“Well, dear, Ryan told me to not get you anything, but . . .” She reaches in her purse and pulls out an old weathered box. “I didn’t wrap it, so technically, it’s not an official present.”
When she places the box in my hands, I look at her in disbelief. “Donna, I can’t.”
“I’ve had it for years, dear. It’s just an old, dirty book, but I saw you reading it at Christmas, so I thought you wouldn’t mind having a copy.”
I open the box, and I know it’s the original publisher’s box. Pulling out my favorite book from my childhood, I open it up to see the publishing date is 1935.
Shaking my head, I say, “But this is a collector’s edition. How . . .?”
“When I was a little girl, I loved this book. My grandmother bought this for me when she found it in a rundown antique shop. I bought a current published version for the kids that I keep out, and when I saw you reading it, I figured you would appreciate having this version.”
When I start to shake my head again, she places her hand on top of one of the original prints of Frances Hodgson Burnett’s book, ‘A Little Princess,’ and says, “Like I said, it’s an old book that has been sitting at the top of my closet for years, doing nothing but collecting dust.”
Tears prick my eyes when I think about what this book was for me when I was growing up. In a way, I felt a lot like the girl, Sara. She believed herself to be a princess, and even though her world was falling apart at the hands of someone else, she pulled through, despite the cruelty she suffered. I hadn’t read it in years, but when I saw it at Donna’s house, I read it again and found it to be just as meaningful as an adult as it was when I was a child.
I set the book in its box on my lap and lean over to hug her. “I can’t tell you what this means to me. Thank you.”
“Thank you for accepting it.”
When she sits back, she smiles and says, swiftly taking the focus off of her non-present, “So, tell me, when do you find out about your audition?”
Placing the cover back on the box, I say, “Today, actually. It should be posted this afternoon around five.”
“Either way, I am so proud of you.”
Hearing those words from her, every time she says them, fills little empty places in my heart. I never got to hear those words from my parents, so hearing them now does tremendous things to me.
“Tell me about this production. How many dances will I get to see you in?”
“You’re coming?” I ask.
“Are you kidding me? I can’t wait to see you dance.”
Again, filling up little pieces of my heart.
Smiling, I tell her all about the three ensemble pieces I will be dancing. While I talk, she asks questions and is sincerely interested. We continue to enjoy each other’s company and relax in our slow lazy morning. When we finish up, we decide to walk around the block and into some of the little boutique and fragrance shops. We both buy a few things here and there as we hop from store to store.
When I look at the woman Donna is, it’s hard for me to imagine what her life used to be like with Ryan’s father. Ryan told me that the night his dad died, he had beaten Donna pretty badly, smashing a coffee mug into the back of her head. Ryan was just coming home from a party and walked in on it. He said he lost all control of himself and started throwing punches. His dad managed to grab a knife from the counter and that’s how Ryan got the scar on his ribs.
Once his dad died, Donna was determined to put that life behind them. Seeing them now, you would never know the hell they lived with. I know that Ryan still deals with the memories of it all. He told me that he’s scared that he’ll wind up like his father, and that’s why he’s never wanted to get serious with a girl. So he got pretty good at shutting down when he was with women. I hate to think about him being like that; I can’t even picture him as that person because all I have ever known is the way he’s always been with me.
Leaving the last store, we make our way back to the loft so that Donna can pack and start driving back to Cannon Beach. It’s a little after twelve by the time we get back, and Ryan is waiting on us.
“Damn, that was a long breakfast,” he says when we walk through the door carrying all of our shopping bags. Walking over to us, he kisses his mom and then me before taking the bags and setting them on the table.
“Sorry, time got away from us. If I didn’t have to go home, I would have spent the whole day with her.”
Ryan throws his arm around my shoulder and teases his mother. “Well, thanks for bringing her back, I’m sick of sharing her.”
“Ryan!” I say as I nudge him playfully in the gut.
“Sorry, babe, but it’s the truth,” he says, then starts facetiously ravaging my neck.
“Okay, kids. I’ve seen enough. I’m going to go pack,” Donna says, as she’s already halfway down the hall.
“Ryan, that tickles,” I chuckle out, trying to wriggle out of his arms, but it only encourages him. Picking me up off the ground, he carries me to the couch and lays me down. Softening his kisses, he asks, “Did you have a good time this morning?”
“Uh huh,” is all I can manage to say when he licks the hollow of my neck.