Page 71 of Burn With Me

Asher

Okay, I had to admit this was a lot harder than I thought it would be. I’d shopped thousands of times. Style was something that I took seriously, and I liked to look my best. Buying for someone else…this was new. I didn’t even buy clothes for my stepmom. She loved cats, reading, and cooking. There were more than enough gifts to choose from in those three categories to allow me to stay very far away from clothing.

I hadn’t bought a girl a gift since my senior year of high school, and that was only because my stepmom said it was the right thing to do. That wasn’t entirely true. Gifts had stopped after I got serious about my new lifestyle a year after high school. Gifts meant I was serious about someone. At least, that was how I felt about it. It also became clear early on that you didn’t buy gifts—other than sex toys—unless you wanted to move into a more committed relationship, which I’d never wanted. At least not until recently. It was still blowing my mind that I was even considering this.

Holding up the ugly knit sweater, I stared at the red nose of the cartoon reindeer image, and it took a second for the realization to sink in. The tradition of Christmas and the idea of gifts had never been a thing until Derek and me ended up at the Giltberts'. They didn’t have much money, but they always had a great meal and we’d spend time together playing cards or some other board game. They would also find a way to get the two of us a little gift.

“All right, boys, I wanted to get you each something for Christmas,” Mr. Giltberts said, getting up from the dining room table as we helped Mrs. Giltberts clean up. Derek’s body tensed, and I grabbed his forearm, the muscles tight under his skin. Gifts in our home had meant something entirely different, and it always ended badly.

“It’s okay. He’s not dad,” I mouthed and Derek nodded the muscles slowly relaxing.

I loved my brother with all my heart, but he’d changed since we ran. We used to hangout all the time, but now it was like the sight of me annoyed him. Maybe it did. It was as if the scar on his face was eating away at the brother I knew.

“Here we are,” Mr. Giltberts came back into the room with a huge smile on his face.

His hands held two small boxes that obviously Mrs. Giltberts had wrapped because they looked perfect with little curly ribbon and neatly tucked edges of paper.

“It’s not much,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck as we took the offering.

Derek and I stared at one another for a moment unsure what to do. Derek had gotten me gifts over the years, but they were never wrapped. I was pretty sure he’d pocketed them to give to me, but I didn’t call him out on it. He was nice enough to get me something. I usually ended up drawing him something. It was stupid, and I felt stupid handing my big brother a folded piece of paper with drawings on it as a gift.

If he hated it, he never showed it. Derek would always smile and rub my hair, telling me how much he loved it. He pinned them up on his side of the room, and my heart swelled.

“It’s okay, boys, you can open them,” Mrs. Giltberts said from behind us.

She was smiling wide and wiping her hands on a tea towel. Looking at Derek, I gave him a shrug, then pulled the end of the ribbon, and the pretty red color fell away from the package. Derek was not far behind me, and soon we were lifting off the tops of the small boxes in unison.

“Wow! This is for me?” I was unable to hold back the joy as I stared at the Swiss Army Knife.

It was one of those that had like twenty different things, and I lifted it out of the box like a trophy. Mine was black, but Derek got the same one in red, and even he couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

“Yes, of course. You’re young men, and you’ll never know when you need a tool to get you out of a jam.” He laughed at his own joke. It was a weekly tradition that we all had to sit around and watch MacGyver. “Especially here on the farm. There is always somethin’ that you’re needing to have a knife or screwdriver for. I just wish we could give you more.”

Shocking me, Derek stepped forward and hugged Mr. Giltberts. The man stood there as wide-eyed as me, and it took a moment before he returned the gesture. Derek wouldn’t let anyone other than me touch him since we ran. This was a miracle all on its own, and Mr. Giltberts’ shocked expression melted away into a smile.

I hated having to leave their home after Derek was taken away. They didn’t have any parental rights and were apparently considered too old to be fostering. It was ridiculous, but as it turned out, I ended up with a good family. I wondered all the time how they were doing or if they were even still alive. I’d driven past the old farm a number of times, and it never looked like anyone was ever home.

“Did you need any help,” one of the salespeople asked, jerking me out of my thoughts. I turned to face the woman that had spoken, and as soon as I did, she glanced at the sweater in my hands. “I don’t think that one will fit you,” she said and gave me a teasing smirk.

Looking down at the sweater in my hands, I couldn’t help but smile. “Is it that obvious that I’m a little lost? I didn’t realize there would be so many to choose from,” I said.

“I’m assuming this is supposed to be a fun gift?”

“Yes. Family tradition.”

She smiled and stepped toward the large table with the wide assortment of sweaters. “What color is her hair?”

“Blonde.”

“And eyes?”

“Sky blue.”

“That is very specific of you,” she said as she dug around through the piles.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Nope. She is just very lucky. Most of us only ever get, umm…I think they’re blue. No, maybe green. Oh shit, how am I supposed to remember?” She mocked in a guy’s voice. “Does she have a good sense of humor?”