Beautiful Things Never Last (6 page)

“Anyway,” Shayna says, cozying closer to Carter while she gets her brag on. “I got a fake tree, because I didn’t know if anyone would be here for Christmas, or if it would just sit here and die. So...Ben?” Shayna raises her eyebrows curiously and taps her foot.
             
“Huh?”
Ben asks
.
I love that he was ignoring her because he was busy looking me over like he wanted everyone else in the room to disappear.
“
Will you? Be here for Christmas?” Her question is so insistent, it borders on severely irritating despite her good elf act.
             
The guilt over missing Christmas with Ben churns in my stomach. I can’t believe he’ll be sitting here alone. With that hideous tree Shayna decorated.
             
“I don’t know what I’m doing yet, Shayna.
But I promise
you’ll be the first to know.”
             
Shayna squints her eyes at Ben’s sarcasm.
             
“Anyway, there’s hot cocoa and I picked up appetizers from that place on 5th, and I guess we’ll eat now if you assholes are hungry, but if it were up to me—”
             
We all snicker and Carter grabs a wrapped box off of the table.
             
“Prezzies!” Shayna squeals. She rushes to Carter clapping like a damn seal. But way more
annoying.
             
“I shouldn’t even give this to you now. I’m going to see you on Christmas.” Carter kisses her forehead and hands Shayna her gift.
             
“But we had to celebrate with Quinn and Ben.” She grins and rips into the wrapping paper.
             
I feel Ben’s arms wrap around my waist and slouch into him.
             
“I wish you would have told me you guys were planning this. I haven’t had time to get gifts together.” I frown.
             
“I’ve got a few ideas of things you could give me,” Ben says, nipping at my ear with his teeth.
             
“Easy. We’ve got company,” I laugh.
             
“We’re not company,” Carter says. “But dude, come on, that’s my sister.”
             
I don’t blush often, but I can’t fight the warmth rising up my neck and onto my face.
             
“You can bring us something back from Italy,
Quin
n
lette
,” Shayna says, borrowing the nickname my brother coined for me when we were kids. “Preferably something sparkly.”
             
“Right,” I say. “I’m sure that will happen, Shay.”
             
“Hey, is this not sparkly enough for you?” Carter asks, holding up Shayna’s dainty wrist to display a stunning gold bracelet.
             
“It’s gorgeous, babe. Merry Christmas to me!” Shayna stands on her tip-toes and
kisses
my brother. They’re really riding the line of no longer being cute tonight, and leaning
dangerously toward
just being vomitously sickening.
             
“Hey, that’s my brother,” I joke.
             
“I think we
want to
go home and, um, open presents,” Carter says, pulling Shayna to the door.
             
“Your gift is under the tree, Quinn. It’s new pots and pans from all three of us.  Not very original, but we had to do something to make sure you’d keep on cooking for us!” Shayna squeals in the high-pitched voice I seldom hear since we left high school on her way out the door.
             
“Well, that was a quick celebration,” I say. I turn to Ben who has his right hand behind his back, like he’s holding something. “What are you hiding back there?”
             
“Nothing,” Ben smirks.
             
I take the last few steps toward him. “You don’t have another gift for me, do you? Shayna said that one was from everyone. Ben?”
             
He pulls his hand out from behind his back. The click startles me and sudden flash blinds me
momentarily.
             
“How many times have I told you I hate when you take my picture?”
             
He tosses his camera onto the sofa and pulls me in, his lips on my throat before I can argue any further.
             
“I know. I’m sorry,” he says.
             
“No you’re not.” I find his lips with mine.
             
“You’re right. I’m not. You’re so damn beautiful, Quinn. And I’m going to miss you so damn much. I just want to remember this. Right now.”
             
I can’t argue with him.
“And this,” he says, his lips working their way down my neck, shoulders, and chest. He drops to his knees and I have a momentary flash of panic.

Don’t propose. Please. Don’t. Propose.

“And this,” he says, he lifts up the hem of the light cotton skirt that skims just above my knees, presses his mouth to my thigh and I can’t help the moan that escapes my lips. His warm kisses and capable hands make their way up to the most sensitive skin until my knees are wobbling and my moans and gasps have turned into begging.
             
“We should go to bed,” I whimper against Ben’s lips while tugging at his belt.
             
“You should let me take you right here,” he says. He helps me with the unfastening of that stupid belt and shimmies out of his jeans.
             
“I think that’s a better idea,” I agree.
             
I pull his white t-shirt over his head, exposing his warm skin and run my hands over his chest, his abs, anything I can touch while he helps get rid of my pesky skirt and panties.
             
“I love you,” I say as he grips my hips and slides inside of me.
             
“Love you, baby.”
             
Ben and I here, making love next to a Christmas tree (albeit artificial) like we did that first time
—
that night I showed up at his house in that damn dress in the rain, makes me nostalgic for those early days before bills and jobs and real life. But it also makes me so content with where we are.
             
“Merry un-Christmas to me,” I say, catching my breath. “That was way better than a bracelet, by the way.”
             
“So, I do have something else for you,” he says, brushing my bangs out of my face.
I feel myself deflate again. “Come on, it’s bad enough I’m leaving you here alone for Christmas. Please, let’s not do the whole, ‘shower me with gifts,’ thing.”
             
“You need to go, Quinn. It’s
Italy
. It’s really okay. It’ll be quiet here, yeah, but I’ll study, and work, and stay up all night taking pictures without you getting mad at me.” He grins, and if it reached up a fraction of a centimeter closer to his eyes, I’d almost believe it was a genuine smile.
             
“What about, maybe, going home with Shayna and Carter?” I say it slowly. Cautiously.
             
“To Georgia?” He loosens his grip on me ever so slightly, like he’s trying to gauge whether or not I’m being serious.
             
I settle in his arms so that we’re still locked together, but I can see his eyes, can look him full in the face and be the responsible, loving girlfriend he deserves. Or at least the most decent version of that particular girl I know how to be. “Yeah, I mean, I know we’ve all mentioned it, but really, Ben
, I’m
sure you’re welcome to stay at my house with Carter—”
             
“I doubt that.” His mouth twists in a wry grin, I’m sure over the thought of my parents’ chilly, anti-social reaction to finding him on their doorstep, ruining their annual Christmas Eve blitz.
Ho ho ho.
             
“Yeah, you’re right. My parents are dicks, but yours…they love you, Ben.” I push back all the rebellious anti-parent craziness we’ve been rallying since we left home, because I know how much he needs this. And I owe him. I know this entire thing severing from his
parent’s
thing has been his way of staying by my side, and now it’s time I paid him back by putting on my big girl pants.
             
“Quinn—”
             
“Look, I know things got crazy there with your mom. And I can’t even tell you how thankful I am that you didn’t let her ultimatums stop you from being with me, because, this?” I gesture to us, lying naked on our living room floor, limbs intertwined. “This is pretty great.”
             
“Agreed,” Ben laughs and kisses the tip of my nose. “Doesn’t get a whole hell of a lot better.”
             
“But, I know she’s got to miss you, Ben. Just think about it, okay?” I let out a breath, and I know he’ll probably do more than think. There’s a tiny fear that doing this, letting him go, is just giving him permission to fly away from me and back to the comforting arms of the people who love him and hate me and might, maybe, be able to show him just what a catastrophe his decision was.

Like they’d need much proof. The girl he ran away from everything for is leaving him high and dry on Christmas, for god’s sake. His mother won’t even have to lace this one in ‘bless her hearts’ this time. I suck and that’s going to be clear, even to my biggest fan.

Even to Ben.

Which is why I have to show him that I do actually care.
             
“For you, baby, anything.”
             
“So, what do you have for me?” I ask, peering around his long frame. Ben hoists himself off of the floor and disappears into our bedroom. “It’s not more pictures of me, is it?” I call after him.
             
He returns moments later in boxers, holding a manila envelope. “Hey, no fair on the clothes,” I gripe.
             
“Fine,” he grins and tosses me the t-shirt I’d torn off of him earlier. He waits for me to pull it over my head, then hands me the envelope.
             
“What’s this?” I start to unclasp the brads holding the envelope shut, but Ben covers my hand with his.
             
“Wait, let me just explain this to you,” he says. His voice quivers a little, and I don’t really understand his nerves.
             
“My life is full of photographs. I mean, yeah…” Ben motions around to the walls covered with his black-and-white masterpieces. He swallows hard. “But there’s the other kind, too. The snapshots in my mind that make everything else fade except that one moment. Some of them change everything for you. You and I, that first date I ever took you on in Savannah was one of those for me.” He nudges my hands and I finish opening the envelope and pull out the single photo.
             
“Is this..?” I don’t have to finish, I know exactly what the picture is. The ancient oak tree bends and dips toward the ground, its branches twisting and growing in each direction with thick Southern moss draped from every bit of it. It’s the tree that we sat under sharing both delicious and scary food. The tree that Ben kissed me for the first time under. “It’s beautiful.”
             
“You’re beautiful.”
             
“Thank you,” I say. “But wait, when did you take this?”