A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime(127)

It’s the piece I’ve wanted for so long.

My heart is beating so fast, it threatens to pop straight out of my chest.

I rest shaking fingers to my lips, tears springing to my eyes the longer I stare at it. Is this moment even real right now? “Oh my God.”

“A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime,” Mom whispers, staring at it. “Oh, it’s lovely.”

“Who sent this? Where did it come from?” I can’t tear my eyes off of it. I can’t believe it’s actually here, sitting in my parents’ foyer.

And that it belongs to me.

“I don’t know.” Mom starts for the discarded box that she left in pieces on the floor. “Let’s check the—”

“It was me.”

We both turn to find my father standing there, beaming at us.

Mom frowns. “You never told me you were going—”

“Oh Daddy!” I run toward him, wrapping him up in a big hug, crying tears of pure joy against his dark green sweatshirt. I’m guessing he didn’t plan on going into work today, and I’m so glad.

I can’t believe he did this for me. That he found this piece for me, after all.

“Do you like it?” he asks, squeezing me tight.

“I love it. You know how badly I wanted it.” I pull away from him so I can stare at it again, completely enchanted. It’s so beautiful. All the various shades of Chanel lipstick. The different shapes of the lip prints. Some of them hard, others soft. All of them on top of each other, layers upon layers of kisses.

And it’s all mine.

I could never recreate this, despite what Crew has said. It would never look the same. Would never be as beautiful as this.

“I do, Pumpkin. And now the piece finally belongs to you. Happy early Birthday.” Daddy glances over at Mom, who’s still frowning. “We should celebrate this moment, don’t you think? Let’s go out to breakfast.”

“I’m not even dressed yet, Harvey.” She’s watching him carefully, as if she can’t…what? Believe he bought it for me? Is she mad that he did? I remember her saying last year when I wanted it so badly that she thought it might be too pricey as a starter piece for me. “And neither is Wren.”

“I can get dressed quickly. We’ll just go to the diner down the street, right?” It’s my absolute favorite, though Mom hates the place. But they have the best French toast, and I’m suddenly hungry.

“Perfect. Whatever you want, since tomorrow is your birthday.” He turns to Mom. “Get dressed, Cecily. It’s Christmas Eve! We should spend it together as a family.”

I stare at the piece once more, unable to look away. I’m as giddy as my mother was only a few minutes before. “Can I take it to my bedroom?”

“Of course, darling,” Mom says, her smile brittle. “It’s yours now. You can do whatever you want with it.”

I carefully grab hold of the piece and slowly walk back to my bedroom, praying I don’t trip and put a foot through the canvas.

I would never be able to forgive myself if I did.

Once it’s in my room, I prop the canvas against the wall and take a step back, admiring it. It’s gorgeous.

Stunning.

All mine.

I clutch my hands in front of myself and start jumping up and down like I’m five, a weird squealing noise leaving me. I can’t contain myself, or my excitement. This is like…the best birthday present ever.

I should text Crew. Tell him all about it. He’ll be so happy for me, though I know he’s busy today. He has plans with his family and they were supposed to leave earlier this morning to go to his uncle’s house to celebrate Christmas Eve.

Daddy knocks on the door and then barges into my room, a false smile on his face. “Come on, get ready, Pumpkin. We don’t have time to waste. I’m starving.”

“Hold on.” I check my phone to see I already have a text from Crew.

Hey lazy bird, you up yet?

I snap a photo of the piece leaning against my wall before I send him a response.

Me: Look what my father got me for my birthday! Can you believe it? I’m in L O V E.

I then send a string of kissing lip emojis to him.

“Let’s go,” my father practically demands, and I set my phone down on the nightstand, turning to face him.

“Give me just a minute. Okay?”

“Put on some sweats and let’s go. You look fine. I’m going like this.” He waves a hand at his sweatshirt and jeans. “And your mother isn’t dressing up. It’s just the diner.”

“I know. Okay, hold on.” I find it odd he doesn’t leave my room when I change, but I do it in my walk-in closet so I have privacy. I kick off my pajama bottoms, slip on a pair of black sweats, put on my favorite Nikes and I’m out of the closet in less than two minutes. “I’m ready.”

He strides toward me, grabbing my arm and steering me out of my room. “Let’s go. Like I said, I’m hungry. Can’t wait to dig into my favorite chicken fried steak.”

We pause in the foyer, waiting for my mother.

“The one dish that Mom says will give you a heart attack?” I’m teasing. Mom used to say that to him all the time when we were on a kick one summer and went there almost every Sunday morning for breakfast. She forced us to break the habit, and I remember thinking she was such a buzzkill.