Amber

Chapter 26

December 18, 2014

Dear Journal,

It's Christmas time!!

Yay!!

You don't know, but Christmas is, like, this awful time of year where people pretend to be nice to everyone because otherwise God and his baby boy will hate them forever and leave coal in their stockings. Or something like that ...

I'm freaking out about what to buy for Brad. We've been together for a few months, so I know I have to get him something that says, "I like you, but I'm totally not a crazy person who is obsessed with your face. So instead of buying matching outfits and booties for the twins we will one day birth into the world, here's a collection of guitar picks custom-designed with your favorite song lyrics on them!"

That's actually a pretty good idea. I wonder if I can find a store that would do that.

I'm equally nervous about what Brad will get me. What if he gets me something shitty like socks because he doesn't want me to think he likes me that much? Or what if he gets me something nice and expensive, and then he opens up his gift and thinks he's more into me than I am to him? God, who invented holidays? Who decided we would all get together and exchange shit we don't need. People are dumb. I don't think Jesus ever intended for his birthday to end in heartbroken disaster for a teenage girl and her first love.

But it hasn't been all that bad. Brad and I did some Christmas shopping together for our families. Mainly my family. Brad says he doesn't buy a lot for his family—only enough to say he made the effort.

We were at the mall today, and I asked him what he had left to buy.

"Well I've got mostly everything on the list so far. Just can't seem to find those damn lords-a-leaping."

"Did you try Macy's?" I asked, laughing.

"Fresh out. Besides, they're still upset with me after the maids-a-milking incident last year."

"I see."

It's so much fun talking to him and just being around him. He makes everything better. Brighter. Any time I feel overwhelmed by all of this dating and the pressure of screwing something up, he finds a way to make it disappear and leave me smiling.

He's sort of like a living, breathing journal.

The one person I can scream or smile into ...