"Let's hear it," said Margaret.
"Two women walked into a bar," said Mom. "The first one looked at the other one and said, 'I didn't see it either.'" Mom and Margaret burst out laughing, and Lauren groaned.
"A little short," said Margaret, "but I'll let it slide. All right then, John, it's up to you. What have you got?"
"I don't really know any jokes," I said.
"You've got to have something," said Lauren. "Where's that old joke book we used to have?"
"I really don't know one," I said. I pictured Brooke laughing when we talked about the arson merit badge, but I couldn't really turn that into a joke. Did I know any jokes at all? "Wait, um, Max told me a joke once, but you're going to hate it."
"No matter," said Margaret, "lay it on us."
"You're really going to hate it," I said.
"Get on with it," said Lauren.
"As long as it's clean," said Mom.
"That's funny," I said, "because it's about cleaning."
"I'm intrigued," said Margaret, leaning on the table.
"What do you do when your dishwasher stops working?" Nobody offered an answer. I took a deep breath. "You slap her."
"You're right," said Mom with a frown, "I hate it. But the good news is, you just volunteered to clear the table. Let's head into the living room, ladies."
"I say I won," said Margaret, standing up. "My joke was funniest."
"I think I won," said Lauren, "because I got away without telling one."
They shuffled into the other room and I gathered up the dishes, Usually I hated clearing the table, but I didn't mind today—everyone was happy and no one was fighting. We might last longer than three hours after all.
When I finished stacking dishes in the sink, I joined them in the living room, and we handed out presents. I had gotten hand lotion for everyone. Mom gave me a reading lamp.
"You spend so much time reading," she said, "and sometimes so late at night, I figured you could use it."
"Thanks, Mom," I said. Thanks for believing my lies.
Margaret got me a new backpack—one of those big mountaineer packs with a water bottle and a drinking tube built into it. I always laughed at the kids who wore them.
"The pack you've got is falling apart," said Margaret, "I'm amazed those straps are still attached."
"There's a couple of threads still hanging on," I said.
"This one will carry all your books without breaking."
"Thanks, Margaret." I put it to the side with a resolve to try to remove that dopey water tube later.
"I've never read this, so it might suck," said Lauren, handing me a book-shaped present. "But I know there was a movie, and the title seemed kind of appropriate, if nothing else." '.
I opened it up and found a thick comic book—a graphic novel, or whatever the big ones are called. The title was Hellboy.
I held it up and pointed at the title, and Lauren grinned.
"It's two presents in one," she laughed, "a comic book, and a nickname."
"Yay," I said flatly.
"The first person to call him 'Hellboy' has to open her presents outside," said Mom, shaking her head.
"Thanks, though," I said to Lauren, and she smiled.
"Time to open your father's," said Mom, and Lauren and I each took our boxes. They were simple brown shipping boxes—we'd left them that way just in case the gift inside wasn't wrapped. You never knew with Dad. Mine was small, about the size of a textbook, but considerably lighter. I used my house key to cut open the packing tape. Inside was a card and an iPod. I tore open the card, slowly and deliberately, trying not to look excited. It had a goofy cartoon cat and one of those horrible poems about what a great son I was. Dad had written a note at the bottom, and I read it silently.
Hey Tiger—Merry Christmas! Hope you had a great year. Enjoy ninth grade while you can, because next year is High School and it's a whole new ballgame. The girls are going to be all over you! You're gonna love this iPod—I filled it up with all of my favorite music, all the stuff we used to sing together. It's like having your Dad in your pocket! See you around!
Sam Cleaver
I'd already started high school, so he was a year off, but I was too intrigued by the music thing to care. I didn't even know where Dad was living—he hadn't put a return address on the package—but I could remember riding in the car and singing along to his favorite bands: The Eagles, Journey, Fleetwood Mac, and others. It surprised me, for some reason, that he remembered that, too. Now I could pull out my iPod, pick a song, and be closer to my father than I'd been in five years.
The iPod box was still in shrink-wrap. I tore the plastic off, confused, and ripped open the box; the iPod was untouched, and the library was completely empty. He'd forgotten.