Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 68293 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68293 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Adam closed Gus’ door and settled in front of Meet Me in St. Louis to brainstorm gift ideas for Gus.
* * *
“A video game console?” Charlie suggested at work the next day. “Kids like video games, right?”
“A bike?” Rye suggested. “I always wanted one when I was Gus’ age.”
“What presents would you have liked when you were eight, Marie?” Adam asked his mysterious coworker.
Marie’s expression turned instantly mischievous and fond, but she just said mildly, “Does she like to read?”
* * *
“Could I put together a little laboratory for her or something?” Adam asked Wes that night after Gus was asleep.
Wes had come over for dinner and made lasagna about which Gus proclaimed, “Oh, weird, it’s really good.”
Adam gave her a look and she revised her sentiment.
“Sorry, I just meant, I didn’t think you’d be able to cook but this is really good.”
“Sweetie, it’s not very nice to say that you assumed someone couldn’t cook.”
Gus cocked her head.
“Why?”
“Because making assumptions about people means that you are judging them based on what you believe, not what’s true.”
“Oh.” She thought about that for a minute. “It’s not bad to not be able to cook. You can’t cook and you’re awesome.”
Adam smiled.
“Assumptions aren’t necessarily bad. But what would you think if someone said they assumed you weren’t good at science?”
“Why would someone think that? I’m great at science!” Gus said angrily.
“I know. It doesn’t feel very good, huh?”
“Sorry, Wes,” Gus said. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”
“Thanks,” Wes said. “Why did you assume I couldn’t cook?”
Gus ate a huge bite of lasagna and chewed thoughtfully. Adam had worked very hard to teach her to be open to questions and not get defensive. He watched proudly as she really considered the question.
“I guess cuz your house is full of weird stuff and cooking’s such a normal thing. I thought you maybe wouldn’t care about it.”
Wes nodded. “That makes a lot of sense. Good lesson that a real scientist can’t extrapolate too much.”
“What’s that?”
“It means a scientist can’t take one piece of data they know and make the mistake of thinking it also means another piece of data they don’t know.”
“I want to be a real scientist,” Gus said softly.
“Well, now you know one way to be an even better one,” Wes said, and held up his hand.
Gus high-fived it.
“Thanks,” she told him, like he’d given her a gift. Then she shoved more lasagna in her mouth.
Adam looked at Wes, his heart so full he could hardly stand it. Wes winked at him and pressed his knee to Adam’s under the table.
Now, after cleaning up the kitchen, they were in the living room, fire once again crackling merrily on the television screen.
“A laboratory...” Wes mused. “Maybe. Depends what you mean. My eight-year-old self would kill me for saying so, but I think she’s probably too young for an actual chemistry set with, you know, chemicals.”
Adam’s heart lurched, imagining his baby getting burned with acid or spattered in...something else corrosive.
“Yeah, no chemicals, definitely not. Um. What else is in a laboratory?”
“Fire.”
Adam blanched.
“Just kidding,” Wes said. “I mean, there is fire, but—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it, a laboratory is basically a death trap. Never mind.”
Adam deflated.
“I just. I know it’s silly. I know the perfect holiday gift won’t really...make Gus forget stuff with Mason or leaving Boulder. I just want this Christmas to be great. I want Gus to be happy and see that this is a good move for us and that we’re gonna be okay and, and, and...”
He gestured broadly, like he could pluck the words out of the air.
Wes caught his hands and brought them to his lips, kissing the knuckles of each. His eyes were warm and intense and Adam wanted to let himself drown in them.
“You’re already doing everything to help Gus feel that way,” he said, soft and sure. “You’re thinking about what is best for her. You’ve practically buried your house alive in lights because she asked for it. And most important, you’re here. You’re spending time with her. That’s what makes it feel like a holiday. That’s what makes it special.”
Wes’ eyes grew shadowed.
“At least, I assume so.”
“Your family didn’t spend time together at the holidays?”
Wes snorted.
“The holidays were just an excuse for my dad to throw huge, lavish cocktail parties for all the people he wanted to impress. He and my mom would spend months planning every detail of the food, the drinks, the music, their outfits, and then they’d spend the entire party pretending it was effortless. Lana and I had to be there, dressed to the nines, so they could show us off like ornaments on a tree. But when the guests were gone and the music was turned off, all we had for Christmas was a fridge full of leftover hors d’oeuvres and a pile of fancy, impersonal gifts from strangers.”