He swallowed.
“I don’t have it.”
The notebook lay open between us. Such an ordinary page for something that had changed the room so completely.
Margaret touched the wrapping paper.
“You told me your year-end bonus paid for this.”
Brooke turned sharply.
“Mom, you don’t need to get involved.”
“You gave it to me.”
“I wanted you to have something beautiful.”
Margaret looked from her daughter to Julian.
“And you both let me open it in front of her.”
Julian nodded once. Brooke stared at the candles.
I put my hand flat on the page so they would not see it shaking.
“I would have understood an empty wallet. I would have understood no presents this year.”
Brooke let out a breath that sounded almost impatient.
“You always say you don’t need anything.”
For a moment, I could not answer. She had found the familiar sentence, the one I used when Julian asked what I wanted and I could hear him doing arithmetic in his head.
“I didn’t need a handbag.”
“Then why are we doing this over a card?”
Julian lifted his head.
“Brooke.”
But I raised a hand before he could turn that warning into another attempt to end the conversation.
“Let her finish.”
Brooke looked at her mother, waiting for support. Margaret’s hands remained folded beside the bag.
“I bought you a card,” Brooke said. “I thanked you. I can’t be responsible for whatever comparison you decide to make.”
I took the card from my pocket and opened it on the table.
“There isn’t even my son’s name in it.”
“That was his job.”
Everyone looked at Julian.
His face had gone pale around the mouth.
“She asked me to sign it in the car,” he said. “I said we’d do it inside.”
The admission landed quietly, and it hurt more than Brooke’s impatience.
He had carried an opportunity to be kind all the way to my door and then put it down somewhere.
“I forgot,” he said.
“No,” Brooke replied. “You didn’t want to take out the other envelope.”
Julian went completely still.
Her words seemed to surprise even her. She reached for her glass, missed the stem, and rested her hand against its base.
I looked at my son.
“What other envelope?”
“It doesn’t matter now.”
