"What's with the winter vibe in here?" I whispered to Upton.
"My parents hate being on the island for Christmas," he replied, moving his hand to the small of my back to steer me around the Ryan family, who were standing in a klatch with Sienna in the center of the living room. All five of them shot us cold looks as we passed. Upton didn't seem to notice. "They only come these days because it's tradition, and they don't want to be the first to break code."
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"God forbid," I said, pausing by the fire.
Unlike all the other open, airy island homes I had visited over the past few days, this house was all cozy old-world elegance. The walls were covered with ornate wallpaper in reds, greens, and golds. The floor was waxed hardwood, dotted with antique rugs, and the furniture was carved wood and overstuffed upholstery. There was a roaring fire in the brick fireplace with stockings hung over it, and a gigantic Christmas tree blocking the entire window--and therefore, the view of the beach.
Upton nodded and took a sip of his eggnog. "They renovated a couple of years ago and transformed this room and the dining room into exact replicas of our house on High Street in London."
I blinked at him, trying to process this over-the-top behavior.
"I know. I think they're starting to go senile," he joked.
The front door opened, and an older couple I hadn't seen before walked in, the woman shedding her silk wrap. A hush fell over the room, and the two of them looked around, as if startled. Upton's parents moved in to greet them.
"What's up?" I asked. "Who are they?"
"They would be Poppy's parents," Upton said, turning away. "And there's still no sign of Poppy."
I gulped, watching as the Simons spoke with the Gileses in hushed tones. Poppy's mother looked nothing like her daughter. She had straight black hair and a long face to go along with her tall frame. But she did have her daughter's carefree smile. Neither she nor her husband appeared to be worried as they chatted with their hosts.
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Of course, everyone in the room was whispering. Someone overheard the Simons' conversation and soon the news traveled to us all.
"Daniel says Poppy hasn't called or contacted them in any way, but she had said something about needing alone time on this trip, so they assume she's taking it," Noelle whispered to us as she, Kiran, and Taylor joined us by the fire.
"But over Christmas? " Taylor whispered, hiding her mouth behind her mug of eggnog. "She just bails on her family on Christmas? "
"I'm sure she'll ring them tomorrow," Upton said, squeezing my shoulder. "She's not a monster."
"No, just totally oblivious," Kiran replied.
A bell tinkled near the doorway to the dining room, and a butler in a tuxedo stepped inside. "Ladies and gentlemen! Dinner is served!" he announced in a British accent.
Upton smiled and took my hand. "Enough of this negative stuff. I hope you're ready to gorge yourself."
"Are you kidding? It smells so good in here, my stomach's been grumbling all night."
Dinner was spectacular. We all sat at one very long table set with white-and-gold china and crystal glasses. All the linens were deep red and forest green and the lights were dimmed so that the candles in the gold candelabra cast a cozy glow over everything. Upton must have informed his mother about the rift in the group, because everyone was seated next to someone they could talk to: Paige and Daniel with Sienna; West, Gage, Graham,
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and Sawyer and their families on one side of the table; me next to Upton with Noelle on the other side, along with Kiran, Taylor, Tiffany, Amberly, Dash, and their families. Sawyer, who was directly across from me, barely ate a thing and spent the entire three-hour-long meal staring into his lap as the conversation and laughter flowed around him. I was pretty sure he was reading a book down there. I got that the guy was not a social being. But what about eating? How could he ignore five courses complete with squash soup and endive salad with pears and roasted duck and honeyed ham and berry trifle? Was he on some kind of Christmas fast?
By the time Mr. Giles suggested we all move back to the living room, my stomach was so full I felt as if I might never be able to walk again. Sawyer got up, though, and I told myself to follow. I felt badly for the guy. No one had talked to him all night. Maybe my Christmas good deed would be to give him someone to chat with for awhile.
"Hey," I said, sidling up next to Sawyer as he grabbed a hard-backed, uncomfortable-looking chair from the corner of the living room. He had just produced a book from under his waffle-knit black sweater. Short Cuts by Raymond Carver. "What else are you hiding in there?"
Sawyer looked up at me, his brow knit. "Nothing."
A blush lit my face. "I know. I was kidding."
"I know," he replied. He sat back in the chair, which creaked as he moved, and opened the book. I felt a shiver of rejection move up
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my spine and glanced around to see if anyone was watching us. No one was.
"I was just thinking I might see if some people want to go outside and hang for a while. I think it's warmer out there than in here," I said, not willing to give up yet. "Do you want to come? "
"No thanks," he replied, not looking up from his book.
"But I-"
"I kind of want to read now," Sawyer said flatly, tugging on the hair just above his ear.
My face stung. Didn't he see I was just trying to be nice? I was about to say something to that effect when Upton's hand slid into mine.
"I have a surprise for you," he whispered in my ear. Then he looked down at Sawyer, who was still tugging and reading, his jaw set in a very off-putting way. "That is, if you're done here."
"Oh, we're done," I replied. We left Sawyer behind and crossed the room together. I tried to let my irritation go. Sawyer could do what he wanted, of course. But it was Christmas Eve. I thought it might be nice to see the guy smile just once. I glanced back at him to find him glowering down at his book.
Not your responsibility, Reed. Move on.
"What kind of surprise?" I asked Upton, taking a deep breath and letting out my frustration with it.
"A Christmas gift," Upton said, pausing near a set of glass double doors covered by curtains on the inside.
I gulped, my heart filling with instant panic. I hadn't brought
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him anything. It hadn't even occurred to me to bring him anything. Besides, what kind of gift would I have been able to afford on the island anyway? Some birdseed from the Ryans' backyard?
"You can wipe the terrified look off your face. I'm not expecting anything in return," he said with a Cheshire-cat grin. "I just had the perfect idea for a gift, and it's so rare that I come up with something like this, so I just couldn't let the opportunity pass me by."
Great. So not only a gift, but a perfect gift. Kill me now.
He opened one of the doors slightly, looked around to make sure everyone was otherwise occupied, and then slipped through, tugging me with him. We now were inside a library with huge picture windows overlooking the beach.
"Whatever it is, I don't deserve it," I said. "I feel like such an idiot."
"Don't," he replied, squeezing my hands. Then he stepped aside so I could see behind him. In the center of the room was a huge box wrapped in plaid Christmas wrapping paper and topped with a red velvet bow. The thing was the size of a footlocker.
"What is in there?" I asked.
"Just open it. I literally cannot wait to see your face."
Upton released my hand and sat in a leather wing-backed chair facing the humongous present. He placed his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, like he couldn't have been more excited. All I could think about was how stupid I felt for being so thoughtless.
"Whatever it is, I don't know how I'm going to get it home," I said, kneeling in front of the box. Upton chuckled, and I reached
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up to gingerly remove the bow. I was planning on opening it very carefully, in a sophisticated and mature manner,
but then I realized this might be the only gift I got to unwrap this Christmas and thought, Screw it. I tore into the sucker like I was tearing into my first pair of soccer cleats.
And it was a footlocker. A big, metal footlocker, with no lock on the clasp. I blinked at Upton, confused. A little stab of trepidation sliced through me. Talk about a bad horror movie trailer. Was I going to find a dead body in this thing? Holy crap, had Upton killed Poppy for me and stashed her in a footlocker?
Stranger things actually had happened in my life.
"Well? Open it!" Upton said with glee.
I swallowed hard, reached for the clasp with a shaky hand, held my breath, and flung open the top. My jaw dropped open.
The footlocker was filled with college sweatshirts. On the top were Yale, Harvard, Princeton, Penn, and Brown, but as I dug through the piles, I found Penn State, University of Miami, Boston College, UCLA, University of Texas, William & Mary, Northwestern, Wisconsin, Illinois, NYU, Rutgers, Arizona, and on and on and on. There were at least forty sweatshirts crammed into the thing.
"Upton . . . I. . . this is so cool!" I said, sitting back on my heels with the Miami sweatshirt in my clutches.
Upton laughed and got up, walking around the footlocker to sit next to me. "I figured that you could wear them all this coming year and see which one you think suits you best. And then, when you
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make your choice, you'll have a properly broken-in shirt when you get there, and you'll feel as if you're already home."
I sat there and gaped at him. I had never received a more thoughtful gift from anyone in my entire life.
"How did you manage to do this?" I asked, reaching out to run my hand over the Harvard shirt's lettering.
"Let's just say I'm glad my family owns stock in FedEx," he replied with a grin. His eyes danced in the dim light from the desk lamp. "Well? Do you like it?"
"It's absolutely the best Christmas gift I've ever received," I told him. I leaned in and kissed him. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," he replied, taking my hand.
I turned around to sit next to him again, and he put his arm around me. I cuddled into him as we leaned back against the leather couch behind us, and we both gazed into the footlocker. The footlocker that held my many potential futures.
"I envy you. All the choices you're about to make," Upton said, running his thumb back and forth across my shoulder. "It's got to be so exciting."
He really did sound envious of little old me. But then, his choices had all been laid out for him. I sighed, trying not to feel overwhelmed by everything that was to come. The tinkling merriment of the party sounded very far off from this back room, with the ocean crashing outside the windows, and suddenly the idea of rejoining all those people felt overwhelming.
"Let's just stay in here for a little while, okay?" I suggested.
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Upton sighed and pulled me in tighter, closing his eyes and leaning back his head against the couch. "We can stay in here all night for all I care."
I smiled. It didn't even sound like a come-on. It just sounded like he wanted to be with me. And that, really, was the best present I could have asked for.
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CHAPTER 28 THE BLUR
Christmas with the Langes was a much more formal affair than it ever had been in my household. Back home, Scott and I would get up ridiculously early and tear into our gifts while still in our pajamas--hair sticking out in all directions, morning breath at full force, Mom and Dad nursing coffee and hanging around with their eyes at half-mast. After we'd made a disaster area of the living room, we'd all reconvene in the kitchen for scrambled eggs, sausage, home fries, and chocolate chip muffins, then pass out until my grandparents arrived, when there would be a few more presents to open. Even during my mom's crappy years, Christmas usually managed to pull itself off in the same old comfy way. But at the Langes', there was nothing comfy about the holiday.
Following some strict instructions from Noelle the night before, I was up with my bird at 7a.m., and showered, dressed, and at the breakfast table by 8 a.m. Almost everyone from the crew was there. The Ryans and Sienna were conspicuously absent. I assumed they liked to spend
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Christmas morning alone, being weird together. The Simons weren't there either, and I wondered what that might mean, but I kept my mouth shut. I was not going to be the first to bring up the specter of Poppy Simon.
For breakfast, we were served thick french toast with raspberries and powdered sugar. Conversation at the table was hushed and polite as we dug in. It was like we were eating breakfast in a library.
"Is it always this quiet on Christmas morning?" I whispered to Taylor, who was seated to my left.
"It's always this quiet at the Langes', period," Taylor replied. "You've been living here for over a week. You haven't noticed? "
"I guess we haven't been at the house much," I replied, taking a bite of the yummy french toast.
In fact, I had barely even seen Noelle's mother since we'd arrived, except in quick glimpses as she moved from one room of the house to another. She clearly had no interest in knowing me, which was fine. Although it might have been nice to get the chance to thank her for letting me stay there.
I noticed that Noelle's father and Mr. Hathaway were chatting intensely again, and I nudged Noelle, who was on my right. "What's up with the headmaster thing?" I asked. "Has your father said anything to you?"
Noelle cast a look in their direction. "No, actually. He hasn't." She put her silver knife and fork down with a bit of a clang. "So, Mr. Hathaway, I hate to interrupt," she said. "But has my father convinced you to take the job yet?"
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Everyone at the table fell silent. Graham and Sawyer exchanged a look as their dad cleared his throat and reached for his coffee. He cast a glance at Noelle's father like, Do you want to answer that, or should I?
"Noelle, I don't really think that's an appropriate conversation for the occasion," her father said with a placating smile.
"No? Isn't that what you two were just talking about?" she asked, taking a sip of grapefruit juice.
The two men pointedly looked away from each other. Mr. Hathaway asked Dash to pass the butter.
"Later, Noelle. But I appreciate your interest," her father said. "So, Claire, who has the honor of giving the first gift from beneath the tree this year?"
Noelle's mother, who was sitting at the head of the table wearing white silk pants and a shimmering silver boat-neck blouse, her dark hair back in a loose chignon, shot him a tight smile and sipped her mimosa. "Now, Wallace, you know I don't announce that until we're all seated around the tree."
I looked across the table at Upton, my expression incredulous. He hid a smile and ducked his head, suddenly intent on his last bite of food.
Once we had finished eating and everyone had gathered in the living room, Mrs. Lange took out a silver sack with a gold rope ribbon around the neck and held it up. "Everyone ready?"
No one said a word. They simply looked up at her expectantly. I saw a sudden flash of a kindergarten class, waiting for the teacher to begin story time.
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"Okay. Someone has got to tell me what is going on," I whispered to Kiran, who was seated on the white leather couch to my right.
"It's a system she came up with when we were about six years old," Kiran whispered back. "She couldn't deal with the mayhem of all the kids attacking the tree, looking for their presents, so she lets one person go at a time, and that person gives out all their gifts. When everyone's done opening, the next name is selected from the bag."
"Wow. Fun," I said sarcastically.
"It's a Lange family Christmas," Noelle said with a tight smile.
"I hope my name's not in there. I only got small gifts, and they're just for you guys," I whispered to Noelle.
"Don't worry. I let my mom know to keep your name out," she replied.
"Our first Santa of the day is . . . Kiran!" Mrs. Lange said, showing ev
eryone the ceramic tile with Kiran's name written on it in silver script.
"Yay!" Kiran said, clapping her hands as she got up.
She pulled out a huge black shopping bag out from behind the tree and started to hand out boxes from inside.
"You didn't have to get me anything," I said to Kiran as she passed me a package. "You already bought me clothes and got me a free couture gown for Casino Night."
"I did do that, didn't I? Oh well. Spirit of the season and all that," she said, lifting one shoulder and dropping the gift in my lap.
Once everyone had a present, we all tore into them with the vigor of people who had been forced to wait an inordinate amount of time
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with a wrapped gift. I pulled out a pair of calfskin Gucci gloves and slipped them right on. They fit perfectly and were insanely cozy. I saw that Taylor, Tiff, and Noelle had all received the same pair in different colors, while the guys had opened boxes with leather Fendi driving gloves. I wondered if Kiran picked out the gifts herself or if they were freebies from some of her designer friends. I imagined it was the latter, which made me feel better about the fact that I'd gotten her a tiny trinket box from one of the arty gift shops back in Easton.
Everyone chorused their thank yous as Kiran sat down next to me again.
"Kiran, these are too much," I said.
She clucked her tongue. "You are about to be showered with a ton of gifts that are way too much," she said. "You can't respond that way every time, so just.. . get used to it."