Authors: Rainbow Rowell
the kind of good mood that was
just on the edge of a bad one.
They were all waiting for him to
cross over …
Which he did, as soon as he
realized there was no pumpkin
pie.
‘What the fuck is this?’ he
said, flicking his spoon in the
ris
ala mande
.
‘It’s rice pudding,’ Ben said,
stupid with turkey.
‘I know it’s pudding,’ Richie
said. ‘Where’s the pumpkin pie,
Sabrina?’ he shouted into the
kitchen. ‘I told you to make a real
Christmas dinner. I gave you
money for a real Christmas
dinner.’
Her mother stood in the
doorway to the kitchen. She still
hadn’t sat down to eat. ‘It’s …’
It’s a traditional Danish
Christmas
dessert
,
Eleanor
thought.
My grandmother made
it, and her grandmother made it,
and it’s better than pumpkin pie.
It’s special
.
‘It’s … just that I forgot to buy
pumpkin,’ her mother said.
‘How could you forget the
fucking pumpkin on Christmas,’
Richie said, hurling the stainless-
steel bowl of rice pudding. It hit
the wall near her mother and
sprayed
weepy
chunks
everywhere.
Everyone but Richie stayed
still.
He stood up unsteadily from
his chair. ‘I’m going to go buy
some pumpkin pie … so this
family can have a real fucking
Christmas dinner.’
He walked to the back door.
As soon as they heard his
truck tear out, Eleanor’s mom
picked up the bowl with what was
left of the rice pudding, then
skimmed the top off the pile of
pudding on the floor.
‘Who wants cherry sauce?’ she
said.
They all did.
Eleanor cleaned up the rest of
the pudding, and Ben turned on
the TV. They watched
The Grinch
a n d
Frosty the Snowman
, and
A
Christmas Carol
.
Their mom even sat down to
watch with them.
Eleanor couldn’t help but
think that if the Ghost of
Christmas Past showed up, he’d
be disgusted with their whole
situation. But Eleanor felt full and
happy when she fell asleep.
CHAPTER 34
Eleanor
Park’s mom didn’t seem surprised
to see Eleanor the next day. He
must have warned them she was
coming.
‘Eleanor,’ his mom said extra
nicely, ‘Merry Christmas, come
in.’
When Eleanor walked into the
living room, Park had just gotten
out of the shower, which was
embarrassing for some reason. His
hair was wet and his T-shirt was
kind of sticking to him. He was
really happy to see her. That was
obvious. (And nice.)
She didn’t know what to do
with his present, so when he
walked over to her, she shoved it
at him. He smiled, surprised. ‘This
is for me?’
‘No,’ she said, ‘it’s …’ She
couldn’t think of anything funny
to say. ‘Yeah, it’s for you.’
‘You didn’t have to get me
anything.’
‘I didn’t. Really.’
‘Can I open it?’
She still couldn’t think of
anything funny, so she nodded. At
least his family was in the kitchen,
so nobody was watching them.
The present was wrapped in
stationery.
Eleanor’s
favorite
stationery, watercolor paintings of
fairies and flowers.
Park peeled off the paper
carefully and looked at the book.
It was
The Catcher in the Rye
. A
really old edition. Eleanor had
decided to leave the dust jacket on
because it was neat-looking, even
though it still had a thrift-shop
price scrawled on the front with
grease pencil.
‘I know it’s pretentious,’ she
said. ‘I was going to give you
Watership Down
, but that’s about
rabbits, and not everybody wants
to read about rabbits …’
He looked at the book,
smiling. For a terrible second, she
thought he was going to open the
front cover. And she really didn’t
want him to read what she’d
written. (Not while she was
standing right there.)
‘Is this your book?’ he asked.
‘Yeah, but I’ve already read
it.’
‘Thank you,’ he said, grinning
at her. When he was really happy,
his eyes disappeared into his
cheeks. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome,’ she said,
looking down. ‘Just don’t kill
John Lennon or anything.’
‘Come here,’ he said, pulling
on the front of her jacket.
She followed him to his room
but stopped at the door like there
was an invisible fence. Park set
the book on his bed, then grabbed
two small boxes off a shelf. They
were both wrapped in Christmas
paper with big red bows.
He came and stood in the
doorway with her; she leaned back
against the jamb.
‘This one is from my mom,’
he said, holding up a box. ‘It’s
perfume. Please don’t wear it.’ His
eyes flicked down for a second,
then back up at her. ‘This one is
from me.’
‘You didn’t have to get me a
present,’ she said.
‘Don’t be stupid.’
When she didn’t take the
present, he took her hand and
pressed the box into it.
‘I tried to think of something
that nobody would notice but
you,’ he said, pushing his bangs
off his face. ‘That you wouldn’t
have to explain to your mom …
Like, I was going to buy you a
really nice pen, but then …’
He was watching her open it,
which made her nervous. She
accidentally tore the wrapping
paper. He took the paper from her,
and she opened a small gray box.
There was a necklace inside. A
thin silver chain with a small
pendant, a silver pansy.
‘I’ll understand if you can’t
take it,’ Park said.
She shouldn’t take it, but she
wanted it.
Park
Dumb. He should have gotten the
pen. Jewelry was so public … and
personal, which is why he’d
bought it. He couldn’t buy Eleanor
a pen. Or a bookmark. He didn’t
have bookmark-like feelings for
her.
Park had used most of his car
stereo money to buy the necklace.
He’d found it at the jewelry store
in the mall where people try on
engagement rings.
‘I kept the receipt,’ he said.
‘No,’ Eleanor said, looking up
at him. She looked anxious, but he
wasn’t sure what kind. ‘No. It’s
beautiful,’ she said, ‘thank you.’
‘Will you wear it?’ he asked.
She nodded.
He ran his hand through his
hair and held onto the back of his
neck, trying to rein himself in.
‘Now?’
Eleanor looked at him for a
second, then nodded again. He
took the necklace out of the box
and carefully fastened it around
her neck. Just like he’d imagined
himself doing when he bought it.
That might even be
why
he bought
it – so he’d have this moment,
with his hands warm on the back
of her neck, under her hair. He ran
his fingertips along the chain and
settled the pendant on her throat.
She shivered.
Park wanted to pull on the
chain, to pull it into his chest and
anchor her there.
He pulled his hands away self-
consciously and leaned back
against the doorjamb.
Eleanor
They were sitting in the kitchen,
playing cards. Speed. She’d taught
Park how to play, and she could
always beat him for the first few
rounds. But after that, she’d get
sloppy. (Maisie always started
winning after a few rounds, too.)
Playing
cards
in
Park’s
kitchen, even if his mom was in
there, was better than just sitting in
the living room, thinking about all
the things they’d be doing if they
were alone.
His mom asked how her
Christmas was, and Eleanor said it
was nice. ‘What do you have for
holiday dinner?’ his mom asked.
‘Turkey or ham?’
‘Turkey,’ Eleanor said, ‘with
dill potatoes … My mom’s
Danish.’
Park stopped playing to look
at her. She popped her eyes at
him. ‘What, I’m Danish, shut up,’
she would have said if his mom
hadn’t been there.
‘That’s
where
you
get
beautiful red hair,’ his mom said
knowingly.
Park smiled at Eleanor. She
rolled her eyes.
When his mom left to run
something
over
to
his
grandparents, Park kicked her
under the table. He wasn’t wearing
shoes.
‘I didn’t know you were
Danish,’ he said.
‘Is this the kind of scintillating
conversation we’re going to have
now that we don’t have any
secrets?’
‘Yes. Is your mom Danish?’
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘What’s your dad?’
‘An ass.’
He frowned.
‘What? You wanted honest
and intimate. That’s way more
honest than “Scottish.”’
‘Scottish,’ Park said, and
smiled.
Eleanor had been thinking
about this new arrangement he
wanted. This being totally open
and honest with each other. She
didn’t think she could start telling
Park the whole, ugly truth
overnight.
What if he was wrong? What
if he couldn’t handle it?
What if Park realized that all
the things he thought were so
mysterious and intriguing about
her were actually just … bleak?
When he asked about her
Christmas, Eleanor told him about
her mom’s cookies and the
movies, and how Mouse thought
The Grinch
was about ‘all the
Hoots down in Hootville.’
She half expected him to say,
‘Yeah, but
now
tell me all the
terrible parts …’ Instead he
laughed.
‘Do you think your mom
would be okay with me,’ he
asked, ‘you know, if it wasn’t for
your stepdad?’
‘I don’t know …’ Eleanor
said. She realized that she was
holding on to the silver pansy.
Eleanor
spent
the
rest
of
Christmas vacation at Park’s
house. His mom didn’t seem to
mind, and his dad was always
inviting her to stay for dinner.
Eleanor’s mom thought she
was spending all that time with
Tina. Once she’d said, ‘I hope
you’re
not
overstaying
your
welcome over there, Eleanor.’
And once she’d said, ‘Tina could
come over here sometimes, too,
you know,’ which they both knew
was a joke.
Nobody brought friends into
their house. Not the little kids. Not
even Richie. And her mom didn’t
have friends anymore.
She used to.
When Eleanor’s parents were
still together, there were always
people around. There were always
parties. Men with long hair.
Women in long dresses. Glasses
of red wine everywhere.
And even after her dad left,
there were still women. Single
moms who brought over their
kids, plus all the ingredients for
banana daiquiris. They’d sit up
late talking in hushed voices about
their ex-husbands and speculating
about new boyfriends, while the
kids played Trouble and Sorry in
the next room.
Richie had started as one of
those stories. It went like this:
Her mom used to walk to the
grocery store early in the morning
while the kids were still asleep.
They didn’t have a car back then
either. (Her mom hadn’t had a car
of her own since high school.)
Well, Richie would see her mom
out walking every morning on his
drive to work. One day he
stopped and asked for her
number. He said she was the