Saulo had gotten Kiki a gift card to a local coffee shop, always a safe choice. Dolores opened Kiki’s vintage-y flamingo ornament and seemed genuinely thrilled. Sonia gushed over a stack of romance novels from Lauren, which meant that Lauren must’ve traded names with Marcus sometime after Asa had done the same thing. He wondered about the exact timeline—whether Lauren had made the decision after the moment in his room, or after they’d gone ice skating with Eddie. Not that it mattered. The end result was the same.
And now they had reached the last present, and people were already starting to disperse while Lauren looked around, obviously trying to figure out where hers was. He had no idea what to do. The thought of giving her the gift he’d made, watching her open it in front of him, made his insides twist. It was too much, especially for someone who’d actively arranged it so she didn’t have to exchange gifts with him. At the same time, he couldn’t stand to see that look on her face, the disappointment behind the smile she gave to Kiki.
He could tell her he just forgot, and then find something little to give her next week at work. It’d be relatively easy to get her a gift card for a takeout place near work, or a pound of ground coffee. Something impersonal that he knew she’d like.
But then Kiki was pointing down at him, waving her cup until pink punch sloshed over the side. “Asa, you idiot, you didn’t bring Lauren’s present in! It’s still in John’s trunk!”
The next time he added anyone to a lease, he was adding provisions like Knock and actually wait for an invitation before entering a room and Keep your mouth shut about presents if the gift giver himself hasn’t mentioned them first.
“Yeah,” he said, trying to figure a way out of this one. “The only—”
Lauren set her cup down on the bleachers, skipping down them so fast she ran right into Asa. He caught her by the shoulders, the loose waves of her hair tickling his fingertips as she angled her head back to look up at him.
“I’ll come with you,” she said, breathless. “I could use some fresh air.”
He dropped his hands, shoving them into his pockets, where he immediately set off the Fart Maker.
“Not that kind of air,” she laughed, nudging him with her elbow.
The first chance he got, he was throwing the stupid thing away. “All right,” he said gruffly. “Give me a second to get John’s keys from him.”
Once Asa had the keys and no more excuses, he led Lauren out into the cold night air. The afternoon had been deceptively nice when the sun was out, but now that it was dark with nothing but a sliver of moon in the sky, the temperature had dropped considerably. Lauren hugged her arms around herself, and he wished he had a jacket to offer her.
“John’s such a good guitar player,” she said. “Guitarist? What’s the right word? Are they both right?”
He wouldn’t say Lauren was drunk yet, but from the flush on her cheeks and the fast, slightly louder than normal way she was talking, she was definitely a little past tipsy. “He used to be in another band,” he said. “They had that song, ‘If Only’？ It was a while ago, but it still plays on the radio sometimes.”
“Oh my god,” Lauren said, stopping in her tracks. “I thought there was something familiar about him. I loved that song! And the singer—what was her name, it started with an M . . .”
“Micah,” Asa said. He hadn’t followed the band, but he’d looked them up after John had moved in. Once, he’d even mentioned Micah to John, but that was all it had taken to teach him not to do it again. The internet had several theories about why the band had broken up, but whatever the reason, it was clearly something John hadn’t wanted to get into. Now he played in a glorified bar band and kept to himself, and Asa respected those boundaries.
“Yes!” She shook her head, shivering a little. “God, that’s really cool. Imagine doing something like that. My biggest dream is to be an accountant.”
“Well, that’s cool, too. And you’re doing it.”
She kicked a bottle cap on the ground. “Not really. I’m a bookkeeper. Which is fine, but I want to go into business for myself. Get my CPA license, do the big-picture stuff for a bunch of different companies and people, not just the smaller-picture stuff for one.” She bent down to pick up the bottle cap, sticking it in her pocket. “I hate litter. And I’m rambling. And I’m boring myself, and probably you. Sorry!”
They’d reached John’s Camry, and it was only getting colder, but Asa was putting off the moment when he had to open the trunk for as long as possible. He jangled the keys in his hand. “You’re not boring me.”