Dad stays quiet, probably debating whether or not he’s going to arm up and go to battle with me.
“He made Jackson really uncomfortable . . . like, even I wasn’t that cold to him,” I say. I can only imagine being outside my state, outside my time zone, in the home of someone who tried to make an enemy out of me, feeling unwelcome and helpless.
“Cut it out, Griffin,” Dad snaps. His tone reminds me of when I would get into trouble as a kid over little things, like trying to sneak into their bedroom to scare my mom while she was working, or yelling fake words over and over for attention. “You can’t be pissed at your mother for being too nice to that guy and pissed at me for being too cold to him.”
“So you admit you were cold to him?” I snap back.
“I won’t deny it; I wasn’t very welcoming. But that’s because I know my son. I don’t believe you’re actually upset at your mother or me. We won’t fight you if you don’t fight us. What does Wade call us? Team Griffin?”
“The Griffin Squad,” I correct.
“The Griffin Squad,” Dad repeats. “We know seeing Jackson can’t be easy, but you soldiered through it anyway. I hope it’s helped you out in some way. If not, he’s gone and you never have to see him again. But we’re here for you and want to know what you need from us.”
“I do need something,” I say.
“What?” Mom asks.
“Space. Please give me some space. I’m really tired.” I can’t cry. I can’t fight.
Dad begins protesting, but Mom shuts him up, thankfully. They’re out in no time, and I find enough energy to close the door behind them, locking it this time. I get back in bed and crawl under my covers, expecting to fall asleep instantly. Of course I don’t. Considering the week and year and month and life I’ve been having, I’m stupid to think I’d even be lucky with the small things.
HISTORY
Thursday, December 25th, 2014
This is the first year the squad isn’t doing Secret Santa. We usually pull names out of Wade’s fitted hat, but now that Theo and I are dating, there was no way we weren’t going to get each other gifts on the side if one of us drew Wade’s name. It’s the kind of stuff that makes our relationship unfair to our friendship with Wade. We broke tradition, which Wade seemed a little bummed about, but he snapped out of it when he realized he’d be getting an extra gift.
Having already spent the morning and afternoons with our own families, it’s nice to kick back in Wade’s bedroom. We’re listening to his jazz playlist on his new speakers. Theo holds out his phone and clicks on my name.
“Check out your new contact photo.”
It’s the photo I texted him this morning of me standing beside my Christmas tree, holding the Ron Weasley ornament he got me on the day our history began. It’s wild how two seasons later, I’m still blushing because of this guy.
Wade must see it, because he distributes the presents Theo and I left underneath the mini Christmas tree when we first arrived.
Theo and I agreed at the beginning of the month that our presents had to be “thoughtfully random.” It basically just meant I couldn’t buy him a puzzle and he couldn’t buy me anything Harry Potter–centric, which sucks because I got zero Harry Potter–related gifts this year for the first time since I don’t know when. A key chain would’ve been appreciated. The gift Theo got me, a small box wrapped in emerald-green paper, makes me wonder if I put too much thought into my gift for him. Mine is in a big box.
We look at each other nervously.
We go in a circle, pushing Wade to go first.
Wade starts with mine, which is this little-known novel, The Adventures of the Courtesan and Golem. It’s a dark comedy about a barren prostitute who steals a potion from her sorcerer client to create a child and ends up bringing a golem to life.
“I have no idea if it’s good,” I say, holding up my hands. “But you were dropping hints recently you’d be interested in giving fiction another shot if something different crossed your way. If you know more books like this, you need to stop hogging them and share.”
Wade smiles. “Thanks a lot, Griff.”
“Griffin,” Theo coughs out. He insists on being the only person besides my dad who calls me Griff.
“Control freak,” Wade coughs back. He shakes his head and scans the back cover. “This sounds up my alley. I’m not sure what that says about me, but I’m in. Thanks, Griffin.” He opens Theo’s present: a dozen different ties. There’s also a note telling him to step up his wardrobe game. “Wardrobe is about to be on point. Thanks, Theodore McIntyre. Is it okay if I call you that, Theodore McIntyre?”
“Theo will do,” Theo says, smiling. They fist-bump.
“Your turn,” I tell Theo.
“Bastard.”
Theo opens Wade’s gift: an illustrated cocktail recipe collection.
“Once your early admission is approved, I want you to know how to underage-drink responsibly,” Wade says.