At home, I don’t have this. Even when I was little, I didn’t have this. I had a mother and father who constantly argued—she was hard and impenetrable, he was having an affair with a woman who wasn’t. My sister, Mercy, was the perfect one, and Vera was the screwup, lashing out at the world. I was the youngest, watching it all unfold and feeling slightly removed, sometimes too young to really understand what was going on.
I understood now, though. And now I could see what I was missing.
This.
I feel Gemma’s hand on my knee, giving me a quick squeeze and bringing me back. Her eyes are asking me if I’m okay, and that ache is replaced with gratitude for her, for her concern, for her touch.
I only wish I could take her with me.
When breakfast is finished the three of us pile into Mr. Orange and head past vineyards and farms to the city. It’s ridiculous how pretty this place is. I don’t think I’ve seen an ugly part of New Zealand yet. I tell Gemma this.
She smiles at me. “Well, you haven’t seen Invercargill. Mick Jagger called it the asshole of the earth.”
I frown. “I bet New Zealand’s asshole still looks better than his.”
“Ugh,” Amber says from behind us. “I do not need the mental imagery, thank you very much.” She makes a disgusted sound and then suddenly adds, “Hey, guys. I’m going to miss this, you know.”
I turn in my seat and look at her. “Talking about Mick Jagger’s asshole?”
“No,” she says. “This. Us. Mr. Orange. Going places.”
As much as I’ve grown tired of being cooped up in this bus, I can’t really imagine a life in which I’m not exploring a country in him, seeking out new places and adventures each day. That will be another thing I wish I could take with me.
“You’re leaving on Boxing Day, right?” I ask.
She nods uncertainly. “Day after Christmas? Yeah. What’s Boxing Day for, anyway?”
“I don’t really know,” I tell her, “but it’s a holiday here and in Canada. Something about giving boxes instead of gifts?” I know that’s totally wrong, though.
“I’m going to miss you, too,” Gemma tells her sincerely, eyeing her in the mirror.
“Please play ‘Wish You Were Here’ ad nauseam after I leave and think of me,” Amber says. “That can be your Christmas gift to me.”
“Dude!” I exclaim. “I am never listening to Pink Floyd ever again after this.”
“But every time you hear it,” Gemma points out, “you’ll think of us.”
“True.” But the truth is, everything is going to make me think of her.
We drive through the city streets and have a tough time finding parking. I guess Christmas shopping on Christmas Eve is sort of asking for trouble. After stalking shoppers back to their cars and trying to steal their spots to no avail, Gemma says she’s going to drop us off and take Mr. Orange to an auto-glass shop to see if his window can get a quick replacement.
I offer to pay for it—I was serious when I first brought that up at the Routeburn shelter—but once again she waves me off. She tells us she’ll be back in a couple of hours and then she’s gone, puttering down the road.
Amber had asked me earlier if I wanted to go halfsies on a gift for Gemma’s family and said she’d take care of picking it out, which totally saves my ass. All I have to do is buy something for her and Gemma.
It’s not going to be easy. Amber and I split up and I stroll around Napier aimlessly. By noon it’s hot as fuck out. The town is actually pretty neat, with all these Art Deco buildings re-created from the thirties when an earthquake wiped them out, and it’s fringed with palm trees and blue surf. I want to ask Gemma about growing up here and wonder what she was like in high school, if she went to the beach to party with the other teens I spy there. Then I remember all her trophies and her comment about putting balls in her mouth and I laugh.
I’ve never been very good at picking out presents. I usually get people the same damn thing. For my mom, something for the kitchen, even though she doesn’t cook; for Mercy, a gift certificate. For Vera I try to get her some rare music memorabilia, like a Faith No More single on seven-inch vinyl, or something astronomy-themed. For the ex-girlfriends who happened to be in my life during the holidays in the past, they’d get a nice date and maybe one of those tacky coupons for a free back rub or mindless fuck.
But Gemma needs something special. I just don’t have the slightest idea what that is. I decide to get Amber’s gift first. I wander into the least gaudy souvenir shop I can find, and after some searching I pick up a flask that has a Kiwi bird on it. It’s classy and cute and also a bit badass, which suits her just fine. Amber has always struck me as a bit of a sheltered child with a hidden side to her. I think by the time she gets back to San Jose after her around-the-world trip, she’s going to be a totally different person.