Page 64 of On the Slopes of Tahoe
Paper discarded, she’s met with a plain brown box, which she spins and examines before pulling out a large nylon bag. “It’s purple! My favorite color,” she says, looking at it with interest and a hint of confusion. First, her eyes travel to Jamie, then to me, and finally to my camera bag that sits by my feet.
“It looks like yours,” she says, half questioning.
“Mm-hmm, and it goes with this.” I pull a square package from the pile and hand it to her. She tears off the paper, scraps flying everywhere, and opens the cardboard flaps to reveal—
“A camera?” Her lips stretch into a wide smile, and I think it’s the happiest I’ve ever seen her look.
“A very special camera,” I say, my eyes feeling misty. “Wes gave me that camera when I started high school, and it was my constant companion for years after that. I got a new one several years ago, and this one looked just right in your hands at our photoshoots. I thought you should have it.”
Breck is staring at me, his mouth slightly gaping despite his lips tilting up into a grin.
“Really? Like, for real?”
“Yeah, for real. It’s all yours.”
She shoots to her feet and almost chokes me out with a hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“You’re welcome, Bug. I know you’ll take great care of it. I can’t wait to see the pictures you take.” I squeeze her tighter, my gaze tracking over her shoulder to Breck. I can’t place the emotion in his features. The sadness from earlier is gone, replaced by something more tender, more powerful, almost overwhelming. It projects across the space between us, and if I released Willow, I think I could hold it in my hand. Maybe even bring it to my own heart and keep it there.
Willow pulls out of my embrace and looks at the camera in her hands. “Will you teach me how to use it? Like, really use it? All the buttons?”
“It’d be my pleasure.”
“Daddy! Rory gave me her camera!”
“I see that. You’ll have to take really good care of it.”
“That’s what the camera bag is for,” Jamie pipes in, bringing everyone back together, and the attention back to his present. When Willow invited him, he wasn’t sure what to get the prodigious eight-year-old, so we coordinated.
“Thank you, Jamie!” Her hug for him is almost as big as mine was and he beams. “What’s next?” she says, taking in the pile of presents with a sparkle in her eye. You’ve got to love the one-track mind of an eight-year-old. Especially when it fixates onanything other than the near-miss phone call with her mother that’s sure to come to a head eventually.
To Breck’s credit, he didn’t let Talia’s call taint a single second of the day. Not during dinner, not during cake, not during the FaceTime call with Wes. Not for even a breath was he anywhere but in the moment with Willow.
Now she’s in bed, wrapped in her comforter and surrounded by all her gifts, when Breck falls into the couch cushions with an exhausted sigh. All the emotion he’s been holding in escapes with that breath, tendrils of the strain permeating the space.
He sits reclined against the back of the couch, head tilted up, eyes closed, and I park myself on the coffee table in front of him, my knees just inside of where his sit splayed. What is it they call this? Manspreading? I won’t lie, I kind of like it, especially with the black joggers he’s sporting.
“Hey,” I say, knocking his knee with my own. He lifts his head like it weighs a million pounds.
“Can’t thank you enough for the camera,” he says, and his eyes go soft. “It’s too much, but I know you won’t let me argue with you.”
“I want her to have it. It was time for it to go to a new photographer. Maybe she’ll fall in love with it like I did.” I keep my knees pressed against his, liking the warmth where they connect. Wanting more of that warmth, I run my hands up his thighs. I’m pushing the roommate boundaries between us, but he blurred them first with that kiss today.
“I think she already has.” He brightens and continues. “Hey, you just referred to yourself, at least sort of, as a photographer, so that’s pretty awesome.”
“I did, didn’t I? Your influence must be rubbing off on me.”
“You deserve that title.”
I duck my head and blush at the praise. “Well, I don’t know that I’d be making much progress without you.”
“You would’ve, I just gave you a nudge.” To drive the point home, he squeezes his knees around mine, trapping me in.
“Maybe so.” I bite my bottom lip. “How’re you doing?”
“I’m just so tired,” he confesses, craning his head toward the ceiling once more.
“I know.”
