Secret Santa Undressed

The red cup in my hand had a crack down the side, and I was pretty sure the punch was just fruit juice and vodka somebody's older brother bought. The apartment smelled like cinnamon candles and wet wool, because it had been raining since noon and every single person at this party had shown up soaked.

Brooksley was across the room, laughing at something Priya said. Her hair was dark and wet at the ends, curling against her neck. She had on this oversized green sweater that kept slipping off one shoulder, and every time it did, she'd pull it back up without looking.

I'd been watching her do that for an hour.

"You're staring," Marcus said, appearing at my elbow like a bad thought.

"I'm observing."

"You're staring."

I took a drink of the punch. It was terrible. "Same thing."

Marcus was my best friend, which meant he had license to be annoying about things like this. He'd known about my thing for Brooksley since October, when we'd all gone to that haunted house and she'd grabbed my arm in the dark and I'd spent the rest of the night thinking about how her hand felt through my jacket sleeve.

Four months of thinking about a hand on a sleeve. That's what my life had become.

The party was at Jess and Dana's place, a two-bedroom on the third floor of a building with no elevator. There were maybe fifteen of us crammed into the living room, which was decorated for the holidays in a way that suggested nobody had really tried. A fake tree in the corner with lights that flickered when the fridge kicked on. Tinsel draped over the TV. Somebody had hung a single stocking on the wall with a thumbtack.

Secret Santa was Dana's idea. She'd been talking about it for weeks, sending group texts with too many exclamation points. Everyone had to bring a gift under fifteen dollars. We'd drawn names from a hat last week at the diner, and I'd gotten Priya, which was easy. I'd bought her a candle that smelled like campfire and wrapped it in newspaper because I ran out of wrapping paper.

I didn't know who had me.

Brooksley was still talking to Priya, but then she looked up. Just for a second. Our eyes met, and I felt my face do something stupid, some half-smile that probably looked like I was in pain.

She smiled back.

Then she looked away.

"That was painful," Marcus said.

"Shut up."

"I'm just saying. You could, you know, walk over there. Say words. Form sentences."

"And say what?"

"Anything. Literally anything. 'Hey, how's it going, I've been in love with you since October.'"

"I'm not in love with her."

Marcus raised his eyebrows.

"I'm not," I said. "I just. You know."

"I don't know, actually."

I finished the punch. It was worse at the bottom, where the sugar had settled. "I just think she's interesting."

"Interesting."

"Yes."

"You've mentioned her hair three times tonight."

I hadn't realized I'd said it out loud. "You're keeping count?"

"Somebody has to."

Dana clapped her hands, and the room went quiet. She was wearing a Santa hat that was too big for her head and kept sliding down over her eyes. "Okay, everyone. Secret Santa time. Circle up."

We gathered in the living room, sitting on the floor and the couch and the one beanbag chair that had a stain shaped like Florida. I ended up between Marcus and a guy named Tom who I didn't know very well. Brooksley sat across from me, cross-legged, her sweater finally staying in place.

Dana passed around a plastic bag full of wrapped presents. The rules were simple. You opened your gift, you had to guess who gave it to you, and if you were wrong, you had to do a shot of something disgusting that Jess had mixed in the kitchen.

I got mine last. A small box, wrapped in actual wrapping paper. Silver paper with little snowflakes on it. The kind of wrapping that took effort.

I peeled the tape carefully, because whoever wrapped this had done a good job and I didn't want to just rip through it. Inside was a book. A used copy of a novel I'd mentioned wanting to read, back in November, in a conversation I barely remembered having.

There was a note tucked into the front cover. No name. Just: *I heard you talking about this. Thought you might like it.*

I looked up. Brooksley was watching me, her face carefully blank.

"Who's it from?" Dana asked.

I looked at the book. Then at Brooksley. She blinked, slow, like she was trying to tell me something without saying it.

"I don't know," I said.

"Guess."

The room was quiet. Everyone was looking at me. I could feel Marcus beside me, practically vibrating with the effort of not saying something.

"Priya?" I tried.

Priya shook her head. "Wrong. Drink."

Jess handed me a shot glass full of something brownish. I drank it. It tasted like gasoline and regret.

"Okay," Dana said. "Moving on."

But I wasn't moving on. I was holding the book, running my thumb over the spine, thinking about who would have remembered that conversation. Who would have gone to a used bookstore and found this specific copy. Who would have wrapped it in snowflake paper.

Brooksley was laughing at something again. But her ears were pink.

The gift exchange continued, but I barely noticed. Marcus got a set of fuzzy dice from Tom. Priya got the candle from me and gave me a hug that lasted a second too long, which made me feel guilty for reasons I couldn't explain. Dana got a gift card to a coffee shop. Jess got a book about mushrooms.

Then Dana announced hide and seek.

"Rules," she said. "No leaving the apartment. No hiding in the bathroom, because that's gross. And if you're found, you're it. Last person hiding wins."

"This is a terrible idea," Marcus said. "There's like four places to hide."

"Then you'll be found fast."

We played rock paper scissors to see who was it first. Tom lost. He covered his eyes and started counting to sixty, and everyone scattered.

I didn't know where to go. The apartment was small. Bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, living room. Closets. Under the bed. Behind the couch.

I ended up in the bedroom, which was dark except for the light coming through the window from the street. The bed was unmade, clothes everywhere. I crouched behind the dresser, which was a terrible hiding spot, but it was something.

The counting stopped. Footsteps in the hallway.

Then the door opened, and someone slipped inside.

Brooksley.

She saw me immediately. I saw her. We looked at each other in the dim light, and neither of us said anything.

She put her finger to her lips.

I nodded.

She crept over and crouched beside me, her shoulder almost touching mine. I could smell her shampoo, something floral and clean. Her sweater was slipping off her shoulder again.

Footsteps in the hallway. Tom, looking for people. He checked the bathroom. He checked the kitchen. He came into the bedroom, and Brooksley and I held our breath, pressed against the wall behind the dresser.

Tom stood in the doorway for a long moment. Then he left.

We stayed there, not moving, not breathing, until his footsteps faded.

Brooksley let out a breath. Then she laughed, quiet, almost silent.

"That was close," she whispered.

"Yeah."

She looked at me. In the dark, her eyes were almost black. "Did you like the book?"

My heart was doing something weird. "It was you?"

She nodded.

"How did you remember?"

"I remember everything you say."

The words hung in the air between us. I didn't know what to do with them. I didn't know what to do with any of this.

"You didn't guess," she said.

"I didn't want to be wrong."

She smiled. It was a real smile, not the polite one she used with everyone else. "You're not wrong."

And then, before I could say anything, she leaned in and kissed me.