Chapter Seven
Julia
With Christmas Eve dinner eaten and Alex and me in our pajamas, we settle under the covers of Alex’s bed and press in close, ready to start our favorite holiday tradition: watching Alien and eating way too many cookies. It’s been our Christmas routine since we were nine years old.
Alex sets up her laptop, the movie all cued and ready to go. “So we’ll pause and grab more snacks right before Kane dies. Because I really want to eat one of those manger-shaped sugar cookies your mom brought over while everyone is freaking out over the chestburster.”
“You are so weird.” She shoots me a sideways smile and starts the movie.
My hand covers hers, stopping her, and she gives me a questioning look.
“Before we hit play…” I reach under the bed and grab the carefully wrapped square gift I hid there earlier and hand it to her.
“I know we usually do gifts after the movie, but I can’t wait any longer. Merry Christmas.”
Alex eyes the package curiously but doesn’t question the slight change of timeline.
I bounce a little and readjust so I can watch her.
It’s been absolute hell waiting to give this to her.
If this is what people go through before they propose, I don’t envy them.
I’ve been sitting on this gift for three months and slowly going crazy.
Once the paper is ripped off, Alex peers inside the glass box at the ball placed carefully within.
She doesn’t move. She doesn’t say anything, just stares.
Her eyes seem to sparkle underneath the twinkle lights she strung across her headboard.
A few beats pass in silence, and when she still doesn’t react, I shift nervously, wondering if she can make out the signature. “It’s signed by—”
“Johnny Bench?” she asks the same time her gaze snaps to meet mine. “How? Is this…is this real?” Her voice is loud, her tone disbelieving. I relax, relieved, and nod. “He touched this? Jules, I…How?”
Laughter bubbles in my throat. “Open it and look at the back.”
The ball has shifted a little in transit, and the blue ballpoint autograph now faces upward, which means the back of the ball is facing the one side that isn’t transparent.
Instead of removing the glass top, Alex frantically looks around.
“Gloves. I need gloves. I don’t want to ruin this with my oily fingers.
” After realizing she doesn’t have any gloves in her room, she decides to stick her hand under her shirt and uses that to remove the glass top and gently roll the ball over.
“To Alex?” She squeals and looks at me again. “He knows my name?”
I bite my lower lip, trying hard not to laugh but unable to stop my smile.
Alex shoots to her knees, knocking her laptop to the side of her bed and causing the ball to fall off the stand.
She quickly snags it, momentarily forgetting about not wearing gloves, and stares at her name written in large swooping letters.
“Holy shit.” She looks at me, the reality of having an autograph from her favorite player finally sinking in, and holds it for me to see.
“Holy shit!” She throws her arms around me in an excited hug.
“This is the greatest present I’ve ever gotten. ”
This time, I do laugh. “I’m glad you like it.”
“But seriously,” she says, staring again at the ball. “How did you get this?”
Something twists in my chest, and I do my best not to let my smile reflect the quick burst of sadness that hits. “Tyler’s roommate’s uncle lives near him. Or something like that.”
Alex’s smile falters, and she focuses on me. “Jules.”
I wave my hand, dismissing her concern. “No, it’s fine. I’m fine. He helped me get it back in September.” She hesitates. “Please don’t let that ruin the gift. Tyler and I are friends. Or, well, trying to be. We’re good. I promise.” I put my hand on her leg and squeeze.
The truth is, Tyler and I really have been trying.
Slowly. We don’t talk every day like we used to or even every other day.
But we check in with each other a couple times a week.
What started as awkward small talk has turned into genuine curiosity, and it’s been good.
And weirdly, it’s also helped me to move on.
Knowing that we’re capable of being friends instead of giving up entirely.
She gently places the ball back in the case, carefully putting the glass top back until it’s secure over the dark wood base. Finally, she looks at me with an expression I can only describe as regret. “After that…I don’t want to give you yours. I want a redo.”
“What? No way. Why?”
“Because…” She shoves the case in my face and stutters out, “Johnny Bench!”
I push the case away and roll my eyes. “Oh my God, just give me my gift.”
Slowly, as if she’s procrastinating, she places the case on her pillow and pulls a rectangular present from underneath her side of the bed.
But instead of giving it to me, she picks idly at the big red bow stuck right in the center.
I hold out my hands and motion for her to hand it over, and reluctantly, she does.
“It’s heavy,” I observe and bounce it up and down a few times while I try to guess what it could be.
“Careful. There could be a puppy inside,” she teases.
“If there’s a puppy shoved in here, we have a big problem.
” She laughs, but it quickly fades as I tear through the paper.
When I open the lid off the box, my breath catches.
Green, gray, yellow, maroon…They’re books in all different colors and in different languages, but I instantly know what they are. Not books. But a book.
“The Secret Garden?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
Alex nods and stares at the books as if it’s her first time seeing them, too. “I collected a few when I was in Europe.”
“Alex,” I exhale. Now it’s my turn to get teary. My favorite book in four different languages. They all appear used, too, worn and loved, my absolute favorite.
“I went to a lot of used bookstores,” she says, opening the cover of one and showing the handful of names of past owners scribbled in the top left corner.
I hug the books to my chest, holding them tight against my heart. “I love them.”
Alex scoffs. “I mean, it’s no Johnny Bench.”
“Shut up.” We share a smile, and I run my fingers over the worn cover of the top book. “These are stunning and amazing.”
“Hey,” Mason says from the doorway. “I think the moms want a picture of us by the tree.”
“Already?” Alex asks through a groan. “Okay, tell them we’ll be there in a few.”
Mason eyes us, his gaze shifting from the books in my lap to the discarded laptop still paused on the opening credits. “Do you want me to make hot chocolate for your annual Alien viewing?”
Despite still being full, the idea of hot chocolate to go with cookies sounds way too good to pass up. “Oh, yes, please. With peppermint?”
He narrows his eyes and drags his fingers through his new beard, making a show of giving my request serious consideration. “Only if you let me watch with you.”
“Only if you shave that dead animal off your face,” Alex fires back without missing a beat.
I bite back a smile. We’re both so used to seeing Mason baby-faced and clean-shaven that when we came home for winter break to see the shaggy and slightly uneven beard, well, it was rather unsettling.
“I’ll make homemade whipped cream.”
It’s not fair, really. Mason knows that Alex and I are suckers for the homemade topping. Alex and I exchange a look and at the same time say, “Deal.”
Satisfied, Mason leaves us alone, and I begrudgingly peel back the comforter and pout. “I was just getting warm and cozy.”
Alex pulls on a hoodie and slips the ball into the front pocket, careful to only touch the seams.
“You’re bringing the ball for family pictures?”
“Yeah, I want to show Mason right when the camera goes off. I want to forever memorialize the look of shock and jealousy.” Her laugh can only be described as a cackle, clearly pleased and amused with herself.
“You’re horrible.”
She bumps her shoulder to mine. “You love me.”
I bump her back but don’t bother denying it because I really, really do.
“Tell her to hurry up or we’ll be late,” Chloe calls from the driver’s side as I step out of her warm car. “She better not still be napping.”
“I know, I know,” I mumble and close the door. I glance at my phone.
We were supposed to meet at my house at eight so Chloe could drive us to a New Year’s party on the other side of town. But eight o’clock came and went without a word from Alex. Even after several texts and a few unanswered calls.
Normally, my first reaction would be that something was wrong with Mason. Except I know that’s not the case because he texted me a photo of him and his date at some fancy restaurant about fifteen minutes ago.
Ms. Pestano’s car is gone, so she’s either at work or at Richard’s, and a quick peek in the garage shows Alex’s motorcycle is still inside. Now I’m just annoyed. If she needed more time, all she had to do was say something.
I knock, but there’s no answer. I get the spare key ready, but the front door is unlocked, so I pop my head in. “Alex, you ready? Chloe’s getting antsy.”
Still no answer. The house is quiet, and I wouldn’t put it past Alex to indeed still be napping. I sigh and start up the stairs. Her bedroom door is open slightly, and soft music plays from within.
“Hey, Al?” I push open the door and step inside. “Are you ready because Chloe’s—” but the sight in front of me causes me to freeze. “Waiting,” I finish lamely. Because oh my God.
A girl is straddling Alex in her bed, her bare back on full display, and Alex’s hands are on her sides, her fingers pressed into her ribs like she’s holding on. The sheets cover most of them, but I manage to catch more than enough before they both realize what’s happening.
And that’s when I see way more of Simone Howard than I ever did back in our locker room days.