"Tyler."
"That came out wrong. I just—" He stops. Breathes. "I wanted to give you something that was just for you. Not because you take care of Harper. Not because of the routine, or because of anything you do. Just because you're you, and because it's Christmas, and because if I never get to give you anything else, I want you to have this."
He reaches behind him for the small box before handing it to me.
My hands are not entirely steady.
He wrapped it himself; I can tell by the way the corners are slightly off. There's a little tag.To Red. From T.
I unwrap it slowly. Inside is a jewelry box from a store I don't recognize. I open it.
Inside is a silver bracelet. Delicate, the chain almost invisible, with one small charm in the center. A letter.N.
NotNora.NotRed.JustN.The smallest possible claim a thing can make on a person.
I can't speak for a second.
"I know it's not much," Tyler says quietly, watching my face. "But I thought?—"
"Tyler."
"Yeah."
"Stop talking."
He stops.
I lift it out of the box. The chain pools in my palm. It's lighter than I expected. Cool. I look at the smallN,and I think about the fact that he stood in a jewelry store and chose this. Not a necklace, which would be too much. Not earrings, which would be too generic. A bracelet, which I can wear without anyone asking questions, which sits under my sleeve, which saysI see youwithout saying anything anyone else can read.
He went to a jewelry store. For me.
I can feel my eyes filling. I look down at the bracelet so he can't see.
"Help me put it on," I say. My voice is not entirely steady either.
He takes the bracelet from my palm and reaches for my wrist. His fingers are warm, careful with the clasp. He gets it on the first try—which means he practiced—which means at some point in the last week he sat alone in his room doing the clasp on a braceletto make sure he could do it for me on Christmas morning without fumbling.
I have to close my eyes for a second, just as his thumb brushes the smallN, just once.
"There," he says, quietly.
"Tyler."
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
He doesn't move. I don't either. We're both very still in the warm, tree-lit living room with Harper asleep in her crib and the wreckage of wrapping paper around us. I can feel him breathing behind me, and I'm aware of every inch of skin where his hand is touching my wrist.
"I have something for you too," I say. Because if I don't break this, I'm going to do something I can't take back.
He moves back around to his side of the rug. I get up, get the bag from where I'd tucked it behind the tree last night, and bring it back before sitting down again.
"It's nothing like?—"
"Red. Whatever it is, I'm going to love it."
I hand him the bag.