Matt’s eyes went wide. He was shocked, clearly. Maybe it was the reminder of an old brotherly love they once shared, or maybe it was because Alexander was looking at me as a prize.
“Yeah, she is,” he said, still staring at me. “We have to go now.” Matt took my hand and pulled me toward the door then wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “Thanks Dad, Regina. Lunch was great. We have to get back with Mom’s van now.” Leaning over, he kissed my ear and whispered, “I want you all to myself.”
We turned back just before walking out the door. Matt gave a big, “Merry Christmas!” and we were gone, leaving behind a room full of gawking faces.
“What was that all about?” I asked as we pulled out of the driveway.
“That was me telling them you’re mine.”
I couldn’t stop smiling.
The Sex Pistols came back on. Matt turned it up and began doing his best Sid Vicious imitation, chanting something about holidays in the sun. I smiled and stared out the passenger window, watching the traffic on the other side of the highway blur into streams of red.
WE SPENT THE next three days at his mom’s, exploring the streets on Matt’s motorcycle. At a thrift store, I found a cool, square belt buckle made of black pewter with a gray owl in the center. I made Matt wait outside while I paid for it.
When I got out the door, he was in the parking lot, straddling his motorcycle, looking sexy as ever. His arms were crossed over his chest and he was wearing that cocky Matt smirk, his eyes squinting against the sun. A gust of wind blew my hair back as I came walking toward him. He held up the invisible camera and took a shot.
“Gracie, I hope you got me that owl belt buckle.”
I punched his arm. “You jerk. Why’d you have to ruin it?”
“Kiss me.”
“You ruined my surprise,” I whined.
“KISS. ME.”
On Christmas morning, we all sat around Aletha’s tree and exchanged our mostly homemade gifts. Aletha had thrown four beautiful mugs on her new pottery wheel and gave them to both of us.
“I had them glazed. Two have your initials and two have Grace’s on the bottom,” Aletha explained as Matt pulled them out of a box.
“Huh,” Matt said. “These are great, Mom. Thank you.”
He handed her a large wrapped frame. “It’s from both of us.” I squeezed his hand gratefully. He knew I hadn’t been able to buy her anything.
She unwrapped it and stared. I didn’t know what she was looking at so I got up to stand behind her. When I finally saw what was framed, I swallowed and felt tears fill my eyes. It was a matted collage of us. You couldn’t see our faces in any of the photos but they were all of Matt and me, just our legs, arms, hands, hair, mostly on each other, or embracing, or lying across one another lazily. Some were blown out by the light so you could only see our silhouettes. It was a breathtaking collection, and it truly showcased Matt’s talent so beautifully.
“Matthias,” Aletha started, already breathless. “Son, these photos are so incredibly stunning. And Grace, you are such a naturally beautiful subject. I will cherish this always.”
A tear fell from my cheek and landed on Aletha’s shoulder as she hugged me. She looked up at me in surprise. I shook my head, embarrassed, and looked away.
“You hadn’t seen this, Grace?” she asked.
“No,” I said, my voice strained. “It’s amazing, Matt.”
“Glad you like it, ’cause I got you the same thing.” He laughed. “It’s waiting for you in your room when you get back. I snuck it in there right before we left.”
I plopped onto his lap and kissed him quickly. He hugged me close. “I love it. Thank you.”
When I gave him the belt, he examined it. “Gracie’s eyes,” he said, and I nodded.
“I told you he would get it,” Aletha added.
ONCE WE GOT back to New York in early January, we fell into a regular routine. We’d explore the city, go to our classes, study together in the dorms, or are at least try to study. We couldn’t keep our hands off of each other. On the nights Matt worked at the PhotoHut, I’d practice music with Tati.
About a month later, Matt asked me to meet him in the lounge, with only the hint that he was going to take me somewhere special.
“This is the other part of your Christmas present I was waiting to give you,” he told me, his eyes twinkling as he grabbed my hand and led me out of the dorm.
All bundled up in coats and scarves, we walked to Arlene’s Grocery, a small venue where local bands played. “Don’t look at the signs,” he urged.
We made our way through the crowd to the stage. Matt forged ahead, pushing people to the side, but I couldn’t see anything beyond people’s backs. When I finally looked up, I was staring right into Jeff Buckley’s eyes as he tuned his guitar.
Holy. Shit.