He opened it really carefully, like he always does. Unwrapped it rather than ripped it, even managed to keep the fragile paper bow in one piece. That another contrast of us, his small neat handwriting, my loopy scrawl, his slow precision and my hasty carelessness.
I slid out of his hand and set to work trying to put on the CD he’d given me, the DVD player was uncooperative. He sat and looked at the picture as I fiddled with the new TV, tripping over gift bags in my new boots. I got it eventually and sat down again with him, he was still looking at it, gently touching the glued on salt.
“How long did it take you?”
I laughed. It had taken at least five or six hours in art, of finding the smallest acrylic paintbrushes I could and cursing the amount of detail I’d included. Not to mention the ages it had taken to get the outlines of the silhouettes exactly right. It had been a push to get it finished, and had put all my REAL art work on hold. I didn’t want to sound smug.
“How long does a painting take? How long is a piece of string?”
He placed it down on his other side and turned to me, half his face completely shadowed by the bunk bed roof and his own overgrown fringe. His nose and smiling lips were all I could see.
“Thank you.” Kissed me, a proper thank you.
Kiss became longer, and less to do with the painting, more to do with the fact he’d shaved this morning like I’d asked him to and was uncharacteristically smooth jawed, and with the advantages my skirt presented, new tights and all.
Crash.
Fuck.
The laptop had fallen off my bed. Fuck fuck fuck. New and all…I groaned. I sat down with it on the floor, like a doctor checking a fall victim. Flipped it over –{carefully}- and switched it on. Lights on. Fine. Thank God.
He held out his hands to help me back onto the bed. I took them, let myself be lifted and continued on forward. He lay back, dragging me with him, should have banged his head against the wall but somehow didn’t. I held back, just seconds, made him wait, then kissed.
My elbows were starting to hurt from holding myself up, but he wasn’t letting me go yet. Even though I’m half his size I always worry I’m crushing him. I guess that’s stupid, but I do and think a lot of stupid things because of Nick. I don’t know why.
I was tugging gently on the collar of his t-shirt, and he was lacing his fingers together at the small of my back when the footsteps on the stairs became audible.
I pulled away for a second, and sure enough moments later Charlotte knocked on the door. I quickly clambered up onto the bed properly, and positioned myself beside him.
“Come in!”
Nick was sitting up, propping a pillow against the wall. Charlotte and Gary came in, carrying bags and jackets, dumping them on the floor. I straightened my skirt and ran a hand through my hair.
“Okay, come on,” I said, standing up “Lets go make pies”.
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Another excerpt from my diary. Exchanging presents on boxing day. Names changed.
