Did you really give me a cookbook?
We had been secretly together for a few months but were not sure how to label our relationship. When Harry Met Sally was my favorite movie and I was afraid we would ruin our friendship if we started dating. Todd had been my closest friend since we moved from Belmont in eighth grade. All throughout high-school and college, I told Todd everything. Every crush, all of my insecurities and fears, I confided in Todd. I had ruined my share of male friendships and did not want to lose this one.
Todd and I were living in Northern Virginia and my roommates knew the details of our scandalous affair and our “no emotions” agreement. It all seemed manageable until we came home to Massachusetts for Christmas. Could we act platonic around our friends and family? Do we give each other gifts? If I didn’t give him a gift and he gave me one, I would look like a jerk. Yet if I gave him a gift and he did not have one for me, he would think I had deeper feelings for him. The situations was stressful! Todd had recently moved into a house with my friend Rob. Never living on his own before, Todd was learning how to cook. A cookbook seemed like the perfect gift to give that would not send the wrong message.
My parents were hosting a Christmas Party, and Todd stopped by. We flirted all night and when he went to leave, he asked “So you don’t have a present for me?” I flushed and admitted that I had a gift for him but had forgotten to give it. “Oh Sami, I thought we agreed to just be friends? But you bought me a present?” I stammered with embarrassed, “it’s not a Christmas present. I thought you could use a cookbook, and since you were nice to pick me up from the airport, I wanted to give you something.” “Ok, just to confirm that you did not buy me a PRESENT” he said with a twinkle in his eye. I gave him the cookbook, continuing to downplay my gift. As Todd got his coat on to leave, he leaned in and kissed me on the cheek and said “Merry Christmas Sami, that big box under the tree is my present to you.” I ran over to my parent’s Christmas tree and opened a big white box that contained blue corduroy overalls, with a white blouse. An outfit I had admired when we went to the mall a month earlier. “I can’t wait to see you in this outfit. Merry Christmas.”
I recently found the cookbook and my inscription suggesting that me make me blueberry pie. I must not have had Gramma Phyllis’s pie since no one could compete with her recipe. I have enjoyed giving cookbooks to friends since it promises future connections. Truly a gift that keeps on giving.
