Page 56 of Money Shot

“Well, let’s see it,” his mother said.

He picked the book out of the box, held it in the air, and turned it toward his mother. A hardbound first edition, first printing of Pride and Prejudice, I hoped he would take great pride in having it. I had bid on two of the books on eBay, hoping to buy the first one, but I lost out on it at the last minute. Although the one I purchased was in much better condition, the first one was five years older, and I was interested in it for that reason alone.

He stood, held the book at his side, and grinned. After a dozen or so pictures, his mother turned toward me.

“It was his favorite since high school,” she said. “He might try and act tough, but he’s a romantic at heart.”

I grinned and mouthed the words “I know.”

Vince walked over to me, hugged me, and kissed me as he released me from his arms. “I love you, Sienna.”

“I love you,” I said. “Merry Christmas.”

“Open this,” he said after reaching under the tree and handing me a gift.

It was the first Christmas gift I had been given since my father died. I had several gifts, but they were all purchased by me, wrapped by me, and opened by me. And, speaking from experience, I can say they’re never as much fun when you know what’s in them.

“I don’t open them like you do,” I said.

“However you like,” Anita said as she raised the camera.

“Well, if you’re going to take pictures, you better hurry,” I said as I tore into the paper.

Within a few seconds, the wrapping paper was in shreds and an untaped box remained. I quickly opened the box and looked inside. As much as I didn’t want to, I began to softly cry.

“You didn’t,” I said as I wiped the tears from my face.

“I did,” he said.

The book I wanted to buy for him, a first edition, first print of Pride and Prejudice from 1850, lay in the box. I not only had been outbid by my lover, but we both had the same ideas for what we believed the other would cherish for a lifetime. Our each having purchased the other the exact same gift spoke volumes of not only our love for each other, but for our love for books.

With glassy tear-filled eyes, I glanced around the room. The camera sat in Anita’s lap as she wiped tears from her cheeks. I lifted the book in the air.

“He…” I paused and bit my lower lip.

I realized if I continued, I would be in a full-fledged sob. It was too much. Vince was too much. Spending Christmas morning with a family was too much. I turned toward Anita and held the book close to my chest. With tears rolling down her cheeks, she raised the camera and took a picture. I turned toward Vince and shook my head.

“I love you,” I said.

He shrugged his shoulders. “I guess we think alike,” he said.

“It’s all the proof I need. You two are made for each other,” Anita said.

For the next hour we opened gifts, some large, some small, but none as meaningful as the book Vince bought for me. The day, as far as I was concerned, was best day of my lifetime. I wished my father could have been there, but realized his departure from the earth wasn’t something he had planned, but something that had simply happened. I didn’t know if my belief in matters was correct, but in my belief he was witnessing everything that was happening while enjoying a glass of his favorite wine.

“There’s one more for each of you,” I said as reached behind the tree and removed a two small gifts.

“There sure is,” he said as he reached behind the couch and produced a large box.

He kicked the box with his boot, sending it sliding across the floor. It came to a stop at my feet. I stood, stepped around the big box, and handed him the small one. After giving Anita hers, I walked to the couch and sat down in front of the big box.

“I’ll go last,” I said.

Anita opened hers, turned toward me, and smiled. “Bombshell?”

“Yep. The day we met. You said you liked it. It’s what I was wearing that day, on Thanksgiving,” I said.

“Thank you, Honey,” she said. “I’ll wear it with fond memories.”