CHAPTER 26 – Gifts
1569 Words
It came on a Tuesday.
No knock. No doorbell. Just a small package on the porch, square and plain, tucked next to the potted plant her mom kept forgetting to water.
Lia squinted against the afternoon sun and crouched to grab it. No label. No return address. Just her name, in handwriting she didn’t recognize—but didn’t want to admit felt familiar.
She didn’t open it right away.
Instead, she tossed it onto her bed next to a half-folded hoodie and slid her earbuds in. Tried to distract herself with music, memes, a bite of cold lumpia from the fridge. But the box sat there like it was staring at her. Like it knew she’d cave eventually.
By the time the house went quiet for the night, she couldn’t ignore it anymore.
She peeled off the lid.
Inside: a black velvet jewelry box. The kind that clicked shut like a secret.
Lia’s breath caught.
She opened it.
A necklace lay inside. Delicate silver chain. A small pendant shaped like a hollow star.
She blinked at it, her mind scrambling for air.
Why now?
She’d admired it once. Barely a glance. In a gift shop near the boardwalk. Jordan had caught her looking.
“You like it?” he’d asked, wearing that smug little smile he kept tucked behind his moments of sincerity.
“It’s cute,” she’d said, trying to brush it off like she always did with him.
He hadn’t said anything else. And she hadn’t thought about it since.
Except… here it was. A year later. Sitting in her room. No note. No card. Just… this.
Lia sat down slowly. The bed squeaked under her weight. Her fingers shook as she lifted the necklace, tilting it toward the glow of her string lights overhead.
It glinted coldly, catching the tiny rainbow reflections, like it was daring her to pretend she didn’t remember.
She swallowed, a hard lump caught in her throat.
Who sent this?
Was it him?
But how?
Jordan was supposed to be dead. Missing at best, bled out in some orchard at worst. He wasn’t supposed to be… shopping for jewelry.
But nobody else would know. Not about that necklace. Not about her and him, and the way he’d once watched her like she was the only thing in the room.
A hundred questions crowded her head until her temples throbbed.
Was he alive?
Or was someone messing with her?
And if it wasn’t him… who the hell knew enough to send this?
Before she could stop it, the memory crashed back into her chest.
It had been late. The night before the headline. The blood. The silence.
She’d been curled in bed, lights off, scrolling through old group texts she wasn’t brave enough to revive. Everyone was home again. But no one had reached out.
Not even him.
Until the knock.
Soft. So no one else would hear it.
She’d crept to the door, heart punching against her ribs. And when she opened it—
Jordan.
Hair messy, sweatshirt too thin for the cold. Eyes rimmed red like he hadn’t slept in days.
“Hey,” he said, voice low.
She’d frozen.
Months had passed. Since the fallout. Since the fight. Since the lies. Since the plan.
And there he was. The boy who’d set the match. The boy who’d made everything unravel.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered.
“I know,” he said.
He hadn’t tried to come in. Hadn’t begged. Hadn’t spun stories. He’d just stood there. Bare and quiet. Like if he moved wrong, he’d shatter.
And something in her had softened.
“Come in,” she’d said, though her voice sounded like someone else’s.
He’d hesitated. Then climbed through her open window. She’d closed it behind him, her hand lingering too long on the latch.
Because once you let him in, it’s not just your room. It’s your whole life.
She’d turned around and found him sitting on the edge of her bed, staring into the glow of her fairy lights, hands clasped tight.
He hadn’t touched her. Not right away.
They’d talked. Kind of.
He sat on the edge of her bed, elbows on his knees, twisting the silver ring on his finger over and over.
“San Diego’s loud,” he said. “Too many people pretending to be something they’re not.”
Lia kept her distance, arms folded across her chest.
“So go home, then.”
Jordan let out a humorless laugh.
“Yeah. Sure. Because home’s… easy.”
Lia’s throat tightened.
“You make everything harder than it has to be.”
He glanced at her, lashes casting shadows under his eyes.
“I know. I’m trying. I just… I miss normal.”
She stayed silent, pulse thudding.
He shifted closer, voice dropping lower.
“I miss you.”
Lia scoffed, even though part of her wanted to believe him.
“Jordan, don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Say things you don’t mean.”
He stared at the glow of her fairy lights like he was searching for shapes in the stars.
“I mean it.”
“Do you?”
He sucked in a sharp breath, chest rising.
“You were always the only one who saw me.”
Lia blinked hard.
“I wish I didn’t sometimes.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Lia.”
“Don’t.”
“Please.”
She tried to hold his gaze, but it felt like looking into headlights.
“Why are you really here, Jordan?”
“Because…” He trailed off, eyes going glassy for a second. “Because everything’s messed up. And you’re the only person who ever made me feel… right.”
Lia swallowed the lump in her throat.
“That’s not fair.”
“Nothing’s fair.”
Silence pulsed between them like a heartbeat.
Jordan leaned forward, fingers twitching against his thigh like he wanted to reach for her but wasn’t sure if he should.
“Can I just… sit here for a minute?”
Lia nodded, but her voice came out as barely a whisper.
“Okay.”
He’d touched her hand. And she’d let him.
The rest had unfolded in soft pieces.
The way his thumb traced circles into her palm like he was trying to memorize the lines there. The way his kiss started hesitant, trembling, like he thought she’d disappear. The way his voice broke when he whispered her name.
She’d let him deepen the kiss. Let him pull her closer until her knees brushed his thigh, fairy lights throwing gold and pink shadows over his face.
His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as he slid his fingers beneath the hem of her shirt. Waiting for her to stop him. She hadn’t.
She’d wanted him to erase the months between them. To make it simple again. To forget the chaos waiting outside her door.
But even as his weight settled over her, even as she arched into his warmth, she’d felt it.
The gap between who they’d been and who they were now.
Even when his lips trailed her skin, even when his hips moved against hers, the emptiness sat there between them, cold and undeniable. Like a song playing underwater.
He’d murmured her name into her throat, whispered half-formed apologies. But every word felt like it belonged to a version of them that didn’t exist anymore.
Still, she’d kissed him back. Because forgetting felt easier than remembering.
When he finally shuddered against her, gasping out a rough “I’m so sorry,” she’d almost believed him.
⋆⸻⸻⋆
By morning, he was gone.
No note. No text. Just silence.
Her phone had been buzzing the second she opened her eyes.
News alerts.
A body not found. A car full of blood. A boy missing.
She hadn’t screamed. She hadn’t moved.
She’d just stared at the screen until her vision blurred.
And now… this necklace.
Lia snapped the velvet box shut. A tear slipped down her cheek anyway, hot and stubborn. She wiped it away with the heel of her palm, hard enough to sting.
She stared at the box in her hand.
Why now?
Why her?
If Jordan’s dead… who sent this?
If he’s alive… why come back like this?
She slid the box into her drawer beneath old report cards and dried-out eyeliner pens.
Then she stood there, staring at herself in the mirror.
She didn’t look like that girl anymore. The one who’d given too easily. The one who’d hoped too fast.
She didn’t want to be her again. But her hands still smelled like yesterday. And her heart still beat in a rhythm that belonged to him.
Downstairs, her sisters were arguing about frosting colors. Her mom yelled something about laundry. Her dad called for rice. Normal things. Safe things.
Lia stayed upstairs.
She lay back on her bed, headphones in. And waited for the guilt to pass.
It didn’t.
She rolled to her side, pulled her blanket over her shoulders, and whispered to the ceiling, “Why did you come back?”
No one answered, of course.
But then her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Don’t forget.
Lia stared at it until her chest hurt. She didn’t delete it. But she didn’t respond, either. Because she couldn’t decide what terrified her more:
That he might be alive.
Or that he might be gone for good.
- Writer
