It's the same look you've been giving me, off an on, since we were in high school. You might be right about that. If I was in front of you, you'd look up, over your glasses at me in your special, circumspect way. I know, but you need to be with me when we get it. At least, that's my excuse to get you bundled into the car earlier than we'd otherwise need to. I say my hellos and goodbyes to your mom and we load into the car. Present, Future Tense (For M) What do you mean, you haven't gotten my present yet?
A late Christmas present arrives just in time. Noticing your poorly disguised search, I smirk as I pull out of the driveway and say soon. In just a few minutes, I'm on my way to pick you up in my car to drive us into Boston, plenty of time to get a meal and a drink before you hop on the evening train back to the City. My Volvo's seat warmers don't take long to warm us up. It's three days after Christmas and I'm taking the train to New York in a few hours. We make an unfamiliar turn onto the city streets of Boston.
You look expectantly around your seat for something that looks like a present. It's cold outside, but you wouldn't know it. We're erranding first. Your left hand holds my right as I navigate us into Boston, my iPhone issuing gentle directions, to which you consistently reply, shut up. You look out your window, trying unsuccessfully to read street signs; it's been too long since you lived here to remember where we are in relation to South Station.
Four o'clock in December and the sky is already dark, headlights illuminating the snowflakes as they go by. I take any chance I can get to evoke such responses from you. We both smile at the humor, old now, but warm in its familiarity. Newberry Street you half mumble to yourself. We aren't going to eat at the diner near the station we saw last time? You look at the pedestrians and I look at you. You were cute in a teenager; now you're beautiful.
We park, re-bundle against the cold, and walk a block or two to the shop. We stop at a light and I take the chance to look over at you as you watch people walk, many of them weighted down with shopping bags. You trust me enough to know I have something in mind, but not quite enough to think you'll enjoy your present as much as I will. We really kiss for the first time in too long and keep at it until the honks from behind us remind me that we have someplace to be.
The sign above the window says Agent Provocateur. The years haven't just been kind_they've been downright generous. I give you a slow smile and you begin to get the idea you're going to enjoy this. I haven't told you where we're going, so you yelp when I suddenly turn us both 90 degrees right and down a half dozen steps into a brownstone shop. We'd like to see the pieces on that list, maybe one or two at a time? You let go of my hand to clap yours together a few times; it's a girlish gesture that makes me smile and feel young, too.
You softly close your mouth and arch your brows at the preparation I've done; in silence, you let me lead you toward the fitting rooms as the girl starts finding the first few items. You half roll your eyes and give a groaning oh, god but we walk in and you immediately start rethinking your derision. Oh, and the last two items on the list: the first I'll take wrapped up and the second you can bring in a bag with the last outfit you bring us in the fitting room.
I put my hand on the far side of your neck, pressing you toward me, your face turning to meet mine as we lean into the space between our seats.
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