Everybody says this, but this Christmas really did come out of nowhere. In the last few weeks here’s what happened:
I lost my job at the deli, due to business slowing down.
I got that internship at the art gallery. My new small studio apartment is two towns over and allows for uninterrupted work on drawings. I even taped back together the drawings my mother had torn and stacked on my bed. I brought them back to life like Frankenstein’s Monster and turned them in to Mr. Q.
And lastly, I now work at the Dunkin’. My shifts are all over the place and some of them are with Linda. Also, it turns out, I’m not sick of doughnuts. Yet.
On my early-morning shifts, I see my dad. It’s weird to be on the other side of the counter waiting on him. Linda lives in the duplex in the front. My studio is in the back; it used to be storage, but it has a bathroom. I’m not sure if it’s a legal rental, but it’s a palace as far as I’m concerned. Linda stops by from time to time to make sure I’m eating. I get a lot of day-old doughnuts and bagels.
I see my dad about once a week. I haven’t seen my mother since I left. I know it’s going to sound odd, but I miss my family. Not my actual family, but the idea of what my family could have been. I wonder sometimes what would have happened, where we’d be, if just one thing were different—if somehow one of the bad things that took place never existed. Would that have made a difference? Would we still be together?
My phone buzzes.
When ru coming over?
I text back: Leaving soon.
Henry texts back: Merry Xmas
Henry is the first to greet me with a hug and peck on the cheek. His parents are great, but real kissing is still not something we’re comfortable with in front of them. “Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas.” I hug him back.
Claire and Mr. Kimball are already at the kitchen island.
“Mom, you have to make more bacon. The rest of the family and Nate are not going have enough when they get here.” Claire adds three more strips to her plate.
“Merry Christmas.” Mrs. Kimball puts her arms around me.
“What time is everybody coming over again?” Henry asks.
“Just before dinner, like around fiveish?” Mr. Kimball comes over and hugs me with one arm.
“Evan and I are going to go for a drive. It’s really clear out there today.”
We are?
I look at him, a little perplexed. He raises his eyebrows at me and grabs a single pancake from the stack. “Let’s go!”
In Henry’s car I resist the urge to ask where we’re going. Instead I say, as casually as I can, “This is my first Christmas with your whole family.”
“Feeling the pressure?” He looks over at me. His hair is extra floppy today.
That’s a problem. I sit on my hands.
“Nervous?” he asks.
“Of course.”
“You should be. I’m kinda the golden child. The expectation is high.”
“Claire is the golden child. You’re a child.”
We both laugh.
“It’ll be great, and whatever isn’t, we’ll make great. Honestly, there are only two idiots in our family and even they won’t say anything. If they do, you know Claire will shut that shit down.” He reaches for my hand.
We’re parked as close as we can by the rocks that meet the lake, right below the Field Museum. We sit there with the car running and look at the skyline.
“It’s magic, right?” I can hear the awe in Henry’s voice.
“Yep.”
He turns to me and smiles a soft, even smile. Maybe it’s the sun reflecting off the frozen lake and bouncing in through the windshield, but his green eyes look bigger and brighter than I’ve ever seen them.
He takes my left hand in his right and our fingers grab on so tightly they begin to feel numb. But this kind of numb is the good kind. The last thing I want is for this moment to end, but I made a promise to Mr. Kimball. “We should get back before it gets too late.”
“Stay here a minute. I have to get something.”
He climbs out of the car, and the cold air comes in like a blast. He jogs to the trunk, and I can see him in the side mirror. He’s pulling something out, but I can’t make out what it is. The door opens again, and the cold comes back in with Henry. He sinks into the driver’s seat and hands me a package wrapped in brown paper. It’s rectangular and about the size of a shirt box.
I say, “My gift for you is back at the house. I thought we were all doing presents tonight. With your family.”
“This is for you. I didn’t want to give it to you with anyone else around.”
The light shining into the car is casting this glow on Henry’s face. Every feature looks like it’s sculpted from perfect, flawless stone, except that he’s real.
My hands are shaking. I run my fingers over where he’s written EVAN on the top right-hand corner of the package. Just to make sure it’s really there. I turn it over and slowly tear at the seam.
Inside is a brown cardboard box. I flip the box, place it on my lap, and lift the lid.
I look back up at Henry. His eyes are wet.
I look back down at the box. I peel away the white tissue paper. Inside are ten black and white composition notebooks. Each one has a title box in the center with a few wide-ruled lines.
On each book cover, in the title box, he’s written: For Every Normal Day.
I feel the tears come rushing down. “You remembered.”
He nods. Softly he says, “It’s a start.”
And then he reaches for me and pulls me to him.