I slide the bracelet over my wrist and slowly rock my lower arm back and forth, letting the charms sway. I’ve never received anything like this before. I thought the e-reader was the best gift ever, but Hardin managed to outdo himself by giving me this bracelet. Noah always gave me the same thing: perfume and socks. Every single year. Then again, I gave him cologne and socks each year. That was our thing—our boring, routine thing.
I stare at the bracelet for a few more seconds before I realize that both Hardin and Trish are watching me. Immediately I get up and begin to clean the small mess of wrapping paper.
With a chuckle, Trish asks, “Well, lady and gent, what shall we do for the rest of the day?”
“I feel like taking a nap,” Hardin tells her, and she rolls her eyes.
“A nap? This early? And on Christmas?” she mocks.
“It’s not Christmas, for the tenth time,” he says a bit harshly, but then smiles.
“You’re obnoxious,” she scolds and swats at his arm.
“Like mother, like son.”
As they gently bicker, I get lost in thought and take the small pile of crinkled and torn paper and push it into the steel trash can. I feel even worse about not getting Hardin a gift than I did before. I wish the mall were open today . . . I have no idea what I’d get, but anything would be better than nothing. I look down at the bracelet again and run my finger over the infinity heart charm. I still can’t believe that he would get me a charm to match his tattoo.
“Almost done?”
I jump in surprise from the sound and the tickle at my ear. Then I turn and smack Hardin. “You scared me!”
“Sorry, love,” he says between chuckles. My heart leaps when he calls me “love.” It’s so unlike him.
I feel him smile against my neck, and he wraps his arms around my waist. “Join me for my nap?”
I turn and face him. “No. I’ll keep your mom company. But,” I add with a smile, “I will tuck you in.” I don’t really like to take naps unless I’m too exhausted to do anything else, and it would be nice to hang out with his mom and read or something.
Hardin rolls his eyes but leads me to our bedroom. He pulls his shirt over his head, and it falls to the floor. As my eyes travel over the familiar designs inked into his skin, he smiles at me. “You really like the bracelet?” he asks as he walks over to the bed. He tosses the decorative pillows onto the floor and I pick them up.
“You’re so messy!” I complain. I put the pillows into the trunk and Hardin’s shirt on the dresser before grabbing my e-reader and joining him by the bed. “But to answer your question, I do love the bracelet. It’s really thoughtful, Hardin. Why didn’t you say it was from you?”
He pulls me down and lays my head on his chest. “Because I knew you were already feeling bad about not getting me something.” He lets out a laugh. “And that you would feel even worse after my amazing gift.”
“Wow, so humble,” I tease.
“Also, when I had it made for you, I had no idea if you would ever speak to me again,” he admits.
“You knew I would.”
“Honestly, I didn’t. You were different this time.”
“How so?” I look up at him.
“I don’t know . . . you just were. It wasn’t like the other hundred times you said you wanted nothing to do with me.” Hardin’s voice is light as he pushes my loose hair from my forehead with his thumb.
I concentrate on the rise and fall of his chest. “Well, I knew . . . I mean, I didn’t want to admit it, but I knew I would come back. I always do.”
“I won’t give you reason to leave again.”
“I hope not,” I say and kiss the palm of his hand. “Me, too.”
I don’t say anything else; there’s nothing to say at the moment. He’s sleepy, and I don’t want to talk about me leaving him any longer. Within minutes he’s asleep, breathing heavily. Hardin calling me Daisy this morning made me want to reread The Great Gatsby, so I scroll through my e-reader’s library to see if Hardin already loaded it on there. And find that, of course, he has. Just as I’m about to get up and join his mother, I hear a woman’s angry voice.
“Excuse me!”
My mother. I toss my e-reader to the end of the bed and get up. Why the hell is she here?
“You have no right to go in there!” I hear Trish yell.
Trish. My mother. Hardin. This apartment. Oh my Lord. This isn’t going to go well.
The bedroom door crashes open to reveal my mother, looking sophisticated yet menacing in a red dress and black heels. Her hair is curled and pinned up to resemble a beehive, and her red lipstick is bright, too bright.
“How could you be here! After everything!” she yells.
“Mother . . .” I begin as she turns to Trish.
“And who the hell are you?” she asks, their faces close together.
“I’m his mother,” Trish says sternly.
Hardin groans in his slumber and opens his eyes. “What the fuck?” are the first words out of his mouth when he spots the devil in the crimson dress.
My mother snaps her head back in my direction. “Let’s go, Theresa.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Why are you even here?” I ask her, and she huffs, putting her hands on her hips.
“Because I have already told you. You are my only child, and I will not sit back and watch you ruin your life over this . . . this asshole.”
Her words light a fire under my skin, and I immediately go on defense. “Do not speak of him that way!” I shout.