On Christmas Eve, when they were 8, Harry and Jillian exchanged gifts in the treehouse in his backyard. It was his treehouse, but it didn't feel like his. He and his father didn't build it. Edward Styles wasn't handy. His dad could do basic things with a hammer, but didn't have time or inclination to build even this basic shelter. He could tell you how an engine run, but he wouldn't do much more than change the oil. So, the treehouse felt like it belonged to the house, until it belonged to him and Jillian. Which started their first December.

It was during better days, so Jillian's dad was picking her up, Harry vaguely remembered that her family may have even been going to a relative's house the next day to celebrate. Edward Styles had invited them over for Christmas ham as well, back when he tried to make overtures to not just Jillian but her family.

It wasn't charity, the reason they claimed they declined over and over. It was symbiotic, the invitation, because it meant he and Harry wouldn't be alone like they usually were on holidays. Occasionally, a colleague would invite them to a Thanksgiving feast. Harry swore it was just to make England sucks jokes.

That first holiday, after Harry and Jillian had become inseparable, they were trying to prolong their time together, and they'd gone to his treehouse to hide. It was cold, and much less comfortable than it had been those first September weeks of friendship. They'd played all day up there then.

It was Jillian's idea. "Let's hide in the treehouse! Besides, I have a present for you!" Her eyes had glinted with her secret, before mischievousness became dangerous.

He'd nearly ripped his good trousers going up the wood slats after her. She moved quicker in her dress and tights than he expected.

He got his second foot off the ladder and was trying to find his center of gravity when Jillian thrust a round object from her pocket under his nose. He grabbed the trap door to keep from breaking a leg.

"Here!" She trilled and then clapped her hands in front of her.

"Careful!" He yelped. "I nearly fell."

"Sorry, I'm excited, that's all." Shed folded her hands and looked down.

Harry didn't like that. So he reached out and touched her elbow to rewind the moment. "What is it?"

Her eyes flashed up and she grinned, handed him an object with the face she'd shared when she'd snuck two pieces of candy from the front bins at the five and dime."

"It's a rock." He didn't mean to sound so flat, like the plains of Kansas they had just learned about in social studies. He wasn't sure what he thought she'd be getting him. They were both kids and though they collected change and did lemonade stands, neither of them even had a paper route. But a rock? Why was she so excited? Candy was way better.

"It's a rock!" Her eyes were lit up. She took the rock from him and pulled a tube sock with a red stripe at the top from her pocket. He had a suspicion she'd found the sock in his room. His eyes got bigger than the lenses of his glasses when she dropped the rock down the tube of the sock and whipped it at the corner of the floor. She felt around the clearly rounded shape at the bottom of the sock, screwed up her eyebrows and whacked it again. She smiled when she felt it that time.

Jillian upturned the sock.

Crystals! And the back porch light hit them just right. They shown, some made rainbows.

She'd brought him science, she was the best friend ever. "Oh! I thought it was just a rock!" The structures Inside had been a revelation. He was pretty sure his seven dwarves present paled in comparison. Though they could make up a story to play to. The dwarves could mine the rocks.

And they did. But the geode always stood out in his mind. The first gift she ever gave him.

The geode was just the start. They kept up the treehouse tradition, and every year, Jillian gave him amazing gifts. That wasn't the only time he was fooled by a thing's outer appearance. She seemed to have a knack for that, both gift giving and seeing the middle of things, the heart.

Harry wrapped his pea coat closer around him. He wasn't sure she was coming. She'd been, well, busy. He knew she still worked at Dairy Barn, because he'd given her a ride recently. It was a Friday, and Will, her new ride, boyfriend, hadn't been able to pick her up.

She hadn't dropped Harry entirely, he reminded himself. Jillian just had somebody new to share her time with. She still made time for him. They still chatted at school, she'd eat lunch with him in the library sometimes, he'd drive her to school and pick her up occasionally.  Rarely, she would wake him up with pebbles at his window like the night of the dance, and he'd drift back off with her smell in his head, dreaming of beaches and piña coladas. Though the only beaches he had ever been to were more white cliff than white sand. They'd eat breakfast, she'd make tea, and then be gone, and it'd be a while  before they saw each other again. Like they used to.

They hadn't talked about Christmas Eve, but they had never missed it, not in 10 years. So Harry sat there with The Beach Boys concert tickets he had saved his money for.

He had a plan. They'd drive to Syracuse and take the train into New York for the night. Early June and beachy tunes, they'd say goodbye to their young home in style and he'd have hours in the truck and on the train to plan for California with her. He'd tell her then, if he hadn't already. If he didn't have the bravery is what he thought when he'd come up with the idea. Now, time with her might be the inhibitor. This would give him a chance, perhaps a last chance, to tell her his announcement. To show herZ

He had that to gift her too, news, but they were also presents to himself, his acceptance letters. He'd responded to UC Berkeley and Stanford. USF cost the most, but had the best location. He wanted Berkeley. His dad had a colleague there who'd offered a room. But he and Jillian would need their own space. Harry hadn't said no, it seemed rude. And it had been so kind of his dad to look into it for him. Especially after Harry had broken his heart, or at least his expectations.

His dad's face had dropped to sea level when Harry had said it. Lower than it was when he explained about Oxford. When he'd said, please say thank you, but I think we will need more space.

"Harry...." He'd sighed. "I haven't seen Jillian around much. You sure it's wise to pin your hopes on her?" Harry'd cringed as soon as the next words left his mouth. "Maybe she's moved on?"

"No, we'll be best friends forever." That's what he repeated to himself when she didn't come to his window and when he wondered where she was sleeping for safety. He'd heard something in the locker room that made him have to ice his hand after he punched a locker. That was better than where he would have needed the ice if he'd punched Will's face ,like he wanted to.

"Son," Oh, that was an unfortunate tone. Now his dad was gonna say something wise and sharp, proverbial, "sometimes people grow apart."

That's what Harry was trying to not think about while he waited. But he was out of the mulled wine his Da let him have on Christmas Eve. He felt unnaturally warm and wondered if he would ever love anybody the way he did Jillian. She made him warm all over too, without the sour stomach, though still the light head.

It looked like his dad was right. Though he thought people growing apart was too nice a way to say some people get left behind.

At midnight, he decided to go down, he was just about to rip up the tickets, was gonna open the trap door and throw down the confetti like snow, let the paper disintegrate and rot while the snow blackened over the coming weeks.

Jillian was on the bottom rung.

"Oh good!" Her cheeks were red, as were the white of her blue eyes. "You're still here. I got stuck at Will's."

"Did he bring you here?" Harry couldn't help but ask.

"No, to the Kellerman's." That was a house halfway to her place out of town. They were an old couple, childless, sweet as could be. Always gave the kids water when they biked to Jillian's in late summer, or watermelon, once pie. It was the best apple pie Harry ever had.

"Why there?" Harry asked.

She just tilted her head and shrugged.

His brow furrowed until he puzzled it out. She didn't want Will to see her real house. He was about to get brave and ask about it when Jillian diverted his train of thought.

"I have your present." She changed the subject.

He let her. "I have yours too." He chugged down memory lane. All the gifts passed and wanted a new memory: It may have been selfish, but he couldn't wait to see her face when she realized all of it. She'd know, about the drive and the overnight. All the time they'd get to reclaim. The taste of freedom and the outside world it would give them. A hint of things to come. He felt smug with his gift. He'd made a good job of it.

Also, he felt that way about Will. Will didn't really know her, only what she had decided to share. An abridged Jillian.

Harry knew everything, even things he'd rather forget. 

He'd handed her the envelope. He wasn't good at wrapping, usually their gifts to each other spoke for themselves.

"The beach boys!" She squealed. These days she was probably more into the Mamas and the Papas, but some loves linger. The first ones. She threw her body at him and it was like his cousin's baby that one time. She'd only been about a year, Alice, but she'd taken to Harry quick and thrown herself into his arms over and over the last time they visited England. Complete trust that he would catch her on her way down.

He turned his head to smell her hair and realized she was crying.

"Are you, are you crying Jillian?" He'd held her in bouts of tears before, but those times, it was easy to understand her sadness. He had no idea why his gift would cause this.

"Yeah, yeah." She pulled back and wiped her eyes with the long cuff of her jacket and sniffed inelegantly. "I'm ok. It's just such a great present. So much better than..."  she shook her head. "I can't wait! Six months and New York City!" She'd never been to the city. She'd not really been anywhere. Her eyes misted again and she mopped them up. He was about to ask her something, but she shot out "Now you!"before he could get himself back on track.

Her eyes flashed. Her excitement and emotion were contagious. The three hours in the cold alone were forgotten. Three hours would pale in comparison to being with her for 10 minutes. He was still warm from her hugs, could still smell her shampoo.

He read the tickets and looked up awed. "All day?" It was two tickets to the drive-in in Syracuse for a science fiction marathon.

"More like all night, kinda. I thought we could bring blankets and make a bed in your truck and bring sandwiches and hot chocolate in your thermos. We can hang out! And you can explain all the gnarly parts and how they are kinda possible and then all the ways they are impossible because the physics or chemistry is wrong!" She chugged along, her breath puffing out in the cold air. And he wanted to take the trip to Happy town with her, but he had questions.

It came out before he could put a dam between his teeth. "Is your boyfriend gonna be OK with you going to the drive-in with another guy?" Her face fell, went from totally animated and open to shuttered up, a house before a hurricane.

In a flat voice, the one he heard her use with Tom once when he was asking her if Harry was her boyfriend with wagging eyebrows and wiggling hips, she said, "If it was just you, he wouldn't be worried. Why should he be?"

His face fell through the trapdoor like the confetti tickets he imagined. He was suddenly sorry he didn't destroy them. Just him. That felt like a slap, to the face, to his ego, and a kick between the legs. No reason to worry about just him, totally unthreatening, asexual Harry.

Her mouth quirked, puckered with her eyebrows. He wondered how low his face was to draw her sympathetic brow. Apparently he should be surprised he couldn't taste the cold snow. "We wouldn't have to tell him, Harry." She sighed and he might have seen her tears if not for the jagged feeling in his own eyes. "I miss you. We haven't hung out—"

"Why's that? Do you suppose?" Harry felt his tears edge over the line from sad to angry. "Could it be you had a chance at being popular, hanging out with those tossers who throw me into lockers and spit on me, but you get to ride around in a new truck and on some better guy's arm-"

"Better than who?" She cut him off. "Better than you?"

He couldn't answer that, of course he meant better than him. Didn't take much. He was a four eyed, big brained, piece of shit. Was told often enough. Never by Will, who seemed like an OK guy. Which sucked. If it was Steven, he could hate him cuz he was a dickhead, not because he had Jillian.

He could hate him. He did. Himself too.

He just raised his eyes from the timber house and shrugged.

"Harry, I didn't chose him over you." She cocked her head at him. "I didn't know you were a choice." She turned to go, and was halfway down the ladder when he heard her voice drift up. "I was always thankful you didn't pressure me. That you weren't a choice. And I like him, I do. I'm sorry if that hurts you. Merry Christmas."

And then she left. He couldn't find it in himself to stop her. He had questions, but didn't know how to voice them. Wasn't sure he really wanted the answers. Why did she like Will? What did he have to offer? And why was she keeping secrets from him if she liked him so much? And why did Will like her? Besides the obvious surface reasons? How would he feel if he really knew her, the secret parts she was hiding? Did he even feel a fraction of what Harry did for her?

But mostly, he wondered where she would eat Christmas dinner. Her mom and her had kinda stopped doing it a couple years ago, and she'd been coming to his. It wasn't a plan. She was just always welcome, and there already, and the more the merrier. Especially merry when her cheeks got red after two glasses of mulled wine last year.

She'd kissed his cheek. He could still feel it.

That answered his other question. That's what she meant, about him not being a choice. Harry had never made a move, or told her his feelings, his desires. That must have been such a relief for her. He saw the way it was, with Mark Martin, her mom's beau's, Steven Adler.

He'd prided himself on being different.

So he'd hidden his interest. Jillian hadn't suspected. And because he'd lied, pretended his love was platonic, there was no pressure. Jillian had thought Harry was her best friend and the only guy in her life not trying to screw her. Except, he wanted to. Not screw her, but love her. Maybe screw her. Though those weren't the words he used in his head.

Maybe the distinction wasn't so strong, the line between. And now he was just another line on the list of guys not to be trusted with her heart because they wanted her body.

He was Tom, and Dick.

Another Harry, like all the others.

He let her go, she deserved to go. Though he hoped she'd come back.

But she wouldn't. Not to him. Harry had crossed a line, straight into oncoming traffic, he feared.

He was roadkill it seemed.

After that, he didn't see much of Jillian. It was a school holiday, so his incidental exposure to her was limited. There was no glimpse of her gold in the hallway, or trill of her laugh in class.

He felt the absence more acutely because usually she spent long hours at his house, day and night, when there was no school. He worried over his mishap like a bite inside his cheek. It hurt more because he saw the wound as self inflicted.

Harry hoped it would heal, if he could just stop tonguing it.

He wasn't sure how large their rift was until he packed up his truck bed with blankets and pillows and packed a picnic.

The first stop was her house.

"She's not here I guess." Her mom tilted her bleary head to the side. "Off with that Will, I suppose." She chuckled and her breath was 80 proof, "Guess she traded up, huh?"

He didn't respond to that, "Thanks Mrs. Eggert." He enjoyed the quick square of her jaw at the use of her married name.

He drove by the Dairy Barn, slowed down to see through the windows.  Saw steam, smoke but no fire.

He was burning with shame though.

Then he drove to Syracuse, full of false hope. She wasn't at the entrance, and he doubted she would be inside, she didn't have a car.

By the second movie he knew she wasn't coming. He fell asleep during Fahrenheit 451. He woke up when they were starting Planet of The Apes. The last film.

He drove out as the Statue of Liberty was revealed.

He couldn't decide if she was half exposed or half buried.

Jillian would say half free.

Free of what? He'd have to ask.

Free of him.