“I’m not sure I follow….”
“And I, sir, am not very sure you lead. But no matter. Why don’t you sit down next to me? As little as I expect I’ll enjoy your company, it will gratify me greatly to see you out of the way. Lily takes these celebrations very seriously, and in my estimation, you are currently the person in the room with the highest likelihood of ruining this one. Let’s make sure that doesn’t happen.”
Mrs. Basil E. didn’t exactly pat the seat next to her. Instead, she seemed to cast a spell on the cushion so it wouldn’t be tainted when my father sat down.
“I didn’t have to be here, you know,” he mumbled. I almost felt sorry for him. But not quite.
“That reflects well on you,” Mrs. Basil E. conceded. “Now don’t alter that reflection with further speech. Let’s sit and watch the others.”
Powerless, my father obliged.
“Get your father some cider,” Mrs. Basil E. ordered.
“Make it a double,” Dad said.
“The cider is entirely devoid of alcohol,” Mrs. Basil E. disclaimed.
“But still—it’s cider,” my father replied, finally earning a slight glimmer of her respect.
I performed this errand with haste—handing my father two mugs, neither of which read WORLD’S GREATEST FATHER. Then I went in search of Lily, who had yet to return.
First I checked the kitchen, but only found her father there, looking as if he was trying to remember which appliance was the stove. Then I ventured down the hall to see if the bathroom door was closed; it wasn’t.
It was quiet as I got near her room—so quiet, I assumed she wouldn’t be there. But when I peeked in, there she was, all alone. She wasn’t looking for anything. Wasn’t checking her phone. Wasn’t making a last-minute change to her holiday playlist. Instead, she was sitting on the edge of her bed, staring out at the edge of the world. Lost in thought, or thinking thoughts that would be lost the minute I said her name and she snapped to attention, fugue-state fugitive. It was disturbing to see her like this, but I still wasn’t sure I should disturb her. There’s an alone that calls out for rescue—but this appeared to be an alone that wanted to be left alone.
I was going to quietly head back to the party, but at the moment of my first retreat, she slipped out of wherever it was she had been and turned to see me in the doorway. Maybe she’d known I was there all along. Maybe I had no idea what she was thinking.
“Dash,” she said, as if we both needed to be reminded who I was.
“The party?” I replied. “Is there anything I can do?”
Lily shook her head. “I think everything’s ready. It’s not really a party. It’s just a tree lighting.”
I saw my father’s present unopened on her desk. I picked it up and shook it. Something rolled around inside.
“Well, at least it’s not a check,” I said. “It required at least some thought. His or someone else’s.” I shook it more furiously. “I hope it’s not breakable.”
“Stop,” Lily said.
I stopped.
“I have something for you,” she said. “You don’t have to open it now. And you don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to. Ever. I just—well, it’s just something I thought I’d give to you. But you’re under no obligation.”
“It’s a leather miniskirt, isn’t it?” I asked. “You killed me a cow and turned it into a miniskirt for me!”
From the horror on her face, you would have thought I’d guessed correctly. Which, I’m sure, led to some horror on my face. Which lightened Lily up a little.
“No cows were hurt in the making of this sweater,” she assured me.
And I thought, Oh, boy. Sweater.
It’s not that I didn’t think Lily could knit a sweater. I thought Lily could make anything she set her mind on making, whether it be a five-tier cake or a macramé Madonna. But sweaters…living in New York City, I had a very complicated relationship to sweaters. When you were outside, they were fine, even preferable, keeping away the big chill. But inside? When the temperature suddenly skyrocketed to ninety degrees? Sweagatory—sweaty purgatory.
Lily went to the base of her bookshelf and picked up a tissue paper–wrapped package. “Here,” she said, handing it over.
I stopped to ponder what kind of wild night between a Kleenex and a piece of 8-by-11 had led to the birth of tissue paper. Then I ripped it to shreds and opened up the sweater within.
The first thing I noticed was how huge it was—at least two X’s past XL, with room for an extra reindeer if it happened to need shelter underneath. Then I noticed how Christmas it was—even though Lily was giving me a sweater for Christmas, it hadn’t occurred to me that it might be a Christmas sweater. The snowflake on the front looked like it had been woven by a spider who’d gotten a little too fly-drunk the night before. And then there were the birds. Doves, I thought. With our names on them. Lily’s dove had a sprig of olive tree in its mouth. Mine was just kind of lurking.
“Oh, Lily,” I said. “I mean, wow.”