Total pages in book: 196
Estimated words: 186555 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 933(@200wpm)___ 746(@250wpm)___ 622(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186555 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 933(@200wpm)___ 746(@250wpm)___ 622(@300wpm)
“Your mom celebrated Christmas?” Rhodes asked as I got up.
I shot him a smile. “She probably would have hated how commercialized it is now, but she didn’t back when I was a kid, or if she did, she hid it from me.” I had a lot of fond memories with my mom on that holiday, and just thinking about it made me miss her a lot, but not in a bad or sad way. More grateful that I had those moments to look back on.
Because Christmas was about spending it with people who mattered, and even though I wasn’t with my Florida family, I was still doing that.
And truth be told, I was glad I was with Rhodes and Amos. It felt right.
It took a minute to haul the huge box out and set it in the doorway into the living room; then I had to go back and grab the two bags I’d stuffed behind all their old jackets and vacuum. They eyeballed me as I moved everything else closer in trips.
I went straight to Am and set the heavy gift on the floor in front of him. “I hope you like it, but if you don’t, too bad. All sales were final.”
He gave me a weird look that made me laugh but ripped the paper off.
He gasped.
I knew Rhodes had bought him his guitar because I’d helped get him a discount. And pick out the woods and the stain. He hadn’t asked questions about how I’d gotten the discount or how I knew so much about guitars, and I wondered, not for the first time, if he truly had no idea who Yuki was when they’d briefly met. Amos had brought her up a few times in his presence, but he hadn’t batted an eyelash.
Anyway, Am didn’t know he was getting a guitar yet.
“This is vintage,” he gasped, running his hands over the weathered orange leather around the amp.
“Yeah.”
He looked at me, gray eyes wide. “For me?”
“No, for my other favorite teenager. Don’t tell my nephews I said that.”
Am’s shoulders slumped as he ran his hands over the amp that I’d bought from a small shop in California and had shipped here, which had ended up costing as much as the amp had.
“Your other one is a little buzzy, and I thought it would be nice to have matching stuff,” I told him.
He nodded and gulped a couple of times before looking back at me. “Wait a minute,” he said, getting up and disappearing down the hall toward his room. I met Rhodes’s eyes and made mine go wide.
“I wanted to give him his gift before you give him you-know-what and he doesn’t care,” I whispered.
“You spoil him. Even Sofie said it.”
Sofie was his mom, who as I’d learned the day of Thanksgiving, was just a lovely fucking woman who loved her child more than I could have ever imagined. She had whispered to me no less than three times that Amos had been conceived artificially and that she loved her husband very much and Rhodes was a wonderful man.
I shrugged. “He’s my little buddy.”
He smiled.
“I’m sorry for messing up your traditions….” I trailed off, and he shook his head.
“Billy and Sofie both celebrate Christmas on Christmas Eve. I’ve only gotten to spend a couple with him, but he’s seemed pretty happy to me today considering I know he’s missing his mom and dad. He’s only been trying to act like he doesn’t.”
“At least he’s got one dad here though.”
His face went somber. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
I’d almost screwed that up. “You’re not making me sad. I’m okay.” I stopped talking when Amos came back out, holding something in a Happy Birthday bag in his hand. I recognized it as the one that Jackie had given him his present in months ago.
He held it out to me. No warning, no explanation, no nothing. Just: here it is.
“You thought of me,” I said, even though in the back of my head I wondered if he’d run into his room to get something old he didn’t use anymore and regift it. But honestly, I wouldn’t care. I had just about everything, and if there was something I wanted, I could buy it. It was just rare that I did. I had traded in my car out of necessity; I hadn’t even splurged on buying the “right” winter clothes or shoes yet, despite Clara giving me a hard time when I complained about my toes being cold from my too-thin hiking boots.
I opened the bag and took out a heavy yellow leather notebook with an A on the front.
“So you can write new songs in it,” Am explained as I traced my finger over the engraved letter.
I swallowed.
My chest hurt.
“But if you don’t like it—”
I raised my gaze to his, telling myself I wouldn’t cry. I had cried enough in my life, but these tears wouldn’t be ones of grief. I wouldn’t mourn the words I had lost, the ones that had arced through my head for years, nearly endlessly… until they hadn’t.