“Makes our sex life very interesting,” Kiki muttered, and Marj poked her in the side.
“It’s the end of the year,” Marj said. “And I’m still a little short of my billable-hour target.”
Lauren didn’t quite know what to say to that. “Well, good luck.”
“If this conversation hits six minutes, she’ll bill you for it,” Kiki said. “Was the drive okay?”
“Not bad,” Lauren said, shielding her eyes to look out at the water. Now that she was here, she wondered why she’d put off coming to the beach for so long. There really was something restful about it—the heat of the sun on the back of your neck, the slow roll of the waves as they hit the shore. She’d slathered some sunscreen on in the parking lot, and hoped it would last.
She’d ended up wearing a black tank top and jean shorts, her green bikini underneath just in case. She doubted she’d actually want to get in the water, but she supposed it was better to be prepared.
“I was saying before you got here that I might pick up some gimmicky handcrafted Florida ornament at one of the local shops. Normally, you’d think no one who lives here would want one, but you know Dolores eats that kind of shit up.” Kiki seemed to register that Lauren needed to be brought more up to speed than that, and she gave a little laugh. “I got her for Secret Santa. Who’d you get?”
“I thought it was supposed to be secret,” Lauren said.
Kiki rolled her eyes. “Sure, I guess. If you’re a purist.”
“Technically, I believe it’s only the recipient who’s not supposed to know,” Marj said, still scrolling through her phone.
“See?” Kiki scooped up a handful of damp sand and started packing it into a wobbly, formless castle. “Adjudicated. John, what do you think?”
“Hmm,” he said noncommittally.
“He abstains,” Kiki said. “So who was yours?”
Lauren couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder, paranoid that somehow he’d come up right as she was talking about him. “Asa,” she admitted finally. “And I have no idea what to get him.”
Kiki paused in the act of lining up tiny seashells neatly around the perimeter of her misshapen castle. “Really? Oh my god, that’s too perfect. The gag gift potential is so high.”
Except that in order to choose a truly on-point gag gift, you still had to know the person a little. Enough to know the kind of joke or prank they’d find funny, that would feel personal but not too mean. It was one of the reasons the holiday season stressed her out. There was so much pressure around gift-giving—did you choose something thoughtful enough? Did it show the person how you felt about them? On the flip side, maybe it showed the person too well how you felt about them, leaving you vulnerable. Even receiving a gift could be fraught with anxiety—did you react with the appropriate level of enthusiasm? Did you say the right thing, like This is just what I wanted or This will be so useful or even just Thank you so much, I really appreciate it? Lauren knew that she could come across as a little cold. Even when she was genuinely happy or excited about something, her natural reserve sometimes dampened her outer expression of those emotions. And if she wasn’t happy? Forget about it. She was a terrible liar.
She knew she was overthinking it, putting way too much importance on something so small. But that was the part that carefree people like Asa and Kiki never seemed to understand. For them, it was a simple Secret Santa—they’d buy a novelty ornament, wrap it up with a funny card, and call it a day. For Lauren, it felt like navigating a minefield.
She realized that getting assigned to Eddie right before Christmas meant she’d have to get him a gift, too. She didn’t even know what kids that age were into. Something Avengers? An action figure or something? Was that too babyish?
Her first Christmas without her mom, she’d gotten a baby doll from a local charity organization. Her name must’ve been on some wish tree through the foster agency—to this day, she had no idea how that connection would’ve happened. She’d never asked for a baby doll. And it had been a nice one—clearly expensive, with a small quilted diaper bag and plastic bottles with white liquid inside to look like milk. It was a lovely thought, but even at nine years old she’d thought, What am I supposed to do with this? Play mother when I can’t even see my own?
She was jostled momentarily as a warm, lanky body plopped down on the sand in front of her. Asa drew one leg up, linking his hands around his knee. “You came,” he said.