“I’ll tell Landon we’re all coming,” I say and go to grab my phone. I’d never have imagined that my Christmas would be spent with Hardin and his family—both sides of his family. The last few months have been anything but what I expected.
When I turn on my phone I have three voicemails, from my mother, I’m sure. I ignore them and dial Landon.
“Hey, Tessa, Merry Christmas Eve!” he greets me, cheery as ever. I can picture his warm smile.
“Merry Christmas Eve, Landon.”
“Thanks! First things first—you’re not calling to bail, are you?”
“No, of course not. Quite the opposite, actually. I was calling to make sure it was still okay if Hardin and Trish came over tomorrow?”
“Really? They want to?”
“Yeah . . .”
“Does this mean you and Hardin . . .”
“Yeah . . . I know I’m an idiot . . .”
“I didn’t say that,” he says.
“I know, but you’re thinking it—”
“No. I am not. We can talk about it tomorrow, but you aren’t an idiot, Tessa.”
“Thank you,” I tell him and mean it. He’s the only person who won’t have a negative opinion on this subject.
“I’ll tell my mom they’re coming. She’ll be thrilled,” he says before we hang up.
When I join Hardin and Trish back in the living room, they already have their presents on their laps, and there are two boxes on the couch that I assume are for me.
“Me first!” Trish says and tears the snowflake-printed paper off of a box. Her smile is huge as she takes out the tracksuit I got her. “I love these! How did you know?” She points to the gray one she’s wearing.
“I’m not very good at buying gifts,” I tell her.
She giggles. “Don’t be silly, it’s lovely,” she assures me while opening the second box. After she has a moment to see what’s inside, she squeezes Hardin tight and then holds up a necklace that says Mom, just like he told me. She seems to like the thick scarf he bought her as well.
I really wish I’d gotten Hardin something. I knew all along that I would go back to him, and I think he knew it, too. He hasn’t mentioned that he got me one, and both of the boxes on my lap say they’re from Trish, so that’s a huge relief.
Hardin is next, and he gives his mother his best fake smile when he opens the clothes she bought him. One piece is a red long-sleeved shirt; I try to picture Hardin wearing anything other than black and white, but I can’t.
“Your turn,” he says to me.
I smile nervously and pull the sparkly bow off of the first gift. Clearly, Trish is better at choosing women’s clothing than men’s; the pastel-yellow dress in the box proves it. It’s a light baby-doll style, and I love it.
“Thank you—it’s beautiful,” I say and give her a hug. I really appreciate her thinking of me. She just met me, but she’s been so loving and welcoming that I feel as if I’ve known her much longer.
The second box is much smaller than the first, but the amount of tape used to wrap it makes it very difficult to open. When I finally tear through the packaging, I find a bracelet—a sort of charm bracelet unlike anything I’ve seen before. Trish is so thoughtful, just like her son. I lift it up and run my fingers along the rope-textured string to look at the charms. There are only three, each bigger than my thumbnail, two made from what looks like pewter, the other solid white . . . porcelain, maybe? The white charm is an infinity symbol, the ends shaped like hearts. Just like the tattoo on Hardin’s wrist. I glance up at him, my eyes moving immediately to his tattoo. He shifts and I look back to the bracelet. The second charm is a music note, and the third, slightly larger than the other two, is in the shape of a book. When I turn the book charm in my fingers, I notice something written on the back. It says:
Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.
I look up at Hardin and swallow the tears threatening to form. His mother didn’t get me this.
He did.
Chapter thirty-seven
TESSA
Hardin’s cheeks are flushed. His lips hold a nervous smile as I stare at him quietly for a minute.
Then I practically jump over to where he sits on the easy chair. I nearly tackle him with my enthusiasm and my desire just to be close to this wild, crazy boy. Luckily, he’s strong enough to keep us both from falling over. I hug him as tight as I can manage, causing him to cough, so I loosen my grip. “It’s so . . . it’s just perfect,” I sob. “Thank you. It’s so thoughtful, and just unbelievable.” I press my forehead against his as I nestle into his lap.
“It’s nothing . . . really,” he timidly states, and I wonder at his casual tone—until Trish clears her throat from where she sits nearby.
I hurry off his lap. For a moment I forgot that we are not alone in the apartment. “Sorry!” I tell her and move back to my spot on the couch.
She gives me a knowing smile. “Don’t apologize, dear.”
Hardin stays quiet; I know he won’t talk about the gift in front of Trish, so I change the subject for now. His gift was so incredibly thoughtful. He couldn’t have picked a more perfect quote from any novel to engrave on that charm.
“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same”—it’s so perfect for the way I feel about him. We are so different, yet we’re exactly the same, just like Catherine and Heathcliff. I can only hope that we don’t share the same fate as them. I would like to think that we’ve learned from their mistakes, somehow, and that we won’t allow that to happen.