Chapter 20 #2
I don’t want to embarrass her, so I need to tread carefully. I gently turn her toward the tree and lift the Santa ornament from the branch. “You looked at this one longer than the others. What makes it special?”
She draws in a deep breath, her shoulders brushing my chest. I want to rest a hand on her hip, to let her know I’m here, but it feels too intimate—more than the “show” we’ve put on for my siblings.
Still, her sadness leaves me empty and helpless.
Empty I know; helpless isn’t familiar. And I hate it.
“Finley,” I whisper in her ear. “Help me understand.”
She shivers. I can’t help myself—I don’t want her sad and cold. I wrap my arms around her, pulling her back against me to share my warmth.
“My mom…” Her voice is so faint I almost miss it.
“Did she like Santas?” I prod gently when she doesn’t continue. I need to know what she’s thinking, what she’s feeling. I’ve never taken an interest in other women like this, but it must be because we’re friends, not lovers. Friends care about each other’s feelings.
She leans into me, and I tighten my hold. Having her against me feels too natural. Too right. But I shove down my feelings and concentrate on hers.
“Yeah,” she finally says, and even though I can’t see her face, I hear the sad smile in her voice.
“But there was one she loved the most. Her grandmother gave it to her when she was a kid. She adored her grandmother, so it was really special to her. She wrapped it in tissue paper every year and placed it in a special box. She kept it in her dresser, not with the other ornaments.”
“Do you have it on the tree in your apartment?”
She turns and looks up at me. “What makes you think I have a tree in my apartment?”
Somehow, I know she’s deflecting, which tells me—along with the way she was looking at this one—that it’s gone.
An ache twists in my chest. Finley’s already lost so much. It kills me that she lost that ornament. It feels unbearable.
“It looked almost exactly like this one,” she whispers, her voice cracking.
I don’t care how much it costs; I’m not leaving without it. I’ll take out a second mortgage on my condo if I have to.
My chest feels like a hundred-pound anvil is pressing on it. “What happened to your mother’s ornament, Finley?”
She draws a shaky breath. “One of my crappy roommates.” Then she slips out of my arm and hurries from the tent.
I turn to watch her leave, torn between chasing her and taking the time to buy the ornament. Tyler’s standing a few feet away, watching me with a dark look that says he thinks I screwed this up.
I turn back to the ornament and lift the price tag, my eyes nearly popping out. No wonder she got upset. The price is astronomical.
I reach over to take it off the tree, but then stop. If I just buy it and give it to her, she’ll think I did it out of pity.
Isn’t it?
The ache in my chest throbs, stealing my breath. It’s killing me she lost something so precious, but it isn’t pity that makes me want to buy it. Finley’s always so full of life—I can’t stand seeing her so broken.
Is that pity?
Or me being selfish? Only desperate to fix her sadness so my afternoon isn’t ruined?
I glance outside the tent but there’s no sign of her. Every moment I spend in here is another moment she’s alone. The thought of her being sad and alone makes the ache worse.
And then the answer hits me. I can buy the ornament as a gift. A gift isn’t pity, right? She’s planning to spend God knows how much on my family’s gifts and stockings, and that’s not pity.
Oh, God.
My stomach drops to my feet. The budget she set for gifts could cover the cost of this ornament. Instead of buying the one thing she clearly wants, she’s choosing to buy presents for my family.
If I was forced to choose between something I really wanted and doing something that was right—what would I choose?
You already made that choice six years ago.
Why does that choice suddenly feel wrong?
There’s still no sign of her, and my worry grows to panic. I need to make sure she’s okay. Once I find her, I’ll come back and get it.
I snap a photo of the ornament with my phone, then dash outside.
Tyler is standing in the middle of the street, his arms stiff at his side as he stares at something farther down. He turns to give me a dark look.
“What did you say to her?” he asks.
“I asked her why she wanted that ornament so much, and she said her mother used to have one just like it,” I bite out, getting pissed. I should be finding Finley, not justifying myself with him. “But she won’t get it because it costs too much.”
His gaze drops to my empty hands, then his scowl darkens before he stalks off.
I know he’s judging me, but right now, I don’t give a shit. I need to find Finley. And then I realize what Tyler had been watching.
Finley is standing to the side of the crowd, between booths, and she’s talking to her phone screen. Is she talking to one of her neighbors again?
As though she knows I’m watching, she lifts her gaze to me. She gives me a soft smile and points to her phone.
I smile back and give her a thumbs-up.
“When did you become a thumbs-up guy?” Mallory asks as she approaches with a new bag added to her collection.
“Good question.” Since Finley isn’t technically alone, I could slip back into the blown glass vendor stall and buy the ornament. But I see Mallory carrying a bag with the vendor’s logo. Finley will know I bought something there, and I really want it to be a surprise.
But there’s another way.
I pull up the photo on my phone. “See this Santa?”
“Is that some kind of euphemism for showing me porn?” she asks, curling her upper lip in disgust.
I recoil. “What? No! Why would I show my baby sister porn?”
“First of all, I’m not a baby anymore, and second—two words.” She pauses and gives me a dead-eyed stare. “Dead possum.”
I frown. “That wasn’t porn.”
“No, it was disgusting roadkill, and you and Grant shoved a photo of it in my face.”
I roll my eyes. “We were kids.”
“You were in middle school, and I couldn’t eat red meat for nearly a year.”
I scrub my chin with the back of my hand. “Yeah, we were shitty brothers, but it still doesn’t explain why you’d think I’d show you porn.”
“Roadkill seems appropriate for a thirteen-year-old. Porn seems more appropriate for a man your age.” When I give her a blank stare, she shrugs. “I’m just giving you shit. You have to admit you deserve it.”
“True,” I say, “and deserve even more, but I need you to look at this non-porn Christmas ornament and get it for me. It’s a smiling Santa.” I hold the phone up so she can see it.
“Most Santas are smiling, Alex,” she teases then studies the ornament. “I didn’t know you have a thing for Santa ornaments. You seem more like a Rudolph guy.”
“It’s not for me,” I grunt. “It’s for Finley. I want to give it to her.” Why does admitting that feel so uncomfortable? It’s normal to get your girlfriend a gift. But it feels like I’m cutting my chest open and letting Mallory watch my heart beat. “Can you get it for me or not?” I ask defensively.
“Jeez, calm down,” she says, looking me over with narrowed eyes. “Of course I will.”
“It’s insanely expensive,” I warn, texting the photo. “I’ll Venmo you.” I pause. “You do have Venmo, right?”
Her eyes narrow. “Of course I have Venmo. Most thirteen-year-olds have Venmo.”
“How do you know the buying habits of thirteen-year-olds?” I ask suspiciously.
“Maybe because I was a camp counselor last summer and bunked with thirteen- and fourteen-year-olds for two months.”
Ouch. I should have known that.
Her eyes narrow even more. “Are you getting it for her because you’re trying to impress her with your money?”
“What? No!”
But I realize in the past, I’ve bought my girlfriends gifts based on the dollar amount, not because it meant something. Not like Finley is doing with her gifts.
“Her mother had an ornament like that when she was a kid and Finley inherited it. But one of her jackass roommates did something to it. She really wants it but won’t spend that much on herself. So, I…I want to get it for her.”
Her eyes go soft. “That’s sweet, Alex.”
“It’s just an ornament,” I grunt.
“Obviously it’s not just an ornament to Finley.”
There’s no arguing that point.
She screws up her face. “Why is it so hard for you to admit you want to do something nice for her?”
“What are you talking about?” I scoff. “I just asked you to get the ornament for me.”
“Yeah, but you seem…” She shakes her head. “Never mind. I’ll get it then send you a Venmo request for payment.”
Some of my tension bleeds away. “Thanks. But if you need me to send you money before you get it, let me know.”
Her eyes widen. “That much, huh? The one I got for mom was around twenty dollars.”
“That’s like pocket change compared to this one. But she really wants it.” Some of my desperation bleeds into my voice. “Never mind. She’s busy talking to her friend. I’ll get it myself.”
I brush past her, but she puts a hand on my chest. She gives me a strange look, like she’s trying to figure me out then gives up. “No, it’s okay. I’ll get it and hide it in the bag with my others.”
I feel like a tightly coiled spring about to be released. “Okay.”
“If Finley asks where I am, tell her I saw a friend and wanted to catch up. When I see you two are further down the market, I’ll pop in and get it.”
I catch sight of Finley again. She’s still talking to her friend, and thankfully she doesn’t look so sad. “Yeah, the friend story is a good idea.”
“Don’t sound so surprised. I’m full of them,” Mallory says in a sassy tone as she spins around and looks over her shoulder before walking the opposite way.