Page 122 of On His Mind

She rolls her eyes, walking down each step dramatically. I look up at her, and she can’t hide the excitement on her face.

“What did you get me, huh?” she whispers into my neck. “Santa Claus.”

I pick her up and walk her to the couch. I sit her down and grab the gift from under the tree. I watch her eyes light up. Warmth pools to my face as I hand it over. I’ve never done this before. I have never bought a gift for anyone, never stood in a store, trying to think of the right gift, and I don’t know if I got it right. Handing it over makes me nervous. I could’ve completely fucked this up or did alright. I don’t know which, and I’m nervous.

“Merry Christmas, Penelope,” I say, handing it over.

She takes it with a flushed face. “I didn’t get you anything.”

I shake my head. “Don’t worry about that. Open it.”

She looks at it. I tried my hardest to wrap it neatly, but I’ve never wrapped a gift in my entire life, so it looks like a two-year-old did it.

She opens it.

It’s a set of pencils. Not the cheap ones — the brand she uses, the exact hardnesses she reaches for, because I’ve watched her draw, and I know she goes 2B for the soft stuff and 4H for the fine lines. I know she uses the 2B down to a nub and rations it because a full set feels like too much to spend on herself. It costme four shifts. It’s the most I could do, it’s not much, and I watch her face the whole time she’s unwrapping it.

She goes very still. She looks at the set, and then at me, and something moves across her face.

“You know which ones I use.”

I breathe, “Yeah.”

“Percy.” Her voice does something. “Nobody — how do you know which ones I use?”

“I watch you.”

She doesn’t say anything for a second as she looks deep into my eyes. Then she puts the pencils down, like they’re worth more than they are, and she leans across and kisses me. I think I got it right, and after she kisses me again, I think maybe it isn’t about the pencils.

“Do you like them?” I ask.

She nods against my lips. “I don’t think I’ll ever use them because they’re from you.”

I caress her face, looking at her smile.

She rolls her eyes. “I wanted to wait, but I can’t. I have a gift for you.”

“Oh?”

She nods. “Wait here.”

She takes off up the stairs, skipping the steps two at a time like she’s excited. When she comes back, she has a piece of paper in her hands.

My heart constricts as I watch her. I’ve never been given a Christmas gift from a friend before. Not a friend that means as much as she does to me. She has it turned down, so it looks like a blank piece of paper as she holds it out to me. I grab it and hold it for a second. I don’t want to look at it, and I don’t know why.

“Turn it around,” she encourages.

I look down and flip it over.

It’s a drawing… of us.

She drew us together.

She drew me in the doorway in my hoodie, standing in the middle of the Hawthorne House kitchen, and she drew herself, leaning against the counter. The house looks precise. It’s exact. The dishes, the cabinet. The terrible backsplash. I look at the way she drew herself. Her proportions are right, and the height difference between us looks right. I didn’t know she could draw people.

I swallow and don’t say anything as I stare at it.

I can’t fathom how she could capture this moment so perfectly. This winter break has changed me in ways I didn’t know, and it’s like she knew it.