There was nothing “mysterious” about it. My mother takes it upon herself to purge his wardrobe of anything she deems “ratty.” I used to think she was overstepping when it came to managing her husband’s attire, but half of Jonah’s closet consists of things I’ve ordered, and I’m constantly filtering through his drawers, tossing threadbare socks and shirts.
“And now you have a new one!” my mom exclaims, inhaling her bottle of perfume and humming with delight, as if it’s the first time she’s ever smelled it. Simon buys her a new one every year. That’s what their gift exchange consists of—sweater vests and a year’s supply of perfume.
I smile as I wonder what Jonah and I will be exchanging on Christmas morning ten, fifteen, twenty years from now. Likely not vacations and bodily fluids in the back of a brand-new pickup truck.
Astrid stoops to search beneath the tree. “All that’s left are gifts for Muriel and the men. I think that’s it.”
“In our household, we had a two-gift limit.” Björn eyeballs the mountain of strewn paper and ribbons littering the floor. I heard him mutter the same Norwegian word several times as he sat back and watched parcel after parcel change hands for nearly two hours. My guess is it wasn’t anything positive.
“It’s not your household, though, is it?” Jonah murmurs before devouring a shortbread cookie.
“Thank you, everyone!” Mabel is all smiles as she sets her pile—mainly clothes and gift cards—on the floor beside the couch. With that tucked away, she climbs from her seat and bolts for the coat rack, her phone in hand.
Jonah frowns after her. “Where’re you going? Where’s she going?”
“Out for a ride with Kelly, while it’s not snowing.”
Jonah opens his mouth—to complain that it’s Christmas and Mabel’s place is here, no doubt.
I stuff the shortbread cookie I was about to eat into his mouth. “Leave her alone,” I whisper, giving his knee a squeeze. “Plus, she has a small gift for Kelly that she wants to give her.”
He chews the cookie while he thinks. “Take the blue one. It has more gas.”
She smiles.
“And be back in an hour.”
“Okay, Jonah,” she says, drawing out his name. At least she doesn’t seem irritated.
“Oh, what’s that in there? I think we missed something.” Agnes sticks her hand into the branches of the tree to retrieve a small box that I suspect she put there. She holds it out to pretend to read the label—there’s no label from what I can see—before trekking over to hand it to Jonah. “This one’s for you.”
Jonah looks curiously at it, then at me—I shrug, because I have no clue—and then at her. “What is it?”
She shrugs. “Open it and find out.”
He picks at the corner of the tape until he manages to catch it. In seconds, he has unraveled the paper and is opening the small jewelry box. Inside is a simple white gold ring.
Jonah nudges my side with his elbow. “Is this from you?”
I shake my head, studying the brushed finish and flat edge. “No, but it’s really nice.” And timely, given less than twenty-four hours ago, I was panicking over having forgotten that he needed one. How on earth did Agnes manage this?
“You bought me my wedding band, Aggie? Is this a proposal?” There’s humor in his voice.
“Not exactly.” Agnes and my mom exchange a nervous look. “I found that ring when I was clearing out Wren’s house in the spring. It had somehow wedged itself between the baseboard and the carpet in his bedroom. I figured it might have been his, but I took a picture and sent it to Susan.”
“It’s the one I bought him. I remember picking it out, thinking it was simple but not boring. All the men’s rings I’d looked at were so boring.” My mom’s voice has grown husky as she chuckles, her eyes glossy. “He was always taking it off while he was touching engines and other dirty things at work. I guess that’s why he was so sure he’d lost it while out flying, but it must have fallen out of his pocket at home.”
“It was lost in that house for twenty-five years?”
“Somewhere around there.” Mom absently reaches for Simon’s hand, weaving her fingers through his. “When Agnes asked what I thought about passing it on to Jonah, I honestly wasn’t sure. I thought maybe you’d think it was bad luck or something—”
“No.” Jonah’s head shake is fervent, his brow furrowed as he studies it intently. “I don’t think that at all.”
Mom sighs as if a weight has been lifted off her shoulders. She smiles. “Agnes
said you’d say something like that.”
“This is … thank you.” His Adam’s apple bobs with a hard swallow.