Page 57 of The Loophole
“It will for sure.”
As he snuggled against me, I wrapped my arms around him and said, “There are three more gifts, but I couldn’t wrap them. First, I bought you a website package. It’s a one-stop shop, so whenever you’re ready, they’ll lock in your domain name, design the site, and get it up and running.
“I also paid for twelve months in a shared commercial kitchen, so you can start producing cakes to sell whenever you’re ready. The twelve months don’t begin counting down until you use it for the first time, so there’s no hurry. Finally, I’ve asked my lawyer to work on getting you a business license. It’s a pretty straightforward process, but he’ll make sure we don’t miss anything.”
He whispered, “Do you really believe in me that much?”
“Of course. I don’t want to put any pressure on you, and if I’ve overstepped then I sincerely apologize. But I got excited about the idea of helping you launch your business. It’s pretty low overhead, so there’s no reason to wait until we get my inheritance. I can help you buy any additional supplies you might need, and we can use my car for local deliveries, and, well, I guess we’ll figure out the rest as we go along.” He buried his face in my shoulder, and I rubbed his back and murmured, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overwhelm you.”
“No, don’t apologize. This is all absolutely wonderful. I have my dream job within reach all of a sudden! But this is the only thing I’m good at, and there’s no Plan B. Where do I go from here if I fail?”
“You won’t fail. If you hit some snags, you’ll adjust and try again.”
He sat up and met my gaze. “You’ll help me, won’t you? I mean, I know you just did, in such a huge way. But you’ll be there for me, right? I’ll need you to give me advice, and cheer me on, and remind me I really can do it if I start to get discouraged.”
I gently brushed his hair out of his eyes and told him, “I’ll always have your back and help in any way I can, Em. I promise.”
He returned his head to my shoulder, and as I wrapped my arms around him, I asked, “Are you okay?”
Embry climbed off my lap and murmured, “I’m fine. Sorry. You should open your presents.” He grabbed a brightly wrapped box and handed it to me.
I put the gift on my lap and took his hand in both of mine. “You don’t have to say you’re fine if you’re not. What’s on your mind, Em?”
He kept his gaze downcast as he admitted, “It’s just an emotional day. I know Christmas is supposed to be happy and fun and all these wonderful things, but sometimes memories come bubbling up, whether I want them to or not.”
“If you want to talk about it, I’m always willing to listen.”
After a pause, he said, in the softest little voice, “My mom and I were usually on our own on Christmas. Fair season was over for the year, so the Olivettis and the other families would go home for a few weeks. We didn’t have a home to go to, so we’d usually stay in this depressing, run down campground in central California, because it was cheap and close to the last fair we worked.”
Embry let go of me and picked up a container of sprinkles, turning it around in his hands as he continued, “Mom had an on again, off again boyfriend who’d stay with us sometimes. The two of them never wanted me around, so I ended up spending a lot of time on my own. You can’t really go many places alone as a kid, because people tend to call child protective services on you. So, I’d just pick an empty country road and walk for miles.”
After another pause, he said, “This one Christmas weekend when I was eight or nine, I came across a holiday carnival on one of my walks. There were a lot of kids there, and they were all with their families. I’d never felt so alone. I was really hungry too, and when I caught a whiff of fresh cotton candy being made, I gravitated to it. If you ask me, there’s no better smell in all the world.”
He swallowed a lump in his throat, and his voice got even softer as he told me, “I stood off to the side, mesmerized as this guy working the concession swirled a paper stick around and gathered these huge, pink, fluffy clouds of sugary heaven. When he noticed me, he asked, ‘where’s your family, kid?’ I pointed behind me to make him think they were close by and told him, ‘my mom is with her boyfriend.’ He seemed to understand, because he said, ‘it’s no fun being treated like a third wheel, is it?’ Then he asked if she’d given me any money. When I shook my head, he swirled up the biggest, puffiest, most beautiful pink cloud of cotton candy and wished me a Merry Christmas as he handed it to me.”
He took a breath and whispered, “I can’t even tell you what that meant to me, or how delicious that cotton candy was. To this day, whenever I’m feeling like my whole world is falling apart, I find someplace selling fresh cotton candy, and I treat myself.”
I asked quietly, “Does it make you feel better?”
A sad little smile curved his lips. “No. But at least I have something good to eat.”
His story made my heart ache. I wrapped my arms around him and kissed his forehead, and he murmured, “I love Christmas. I really do. But for so long, I associated it with feeling sad and lonely, and I guess there’s still a shade of that, even years later.”
I went on holding him, and after a while he whispered, “I don’t know what triggered that memory in particular. Maybe it’s because I was overwhelmed by that stranger’s kindness in that moment, and I’m overwhelmed by yours today.”
The need to take care of Embry and protect him from the world was overwhelming. Not that he needed protecting. He was strong and resilient, much more than he probably realized. But that need was there anyway.
A few moments later, he sat up and handed me a gift. He obviously wanted to lighten the mood, because he smiled at me and said, “Anyway, enough about that. I want you to open your presents, and I really hope you like them.”
Each gift was perfection, because Embry was incredibly thoughtful. One package contained a board game I’d mentioned once, which I’d loved when I was younger. Another held a pair of fingerless gloves he’d crocheted for me, because I’d complained that my hands got cold and a little stiff when I was sketching in my office. There was also a gift bag full of soft, golden-brown caramels he’d made, because he said no Christmas was complete without some sweet treats.
And finally, the smallest package contained two tickets to the national tour of a Broadway musical, which was coming to San Francisco next summer. “I don’t remember mentioning it, but I’ve always wanted to see this,” I told him.
“Yeah, I figured. I have a song from that show on one of my playlists, and whenever it comes on, you start humming along and shaking your hips.”
I grinned at that. “Do I really?”
“Yup. It’s very cute.” He hesitated before saying, “Just so you know, you can take anyone you want to see the show. It doesn’t have to be me.”