8. The Greatest Gift of All

8

THE GREATEST GIFT OF ALL

PATRICK

A MEMORY

Quinn picks me up from the lot near the upperclassmen residence hall where I've been living in a single room. But, in truth, it's been more like a double room. At least based on how much of Quinn's stuff populates my desk and drawers and the number of nights Quinn and I have happily squished together on my twin XL bed, talking until all hours of the night.

When I open the passenger door to Quinn's decade-old sedan, there's a colorful bag overflowing with tissue paper waiting for me. A tiny Mylar balloon that says HAPPY BIRTHDAY on a stick pops out of the top.

"Should I open this now?" I ask as we back out of our spot. I have no idea where we're going.

"Go for it." Quinn's got Christmas music playing on the radio. The whistle notes and the bells in the background make me feel festive and in the birthday spirit.

As we merge onto a main road, I pull out of the bag a LEGO set of the Guggenheim Museum. It's a building by Frank Lloyd Wright that I've always admired for its use of rotundas. It's such a thoughtful present that I could cry.

I reach across the center console and squeeze Quinn's arm. He gets me. He really gets me. "Thank you."

"I figure we can work on it together and then display it in your dorm room." He takes his eyes off the road for a second to look at me. My heart teeters toward him. We've been friends since January and officially dating since April. They've been six of the happiest months of my college career. Maybe even my whole life.

"Surprise!" Quinn says, two hours later, when we step out of the car.

Before us is an unusual place called Casola's Christmas Village. It's a farm outfitted in lights aplenty. It has North Pole–esque displays that incorporate the nearby lake, trees, and walkways. Quinn remembered me saying, over the summer in the blaze of July at the Jersey Shore where we'd meet for soft serve and kisses under the lifeguard stand, that Christmas is my favorite holiday. I'm touched that he listens so closely.

"I also figured it was appropriate given what you were wearing when we met," Quinn says. I guess I hadn't made that bad of a first impression back then as I thought.

We spend several hours exploring, taking silly photos, and eating snacks. At some point, we visit Santa's Post Office, where high school students dressed as elves hand out sheets of paper to everyone. We partake in the tradition of writing a letter to the big man himself. On my sheet of paper I write my wish succinctly with a large yellow No. 2 pencil:

I wish to love Quinn Muller forever.

It hits me in that moment that I do, after only six months of dating, love Quinn. I can't deny it when it's clear as day on the paper in front of me.

I love his passion for mentoring children. I love his eclectic taste in music and movies. I love that he says yes to things no matter how busy he is or how out of left field they might be.

Later as we stroll across the Kissing Bridge, Quinn inquires about what I asked Santa for this year. Instead of telling the truth, I make a joke. "My degree. Finally!" He laughs before we stop, and I kiss him.

After exploring Santa Claus Lane, we decide it's late. We've had our fill of holiday cheer and hot chocolate. We climb back into the car and drive the two hours back to campus. Surprisingly, the whole way, I regale Quinn with tales of birthdays past. Gifts received. Cakes eaten. Tears shed.

Somehow, Quinn Muller has unblocked me. I can't, for the life of me, shut up once he's gotten me started. That's why I barely notice when, on a pitch-black back road not far from campus, a deer jumps out in front of Quinn's car.

I grab for the handle above my seat. Brace myself.

Quinn does everything right. He doesn't swerve into the other lane. He doesn't panic or scream (too much). The deer, struck and injured, runs off limping.

We're alive. We're safe. Just a little breathless.

Even so, Quinn's frozen.

I ask if he's all right to no response.

It's me who calls the police to report the accident. Me who gives our statement. Me who takes the wheel again once the officer departs. Quinn, still shaking, hugs his coat to his chest and doesn't speak.

On the drive back, I worry that Quinn's upset with me. I was talking too much. Too loudly. I was probably distracting him.

In the six months we've been dating we've never had so much as an argument. This incident is new territory. I've messed up everything.

It's not until we're back in the parking lot by my dorm building that Quinn unbuckles his seat belt and, assuaging my darkest fears, fiercely embraces me. His face smushes into the meat of my shoulder. "Thank you," he says with resounding relief.

"Of course." I run a hand soothingly through his curls. His hair has quickly become my favorite texture in the world.

Gingerly, he inches back, looks up at me with watery eyes, and says, "Pat, I love you."

The LEGO set was perfect. But this is the greatest gift he ever could've given me.

"I love you, too, Quinn." I kiss away his tears before kissing his newly smiling lips. "I love you so, so much," I say again just to ensure he heard me. Loud and clear.