Page 104 of Holidating
Down, boy.I lowered my head and cut another rectangle of wrapping paper instead.
When every box was wrapped, Katie disappeared for a minute into a closet, returning with a towering stack of… basketballs! Some of them were ordinary basketballs, and pretty good quality. Others were meant for little kids, with cartoon pictures drawn all over them.
“Now we’re talking,” I said. “Those are some lucky kids if they’re getting these.”
“Glad you think so,” she said. “But they’re not going to be easy to wrap.”
I saw what she meant. The balls were in half-boxes, which meant that one side would cave in a bit when we taped it. “It will work,” I told her. “This is just karmic payback for all those years my mother had to figure out how to wrap basketballs for me in blue and white Hanukkah paper.”
Katie gave me a killer smile. Then she unrolled a long span of wrapping paper, this one in plain green. Then she grabbed a ball — there were bears on this one — and set its oddly shaped carton onto the paper.
“Hold up…” I gave her the hand signal for time-out. “We can’t wrap the kiddie balls in that plain paper, unless you’re putting name tags on each of these. The paper should signal what’s inside, right? A guy who chooses the green wrap can’t end up with Disney characters on his basketball. He’s going to get his ass kicked.”
Katie’s hands stilled. Then she and Amy, who was wrapping stacks of teddy bears nearby, both began to laugh. “Omigod, so true!” Katie said. She swapped the ball for a plain one. “The bigger question is, did I screw this up? Should I have not bought the decorated ones at all?”
I shook my head. “Those are good for little kids, because the bigger kids won’t steal them. No cool dude is going to bring a ball with pandas on it to his pickup game.”
“These are all good points,” Amy remarked. “And now I’m thinking that we should put age ranges on everything. We could write, ‘a sporty gift for up to age six.’ Would that work?” She raised her eyes to me.
“Well, sure.”
While Katie’s sorority sister ran off to find some paper to make the tags, Katie touched the cuff of my shirt. “You are really good at this. Thank you for helping.”
I shrugged. “I had lots of experience getting my ass kicked. I know all the scenarios.”
Giggling, she touched a warm hand to my back for a second as she reached for the tape. Every time she put one of those slim hands on me, I felt it everywhere. And she smelled incredible. Like strawberries. I don’t know what it was — a lotion? A fruity shampoo? Whatever it was, it was making me crazy.
“I really wasn’t sure what to buy for the boys,” she said, leaning over the next gift. “I hope these have a shot at making someone happy. There were trendier toys at the store, like action figures. But I went with sturdier things, and I hope it was the right call. These kids don’t get to make a list and choose.”
I cut the next piece of wrapping paper, thinking about that. “Even when you get to choose, gift-giving is never perfect, right? I asked for a lot of stuff as a kid only to find out it wasn’t as good as it lookedon TV.”
“Ha! That issotrue. My EZ Chef Oven never baked the cakes all the way through. I just hope that something here makes somebody’s day, you know?”
“It has to,” I told her. “There’s something a little magical about getting a wrapped gift, especially if it’s unexpected. The experience is bigger than the thing that’s inside.”
She didn’t answer for a second, and I didn’t quite know why. But then she spoke, and her voice was quiet. “You’re a smart guy, Andy B.,” she said, catching another piece of tape on her slender forefinger. “And we’ve been here an hour, and so far I haven’t had to use the secret code word.”
Her eyes flicked toward the arched doorway then. The sound of male voices had been coming from that room for a while now. She didn’t look happy about it.
“That offer still stands, though,” I whispered.
“And I do appreciate it,” she breathed.
Eventually, we got everything wrapped except for one basketball — a pink one, with ducks on it. This last ball had a torn box around it and a black ink mark on its surface. “What do we do about this one?” I asked. “Ditch the box? Tape it up?”
Katie regarded it with a frown. “This one they gave me at the store, because it’s damaged and because all our purchases were for charity. But I don’t think I want any kid to get a damaged gift. That’s just not right.”
“Without it, do you have enough toys?”
“We do.”
“Fair enough.” I tore the ball from its box and tossed the cardboard onto our recycling pile. Then I spun it on my fingertip. Holding a basketball — even a pink one with ducks — always made my head feel clearer.
The Christmas tree setup next door must have been almost finished, because the sound of male laughter grew louder, and guys began to wander in, beers in hand. Their new role seemed to be smirking and drinking. Katie kept her eyes glued to the gift-wrappedpackages which she was busy tagging. But I noticed that her body drifted a few inches closer to me.
And I didn’t mind one bit. I was flattered, honestly. If my job tonight was to provide some kind of cover, I could do that.
Now, nice guys usually got friend-zoned. That wasn’t only true in movies. I was living proof. And there were days when that got depressing. But tonight I was just where I wanted to be. I didn’t mind being needed by this fabulous creature. Because, what a view! And these girls had good taste in beer.
