Eleanor & Park (29 page)

the kind of good mood that was

just on the edge of a bad one.

They were all waiting for him to

cross over …

Which he did, as soon as he

realized there was no pumpkin

pie.

‘What the fuck is this?’ he

said, flicking his spoon in the
ris

ala mande
.

‘It’s rice pudding,’ Ben said,

stupid with turkey.

‘I know it’s pudding,’ Richie

said. ‘Where’s the pumpkin pie,

Sabrina?’ he shouted into the

kitchen. ‘I told you to make a real

Christmas dinner. I gave you

money for a real Christmas

dinner.’

Her mother stood in the

doorway to the kitchen. She still

hadn’t sat down to eat. ‘It’s …’

It’s a traditional Danish

Christmas

dessert
,

Eleanor

thought.
My grandmother made

it, and her grandmother made it,

and it’s better than pumpkin pie.

It’s special
.

‘It’s … just that I forgot to buy

pumpkin,’ her mother said.

‘How could you forget the

fucking pumpkin on Christmas,’

Richie said, hurling the stainless-

steel bowl of rice pudding. It hit

the wall near her mother and

sprayed

weepy

chunks

everywhere.

Everyone but Richie stayed

still.

He stood up unsteadily from

his chair. ‘I’m going to go buy

some pumpkin pie … so this

family can have a real fucking

Christmas dinner.’

He walked to the back door.

As soon as they heard his

truck tear out, Eleanor’s mom

picked up the bowl with what was

left of the rice pudding, then

skimmed the top off the pile of

pudding on the floor.

‘Who wants cherry sauce?’ she

said.

They all did.

Eleanor cleaned up the rest of

the pudding, and Ben turned on

the TV. They watched
The Grinch

a n d
Frosty the Snowman
, and
A

Christmas Carol
.

Their mom even sat down to

watch with them.

Eleanor couldn’t help but

think that if the Ghost of

Christmas Past showed up, he’d

be disgusted with their whole

situation. But Eleanor felt full and

happy when she fell asleep.

CHAPTER 34

Eleanor

Park’s mom didn’t seem surprised

to see Eleanor the next day. He

must have warned them she was

coming.

‘Eleanor,’ his mom said extra

nicely, ‘Merry Christmas, come

in.’

When Eleanor walked into the

living room, Park had just gotten

out of the shower, which was

embarrassing for some reason. His

hair was wet and his T-shirt was

kind of sticking to him. He was

really happy to see her. That was

obvious. (And nice.)

She didn’t know what to do

with his present, so when he

walked over to her, she shoved it

at him. He smiled, surprised. ‘This

is for me?’

‘No,’ she said, ‘it’s …’ She

couldn’t think of anything funny

to say. ‘Yeah, it’s for you.’

‘You didn’t have to get me

anything.’

‘I didn’t. Really.’

‘Can I open it?’

She still couldn’t think of

anything funny, so she nodded. At

least his family was in the kitchen,

so nobody was watching them.

The present was wrapped in

stationery.

Eleanor’s

favorite

stationery, watercolor paintings of

fairies and flowers.

Park peeled off the paper

carefully and looked at the book.

It was
The Catcher in the Rye
. A

really old edition. Eleanor had

decided to leave the dust jacket on

because it was neat-looking, even

though it still had a thrift-shop

price scrawled on the front with

grease pencil.

‘I know it’s pretentious,’ she

said. ‘I was going to give you

Watership Down
, but that’s about

rabbits, and not everybody wants

to read about rabbits …’

He looked at the book,

smiling. For a terrible second, she

thought he was going to open the

front cover. And she really didn’t

want him to read what she’d

written. (Not while she was

standing right there.)

‘Is this your book?’ he asked.

‘Yeah, but I’ve already read

it.’

‘Thank you,’ he said, grinning

at her. When he was really happy,

his eyes disappeared into his

cheeks. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome,’ she said,

looking down. ‘Just don’t kill

John Lennon or anything.’

‘Come here,’ he said, pulling

on the front of her jacket.

She followed him to his room

but stopped at the door like there

was an invisible fence. Park set

the book on his bed, then grabbed

two small boxes off a shelf. They

were both wrapped in Christmas

paper with big red bows.

He came and stood in the

doorway with her; she leaned back

against the jamb.

‘This one is from my mom,’

he said, holding up a box. ‘It’s

perfume. Please don’t wear it.’ His

eyes flicked down for a second,

then back up at her. ‘This one is

from me.’

‘You didn’t have to get me a

present,’ she said.

‘Don’t be stupid.’

When she didn’t take the

present, he took her hand and

pressed the box into it.

‘I tried to think of something

that nobody would notice but

you,’ he said, pushing his bangs

off his face. ‘That you wouldn’t

have to explain to your mom …

Like, I was going to buy you a

really nice pen, but then …’

He was watching her open it,

which made her nervous. She

accidentally tore the wrapping

paper. He took the paper from her,

and she opened a small gray box.

There was a necklace inside. A

thin silver chain with a small

pendant, a silver pansy.

‘I’ll understand if you can’t

take it,’ Park said.

She shouldn’t take it, but she

wanted it.

Park

Dumb. He should have gotten the

pen. Jewelry was so public … and

personal, which is why he’d

bought it. He couldn’t buy Eleanor

a pen. Or a bookmark. He didn’t

have bookmark-like feelings for

her.

Park had used most of his car

stereo money to buy the necklace.

He’d found it at the jewelry store

in the mall where people try on

engagement rings.

‘I kept the receipt,’ he said.

‘No,’ Eleanor said, looking up

at him. She looked anxious, but he

wasn’t sure what kind. ‘No. It’s

beautiful,’ she said, ‘thank you.’

‘Will you wear it?’ he asked.

She nodded.

He ran his hand through his

hair and held onto the back of his

neck, trying to rein himself in.

‘Now?’

Eleanor looked at him for a

second, then nodded again. He

took the necklace out of the box

and carefully fastened it around

her neck. Just like he’d imagined

himself doing when he bought it.

That might even be
why
he bought

it – so he’d have this moment,

with his hands warm on the back

of her neck, under her hair. He ran

his fingertips along the chain and

settled the pendant on her throat.

She shivered.

Park wanted to pull on the

chain, to pull it into his chest and

anchor her there.

He pulled his hands away self-

consciously and leaned back

against the doorjamb.

Eleanor

They were sitting in the kitchen,

playing cards. Speed. She’d taught

Park how to play, and she could

always beat him for the first few

rounds. But after that, she’d get

sloppy. (Maisie always started

winning after a few rounds, too.)

Playing

cards

in

Park’s

kitchen, even if his mom was in

there, was better than just sitting in

the living room, thinking about all

the things they’d be doing if they

were alone.

His mom asked how her

Christmas was, and Eleanor said it

was nice. ‘What do you have for

holiday dinner?’ his mom asked.

‘Turkey or ham?’

‘Turkey,’ Eleanor said, ‘with

dill potatoes … My mom’s

Danish.’

Park stopped playing to look

at her. She popped her eyes at

him. ‘What, I’m Danish, shut up,’

she would have said if his mom

hadn’t been there.

‘That’s

where

you

get

beautiful red hair,’ his mom said

knowingly.

Park smiled at Eleanor. She

rolled her eyes.

When his mom left to run

something

over

to

his

grandparents, Park kicked her

under the table. He wasn’t wearing

shoes.

‘I didn’t know you were

Danish,’ he said.

‘Is this the kind of scintillating

conversation we’re going to have

now that we don’t have any

secrets?’

‘Yes. Is your mom Danish?’

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘What’s your dad?’

‘An ass.’

He frowned.

‘What? You wanted honest

and intimate. That’s way more

honest than “Scottish.”’

‘Scottish,’ Park said, and

smiled.

Eleanor had been thinking

about this new arrangement he

wanted. This being totally open

and honest with each other. She

didn’t think she could start telling

Park the whole, ugly truth

overnight.

What if he was wrong? What

if he couldn’t handle it?

What if Park realized that all

the things he thought were so

mysterious and intriguing about

her were actually just … bleak?

When he asked about her

Christmas, Eleanor told him about

her mom’s cookies and the

movies, and how Mouse thought

The Grinch
was about ‘all the

Hoots down in Hootville.’

She half expected him to say,

‘Yeah, but
now
tell me all the

terrible parts …’ Instead he

laughed.

‘Do you think your mom

would be okay with me,’ he

asked, ‘you know, if it wasn’t for

your stepdad?’

‘I don’t know …’ Eleanor

said. She realized that she was

holding on to the silver pansy.

Eleanor

spent

the

rest

of

Christmas vacation at Park’s

house. His mom didn’t seem to

mind, and his dad was always

inviting her to stay for dinner.

Eleanor’s mom thought she

was spending all that time with

Tina. Once she’d said, ‘I hope

you’re

not

overstaying

your

welcome over there, Eleanor.’

And once she’d said, ‘Tina could

come over here sometimes, too,

you know,’ which they both knew

was a joke.

Nobody brought friends into

their house. Not the little kids. Not

even Richie. And her mom didn’t

have friends anymore.

She used to.

When Eleanor’s parents were

still together, there were always

people around. There were always

parties. Men with long hair.

Women in long dresses. Glasses

of red wine everywhere.

And even after her dad left,

there were still women. Single

moms who brought over their

kids, plus all the ingredients for

banana daiquiris. They’d sit up

late talking in hushed voices about

their ex-husbands and speculating

about new boyfriends, while the

kids played Trouble and Sorry in

the next room.

Richie had started as one of

those stories. It went like this:

Her mom used to walk to the

grocery store early in the morning

while the kids were still asleep.

They didn’t have a car back then

either. (Her mom hadn’t had a car

of her own since high school.)

Well, Richie would see her mom

out walking every morning on his

drive to work. One day he

stopped and asked for her

number. He said she was the