prologue
Tobin loves gift-giving.
Obviously it doesn’t hurt that the Heaths are one of the wealthiest families in the state, but she’s not actually particularly extravagant in monetary terms. Every Christmas party like clockwork her mother still tells the story of how, aged nine, Tobin spent an entire year taking one photo per day of each family member and collaging the result in an album too stuffed full of memories it wouldn’t close properly. Tobin groans automatically now whenever she hears it, and usually tries to slope off to find a beer or a girl or both, but she can’t deny the sentiment. She’s always loved the excitement of planning the perfect gift for each person in her life. This year should be no different. But it is.
It’s different, because this is the first year that Christen will be alone for Christmas.
Not alone alone, obviously. Tobin wouldn’t have that. She’s already made it very clear that her oldest friend will be spending the holiday with the Heaths, and Christen has agreed to do Christmas Eve and day-of but has refused to impose any further. No amount of pleading could change her mind. Tobin sometimes feels like she never quite manages to find the right words when it comes to Christen - pretty much never needed to, they’ve always understood each other so perfectly - and she can’t work out how to convince her best friend just how welcome she is to stay as long as she wants.
As far as Tobin is concerned, she could stay forever.
‘It’s family time.’
‘You are family.’
‘Tobin.’ And Christen had looked at her through the little Facetime window with a fond expression which didn’t quite sit right on her face, colored with something Tobin couldn’t diagnose with any certainty, but looked a little bit like wistfulness. ‘You know what I mean. And I would love to spend those two days with you. I just… this year will be so different anyway, and I think, one thing at a time, you know?’
Tobin felt the tears prick at the back of her own eyes; they’d been so close growing up that Christen’s parents had practically been her parents too. ‘Yeah, I get it. I’m sorry, Chris.’
‘You have nothing to be sorry about,’ said Christen, with some of the old certainty Tobin had so admired before the tragedies pushed her off-balance. ‘I love you, Tobs.’
‘I love you too, Chris.’ And oh, she does.
Photography takes Tobin all over the world, and she’s missed more than her fair share of family events, but she always makes up for it at Christmas. The fifteenth of December finds her on a plane home, no matter where she’s been. She’d been terrified this year that Christen wouldn’t be there when she got back; as sole heir to the family energy company, she’d been making vague noises about needing to spend more time in the city. But sure enough, an hour after Tobin gets through the door of the Heath mansion and half an hour after Cindy first notices her youngest daughter’s knee start to bounce with what the rest of the family privately dubs ‘Christen withdrawal’, the bell rings and Tobin’s chair skids with how fast she makes for the door.
‘Chris.’
‘I missed you so much.’
‘I’m so glad you’re here.’
‘I couldn’t be anywhere else.’ Christen finally pulls away from the hug and sits down on the porch bench to untie her boots, looking up at Tobin with what could only be described as a cheeky grin. ‘Did you see the news? Press Industries is going all in for green energy. I thought the branding would be better if I ran it out of a humble homestead in Shallow Lake than a skyscraper in Manhattan.’
‘Humble homestead. You have more pointless extra bathrooms than we do.’ Tobin pulls the door closed to keep the warm air inside the house and sits down next to Christen, pulling her sleeves down over her cold hands. ‘You mean it? You’re staying for good?’
‘I’m staying for good, not that you’ll benefit with all your jetsetting. Isn’t there anything interesting to photograph around here?’
Tobin grins, resolutely ignoring the way her stomach flips a little bit when Christen nudges her shoulder. ‘Are you volunteering?
‘You’ve got far too many embarrassing photos of me already.’
‘They’re all beautiful.’
‘Oh, stop.’
It’s peaceful on the porch. They both know that the second they open the door they’ll be engulfed by parents and dogs and siblings and ambushed for conversations and forced to help with the cooking, so they just sit for a while, breaths clouding and mingling in front of them. Christen shrugs an arm out of her jacket and unwinds her scarf and wordlessly crams them as far around Tobin as she can, while Tobin pulls her knees up to her chest to get closer.
It feels so good just to sit together again.
‘I’ve really missed you, Chris. I think of you all the time.’
Christen nudges one abandoned boot incrementally with her toe, until they’re lined up together neatly to the side, and only then looks across tremulously at Tobin. ‘I’m really okay.’
‘I know you are, by normal person standards, but I get how hard it is.’
Sharing a jacket doesn’t give much room for manoeuvre, but Tobin manages to wedge her arm around Christen’s waist and Christen just about has space to lean her head against Tobin’s shoulder. Tobin is perfectly happy for the minute before she shivers too hard to hide how cold she is, and Christen pulls back. ‘You’re freezing. Your mom will kill me if I make you catch flu just when she’s got you home.’
‘Mom wouldn’t care. She’ll be way too happy to see that you’re back.’
‘Tobin, I saw your mom yesterday.’
‘She did?’ For real, it is freaking cold. Tobin hops up and down while Christen retrieves her bag. ‘She didn’t say anything.’
Christen gives a funny little grin. ‘I guess she wanted me to be a surprise.’
***
‘Mulling wiiiine. That’s what I like to see.’ Lindsey sniffs the air like a puppy and hugs Tobin so hard she nearly leaves the ground. ‘But I’ve missed you so much I would probably have come over even if you hadn’t been. Hey, Mrs Heath.’
‘Merry Christmas, Lindsey honey. When did you get home?’
‘Yesterday. Mom and dad send their best and said the Christmas cookie swap is on Sunday this year, but you’d be welcome to go over sooner and taste-test the contenders.’
‘That I certainly will. Tobs, I don’t think mulled wine is supposed to smell burnt.’
‘It’s fine, mom, it’s just steaming.’
‘That’s smoke, sweetie. Here, if you just turn the flame down, and - oh, that’s why. You’ve set a cinnamon stick on fire.’
Tobin abandons the ladle and throws her hands up dramatically. ‘I give up. I can’t work under these conditions. Will it poison us if Linds and I take some upstairs?’
They decide to risk it, and end up sitting on Tobin’s bed with warm, comforting mugfuls, a soccer game on in the background but neither really focusing on it. There’s a lot to catch up on: Tobin’s shoots, Lindsey’s puppy, their mutual struggle to learn French. New friends. Old friends.
‘What are you getting Christen for Christmas?’
Tobin sighs and leans back against the headboard. ‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know?’ There’s genuine shock on Lindsey’s face. ‘Tobin, you start planning Christmas gifts in, like, September. Are you seriously telling me we’re one week out and you haven’t got her anything?’
‘She has everything. That’s the problem.’
‘If she’s back for good you should get her a dog,’ says Lindsey hopefully. ‘Oh, wait, she’s allergic to fur. Exotic fish?’
‘Fish are boring.’
‘Why don’t you paint her something? She’d love that.’
‘Yeah, I… I don’t know. I’ve done that before. I just want to be different this year.’ Tobin swallows and tries to hide it with a sip of mulled wine. ‘Make her some new memories, you know?’
Lindsey nods, eyes soft. ‘Yeah. I get that.’
‘I guess I just need to find something she’ll really remember. Think outside the box.’
Lindsey will remember this moment, later, and wonder if Tobin was ever really aware of the box at all.