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The tree dominated the corner of the living room, a massive Douglas fir that he’d insisted on getting despite my protests that it was too big. Jeremy was all about making every first special. I loved that. I couldn’t wait for our child to experience his or her father’s enthusiasm.
We’d gone to Target and spent a ridiculous amount of money on all things Christmas. And then we’d spent an entire evening decorating the house. There were thousands of lights on that tree. Any closer to LAX and we would have airplanes trying to land in the driveway. But it was glorious. The tree glowed like something out of a fairy tale, covered in ornaments we’d picked out together. First Christmas Together, Mommy-To-Be, Daddy-To-Be, First Christmas in a New House. All of the firsts.
“Here.” He handed me a mug of decaf and guided me to the couch, arranging pillows behind my back until I was comfortable. “Perfect. Now stay right there.”
He disappeared under the tree and emerged with an armful of presents, arranging them in two piles. His pile was significantly smaller than mine, which immediately made me suspicious and a little embarrassed.
“Jeremy, how many gifts did you get me?”
“A few.”
“We said three gifts,” I said. “Now I look like an asshole.”
“There are four gifts for me,” he pointed out. “I’m not the only one that broke the rules.”
“Still. I could have gotten you more.”
“You’re carrying my baby, trust me, you’ve given me a million times more than I could ever get you.” He handed me the first package. “Open it.”
I tore into the wrapping paper and found a cashmere sweater in the softest shade of blue I’d ever seen. It was gorgeous and probably cost more than I wanted to know.
“It’s beautiful,” I said. “But you spent too much.”
“Impossible. Open the next one.”
The next one was a pair of designer boots I’d been eyeing for months but couldn’t justify buying. Then a leather journal with my initials embossed on the cover. The spa gift certificate for prenatal massages that was good for one a week for the next year was probably my favorite. And somehow, he’d found a first edition of my favorite book.
“Jeremy,” I said after the fifth gift. “This is insane. You’ve spent a fortune.”
“I’d spend every penny I have to make you happy. I am not kidding when I tell you I would buy you the moon if it was for sale.”
“You are blowing your money.”
“Baby, with your stellar agent skills and business management, I’m fucking loaded.”
I laughed and shook my head. And then I cried. Stupid hormones. Commercials. Sunsets. Jeremy bringing me a fucking taco from my favorite taco truck. The most insane things made me cry these days.
“Your turn,” I said, pushing his pile toward him. “And before you say anything, no, I didn’t spend as much as you did. Because I have some sense of financial responsibility.”
He laughed and tore into his first gift with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever. I’d gotten him a vintage watch I’d found at an estate sale. It was a gift I bought him before any of the sex stuff happened. It was my agent gift. He loved it, immediately strapping it on and admiring it on his wrist.
The next gift was a leather jacket from a designer he’d mentioned liking. Then a set of photography books featuring landscapes from around the world, places we’d talked about visiting together someday. And because I was apparently a teen girl, I made us a playlist.
“I love all of it,” he said, pulling me in for a kiss. “You know me so well.”
“I’ve been managing your life for years. I’d hope so.”
He laughed against my mouth and then kissed me to the point my toes curled in my fluffy slippers.
“Actually,” I said, pulling back. “There’s one more.”
I reached behind the couch where I’d hidden the final gift, a small box wrapped in pretty blue paper with a silver bow. It was the one that mattered. It was also the cheapest.
“What’s this?”
“Open it and find out.”
He unwrapped it and lifted the lid off the box. I waited. Watching him. He went still.
