” I said against his ear. “I’m such a jerk. I was scared and mean and totally reacted without thinking. This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me, and I love it.”

“I stand by my statement that you must have the shortest fuse of anyone I know.”

I tightened my hold. “I know. It’s the worst trait.”

“I know you, Evergreen Atwood, better than you think. And what I don’t know, I’ll learn, hopefully without an argument every time.”

“I don’t know what triggered that.”

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