“It’s Christmas morning; it doesn’t matter what time it is. Now come on,” I grab his hand to lead him back to the elevator, but he holds his ground.
“Hold on, let me grab a shirt and some shoes.”
“Okay, I’ll meet you upstairs,” I call after him and head back up to get ready.
I’m trying to get excited about Christmas, I really am, but a big part of me still carries this darkness, so even though I didn’t have it in me to get a Christmas tree and decorate, I did get gifts for Adrian and Karl. I sit both men down on the couch in front of two boxes, one for each of them waiting on the coffee table.
Karl scowls when I hand Adrian the larger box and him the much smaller one.
“Well? Open them!” I say, and the men look at the boxes on their laps like they think I’m giving them snakes or something. I roll my eyes and grab my phone to take a video.
“One at a time,” I say. “Adrian, you go first.”
“Uh.” Adrian looks up at me. “I didn’t get you anything.”
“You made me buñuelos yesterday. That is a way better gift than what I’m giving you,” I say honestly.
“Tried,” he corrects.
“What?”
“Wetriedmaking you buñuelos.”
“Will you just open the gift already?”
I bite back my smile when Adrian tears the wrapping paper slowly, unfolding the corners and carefully removing tape. It’s almost as if he doesn’t know how to open gifts. I’m also trying not to jump where I stand with excitement, trying to avoid getting a shaky video.
He peruses the items inside the box once he’s opened it and pulls them out one at a time. A thick, leather-bound sketchbook. A set of charcoal, a set of graphite, a set of conté, and an assortment of pastels. The complete artist’s starter guide.
“I’m not an artist,” he says gently like he’s afraid to hurt my feelings.
“Have you ever tried?” I ask him with a grin.
He shakes his head.
“You, Adrian Köhler, have the heart of an artist. You should give it a try. I think you will surprise yourself. And an artist friend of mine once told me it can be cathartic to release all your pain onto a canvas.”
“Thanks, Lola. I will give it a try.”
“Okay, you next,” I say to Karl, and he grabs the box on his lap. He rips apart the wrapping paper to shreds just as gifts are meant to be opened.
Then he opens the plain box that gives no indication of what’s inside. When he pulls out the item, he laughs.
He holds the peanut butter jar in his hand. It has a custom-made label in a green shade close to my eye color. I took the jar to a local screen-print shop so they could make the custom label for me, with a decorative letter “I” for “Iggy” that looks almost vintage.
Karl stands and wraps me in his arms. “It’s the best gift I’ve ever gotten, Iggy.” He pulls away from me for a moment.
Adrian scratches the back of his neck, looking at the jar. “Uh, okay,” he says, confused. Karl and I both laugh but explain nothing.
“Inside joke, man,” Karl says instead. Then, “Okay, hold on right here.” Karl disappears down the hallway and comes back with a massive box in a rectangular shape that hints at its contents.
Stunned and frozen where I stand, Karl grabs my hand and leads me to the couch. He takes the phone from me so he can record me now and watches as I stare at the box in awe.
“Karl . . . it isn’t . . .?” I choke off the words, then start tearing through the hot pink wrapping paper. When I finally open the box, there’s a large case inside, and I know, just know in my gut, it’s a guitar case. Discarding the box and wrapping paper to the side, I gingerly unclasp the case’s lid and lift it open. My heart plummets, free-falling with excitement, gratefulness, and some other emotions I can’t identify. Something blooms in my center, making my fingers twitch as if they’re being resuscitated from a coma.
I blink away the tears as I stare at Karl, my hand pressing down firmly on my chest lest my heart explode. “Thank you,” I say, and I don’t miss that his own eyes are teary behind the phone he’s holding to record this with.
I grab the neck of the guitar to pull it out and run my fingers over the strings on the Fender Stratocaster. It has a hot pink body with black details. So girly. So heavy metal. So me. He got it perfect.