I leaned back against the couch, watching her fuss over ribbons and tape and all the tiny details that somehow made the living room look like a gift-wrapping battlefield. "You know," I said quietly, "you could've just gone for gift bags like a normal person."
"Gift bags are lazy," she said without missing a beat. "This—" she gestured at the chaos around her "—is art."
I couldn't help but smile back. "You're impossible."
"Impossible," she said, eyes softening, "but yours."
After we were finally done wrapping the gifts, she dusted her hands off and turned toward the tree with that little glint in her eyes.
Now it was our turn.
There were two presents under the tree, one wrapped in gold paper, one in silver.
She grabbed the smallest one, sat crossed legged in front of me and handed it over with a grin. "Start with this."
"Merry Christmas, Mr. Tanaka," she said, offering it to me like it was the crown jewels. "Open it carefully. It's fragile."
