Eleanor & Park

(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 fu

‘You didn’t have to get me anything.’

‘I didn’t. Really.’

‘Can I open it?’

She still couldn’t think of anything fu

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, gri

‘You’re welcome,’ she said, looking down.

‘Just don’t kill John Le

‘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 in-to 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 wi

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 di

‘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 ar-rangement 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 di

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 theingredients 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 prettiest woman he’d ever seen.