I never realized the extent to which my hair kept me warm until I have to walk home with my shorn head. Even though I have a hat on, the wind goes right through it. My scalp is freezing.
First order of business: obtain a warmer hat.
The snow is coming down harder now, so I pick up my pace. Helga put the watch chain in a small box, and she even put a layer of gift wrapping on it. I am so ready to exchange gifts with Justin. He may have gotten me something great, but I bet this present will bring tears to his eyes. That watch means so much to him.
I recognize our building from down the block because it’s the one with the short awning that is torn to shreds like a starving moth had a go at it. This was the cheapest apartment we could find, and we can barely afford it. Both of us have loans—mine from college, and Justin’s from college and law school—and every day it just feels like we are falling deeper into the hole. I work my two jobs, and Justin had a job last year, but he gave it up this year because it was affecting his grades too much. That’s why I picked up extra shifts at the diner.
I duck into the building, making sure to close the door behind me because the crime is terrible in this neighborhood. My beanie is damp from the snow, but I leave it on. When Justin sees my hair, he will demand an explanation, and I don’t want to ruin the surprise.
We live on the fourth floor, and there’s no elevator, so I climb the multiple flights of stairs to get to our apartment, my blister families throbbing the whole time. I don’t know what Justin and I will do on Christmas day, but I can tell you it won’t involve a lot of walking.
When I get to apartment 4-E, my key sticks in the lock the way it always does. When I finally get it to turn, Justin is sitting in the living room, the television blasting at full volume. I fight off a surge of annoyance that he has been sitting here watching Netflix all day while I worked a double shift. He could have gotten a job, at least for the holidays. The stores are always looking for men to play Santa Claus.
But before I have a chance to get too angry, Justin shuts off the television and comes to greet me at the door. He’s wearing socks and a pair
of sweatpants, his light brown hair adorably ruffled—it’s hard to stay mad at him. The first thing he does is plant a kiss on my lips.
“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Hansen,” he says to me. I love it when he calls me that.
I laugh. “Is it after midnight already?”
Justin runs a hand through his short hair to smooth it out. I’m jealous that his hair is now longer than mine. “Barely. I was getting worried about you. I thought you left at eleven.”
I smile secretly. “I had to make a pit stop.”
“Oh yeah?” He steps back to let me come into the apartment. I can’t help but notice a burning smell wafting from the kitchen. “That sounds interesting.”
I shake off my winter coat and Justin tries to take it from me to hang up, but I wave him away. He never hangs stuff up properly—he just throws them on the hanger, sliding half off. So I pull open the closet and grab a hanger for my coat, although I leave my hat on. Just as I’m closing the door, I notice Justin moved our large suitcase to the hall closet.
Hmm. I wonder if his gift to me is some sort of vacation together. I could certainly go for that.
As I’m following him into the living room, I take a quick peek at our tiny kitchen, and when I see what’s inside, I let out a cry of dismay. I don’t know what Justin was doing, but our kitchen is a disaster. It looks like something exploded. There are pots and pans everywhere, and there’s something brown smeared all over the counter that I hope to God is chocolate.
I’ve been working for twelve hours straight while he’s been home all day. And somehow I return home to this mess? Who is supposed to clean up that kitchen? It better not be me.
Okay, I can’t let myself get upset over this. This is our first Christmas together as husband and wife, and I’m about to give him the present of a lifetime. I’ll worry about the messy kitchen later.
“Hey,” Justin says as he reaches for my hat, “let me get that for you.” “No.” I jerk away before he can get his hands on it. “I’m… cold.”
“Really? The heat is back on. Should I turn it up?”
I shake my head. “Don’t worry—I’ll warm up soon. Let’s exchange presents first.”
Justin’s face lights up. Despite our agreement not to spend too much on presents, he is clearly excited about this gift exchange. I absolutely did the right thing. In so many ways, my husband is like a little boy. He even has that boyish handsomeness. And you can’t disappoint somebody like that on Christmas.
We head over to the sofa, so I can get off my feet. The sofa is right in front of our Christmas tree, which is admittedly not too impressive. We couldn’t afford a really great tree, and even if we could, we don’t have room for it in this tiny apartment. But we have a tree, and it’s beautifully decorated with tinsel and ornaments. It sets the perfect mood for me to hand my gift-wrapped present to my husband. He grins at me and shakes the box.
“Wow,” he says. “What is this?” “You’ll never guess.”
He shakes it again, next to his ear. “Is it… a new puppy?” I laugh. “Open it!”
He tears through the wrapping paper, depositing the shreds on our coffee table. I am nearly levitating with excitement when he takes the lid off the box. He peers inside, his lips pursed.
“You bought me…” He cocks his head to the side. “A necklace?” “It’s a chain for your pocket watch!”
“Oh!” He pulls it out, examining the silver links. “Wow, that’s amazing, Stella. Thank you.”
He looks happy. Although honestly, I thought he’d be a little happier. I thought he would be over the moon, but instead, he’s just smiling politely. But I’m sure once he attaches it to the pocket watch, he’ll recognize what an amazing present it is.
“This, um…” He bites his lip. “It looks expensive. I thought we weren’t spending a lot on presents this year?”
“I got it for free, actually,” I say proudly. He raises an eyebrow. “You did?”
“Yes.” And with that confession, I finally pull off my hat, revealing my buzzed hair. “I sold my hair to pay for it.”
“You what?”
Justin couldn’t have looked more astonished if I told him I sold a kidney to buy the watch chain. His jaw looks like it’s about to unhinge.
“I found this pawn shop,” I explain. “I tried to pawn a necklace, but it wasn’t worth anything. But then they said that they would take my hair so I
could get you that watch chain.”
“Wait, let me get this straight.” Justin rubs his temples with the tips of his fingers. “You sold your hair to buy me a necklace for my watch?”
“It’s a watch chain,” I say through my teeth. “I thought you’d be
happy.”
Justin sinks back against the sofa, a glazed expression on his face. This is hardly the reaction I expected. I had imagined he would be tenderly kissing me right now and we would end up making love right here on the sofa. Instead, he looks like he’s completely disgusted with me.
“Well,” I say finally, “what did you get for me?”
He stares at me for another moment before heaving himself to his feet. “It’s in the kitchen. I’ll go get it.”
I squeeze my hands together, excitedly anticipating my gift. I can’t imagine it could be better than the watch chain, but my husband is a very thoughtful man. So I am pretty excited right now.
Justin returns to the living room. He’s holding a pan, which contains what looks like brownies. There’s a red bow on top.
“Merry Christmas,” he says. I frown. “What’s that?”
“Brownies,” he says. “I made them for you. From scratch.”
I look around, certain that I’m going to see some other present hidden away somewhere. There’s no way my only present for our first Christmas as husband and wife could possibly be a tray of brownies. Burnt brownies, from the looks of it.
“Let me get a knife to cut them,” he says.
He hurries back to the kitchen. Okay, this is going to be the switch. He’s leading me to believe that my only present is these incinerated brownies, and now he’s going to bring out the real present.
“Hey, Stella!” he calls out. “Where are all the knives?” “In the drawer under the microwave!” I call back.
“Are you sure? All I see in there is like ten thousand spoons.”
I hear a crash as something hits the floor. Men are so helpless—I’m itching to get up and help him, but I don’t want to spoil the surprise. Finally, he yells out, “Found it!” I smile to myself, waiting to see the incredible present he’s got for me.
Except when he comes out of the kitchen, all he’s got in his hand is a knife.
I watch silently as he cuts me a square from the brownie tray. “I know you like the end piece,” he says.
The brownies are rock-hard, so it takes some serious effort on his part to free one of them from the pan. When he gets it loose, about five billion crumbs scatter all over the coffee table, rug, and sofa.
“I’ll clean that up,” he says. Yeah, right.
I accept the brownie from my husband. The surface has zero give. This brownie has been baked within an inch of its life—no wonder the entire house smells like burning chocolate. I attempt to take a bite, but I’m not sure it’s humanly possible. At least not without breaking a few teeth.
“I can’t eat this,” I say.
“I know it’s a little overcooked…” “It’s incinerated.”
The corner of his lips quirks up. “Well, I tried. That’s what matters, isn’t it?”
“Are you serious?”
“Serious about what?”
I fold my arms across my chest. “Are you seriously telling me that your only present to me this Christmas is a tray of burned brownies?”
“Hey!” He raises his hands. “We promised we weren’t going to buy expensive presents. I did the best I could on our budget.”
“You did the best you could?” I cry. “I sold my hair!”
Justin’s face turns pink. “Well, who asked you to do that? I didn’t want you to do it!”
“I did it for you!” I cry. “Because I love you, and I wanted to get you an amazing present!”
“An amazing present? I barely even know what that thing is. What the hell am I supposed to do with it?”
“It’s a watch chain! You chain your watch to things with it!” “Why the hell would I want to do that?”
“The point is,” I say, “I sacrificed something important to me to get you a great present!”
“You know what would have been an even better present?” he shoots back. “My wife not shaving herself bald to get me a watch necklace.”
“I’m not bald!”
“Well, you don’t have hair! I’d call that bald.”
My face burns. I don’t know if we have ever had a fight this big, and I can’t believe we’re having it during our first Christmas together as man and wife. Yet, I am furious with him. I don’t know if I’ve ever been this angry before.
“All I have done is sacrifice for you,” I snap at him. “I work two jobs so that you can focus on your studies. I took the late shift on Christmas Eve. I even sold my hair to get you an amazing present. And what do I get? Burnt brownies.”
With that, I grab the tray of brownies and fling them across the room. They crash at the base of our Christmas tree, which isn’t sturdy enough to handle the impact of those rock-hard brownies. The tree wobbles for a moment before collapsing, sending ornaments scattering across the floor. The sound of shattering glass fills the air.
“Jesus Christ,” Justin mutters.
“What? It’s not like you helped decorate the tree. That was all me—like always.”
“You’re acting completely insane,” Justin says, shaking his head. “God, you’re even worse than your mother.”
Worse than my mother? Did he really just say that? “What is wrong with you?” he continues. “Why on earth would you think I’d want you to shave your head like that?”
“I did it because I love you,” I whisper.
“For real, we might be broke, but you need to see that therapist.” He bangs his fist on his knee. “I’m serious. I can’t put up with this kind of madness anymore.”
Justin keeps talking, listing out every one of my flaws, saying he’s not sure he can stay with me any longer, and that we might need some time apart. It sounds like he’s been rehearsing this.
Wait, is that why the suitcase is in the closet? Has he been planning to leave?
I don’t understand why he’s doing this to me. I gave him an incredible gift, and he didn’t even appreciate it. I thought this watch chain would solve our problems, but somehow, it’s only made things worse.
Oh God, he just keeps going on and on. Why won’t he stop? I wish he would just shut up.
And while he talks, my eyes keep drifting to the knife he used to cut the brownies. It’s still sitting there on the coffee table. And I…
can’t help but think that I bet a knife would make him stop talking.
Maybe for good.
