Tami spent a quiet New Year's Eve at home with her family, avoiding Billy Mack's party and therefore Mo. She played Scrabble with her father on the living room coffee table before the warm glow of the fireplace. They were joined by a sulking Shelley, who had been invited to a party hosted by a sophomore named Mason Davenport. What little the Reverend knew about the boys' parents had failed to meet with his approval, so Shelley was forbidden to attend.

When it was Shelley's turn to play a word, she spelled out unfair.

"Is there something Freudian about that selection?" the Reverend asked her.

"What-e-in?" Shelley asked.

"You know who Sigmund Freud is, sweet pea."

"He's the guy who thinks every man secretly wants to bang his own mother, right?"

"Well, that's a rather crass way of putting it," the Reverend told her. "You could be more ladylike, Shelley."

"Why? I'm never going to be allowed out of the house anyway."

"Mason's father is an alcoholic," the Reverend said.

"But Mason's not!" Shelley insisted. "Mason is the cutest, sweetest boy ever!"

"Sweet boys don't invite fourteen-year-old girls to parties in houses where their alcoholic fathers will be supplying them with booze, Shelley. I do wish you would have been capable of coming to such a judgment yourself."

"Tami got to party when she was my age!"

"Shelley!" Tami hissed.

"Is that what I should do?" Shelley asked. "Sneak out of the house and do whatever I want, and then just be forgiven, and be the favorite daughter again?"

The Reverend pursed his lips.

Tami said, "What I did was stupid, Shell. It was stupid and bad for me. Daddy's just trying to look out for you so that you don't make the same mistakes I did. Because he loves you."

"I love both my girls," the Reverend said.

"Both?" Mrs. Hayes entered the living room looking a little groggy from her after-dinner nap. "Why not all three?" She put a hand on the Reverend's shoulder.

He covered her hand with hers. "All my girls," he said. "Shall we start chilling the sparkling cider?" Out of respect for the teetotaling ways of his wife, the Reverend never brought alcohol into the parsonage, even if he did imbibe weekly at Taylor's.

"Let's," Mrs. Hayes said. "And let's turn on the New Year's Eve show in New York. I do like that Dick Clark. Such a handsome fellow."

"Handsome?" the Reverend harrumphed. "Well your standards are rather low, aren't they?"

Mrs. Hayes kissed the top of his head. "Be grateful for that, dear," she said and ruffled his hair.

The Reverend looked at his daughters. "I'm a handsome fellow, don't you think?" he asked.

Tami played her next word off the "u" in Shelly's "unfair." It read, "dubious," and they all laughed.

[*]

On New Year's Day, Tami thought of calling Eric to find out how he was doing. His phone number wasn't in the church directory, however. She supposed his dad liked to remain unlisted. So instead, that evening, she went to the coffee shop forty minutes before closing. Eric had her decaf on the counter before she even reached it. She settled into a table to read and waited for the store to close.

She was lost in her book when the chair across from her made a "scuraaaahrunch" sound as it slid over the tile.

Eric plopped down. "Whatcha reading?" he asked.

She snapped the book shut, shoved it in her purse, and looked around. The shop was empty and the sign was turned, but Eric hadn't put the chairs up yet. Outside, the Christmas lights still twinkled. Tomorrow, the town would take them down, and Eric and Tami would return to school.

"Why did you hide that book so fast?" he asked. "Was it some kind of bodice ripper?"

"No," she said. "It's a classic."

He tilted his head to peer at her purse on the floor.

She pushed it under the table with her foot. "It's just Gone with the Wind."

He pulled himself straight up again. "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."

She chuckled. "How was Dallas?"

"Okay." He held up a finger. "Wait right here."

Puzzled, she watched him stand up and go behind the counter. He came back with a wrapped box and handed it to her. "Merry Christmas."

"That's sweet. But I didn't know we were exchanging gifts. I didn't get you anything."

"That's okay." He sat back down. "Open it."

"I see you wrapped it yourself." The tape was wildly visible, and the folding was uneven. He'd put a jaggedly cut out strip of green paper over a spot where the red paper hadn't quite reached to cover up the box.

"That sounds like something my father would say."

"No, he'd say," Tami mimicked Mr. Taylor's gruff voice, "Son, if you would just try a little harder, if you'd just drag yourself out of a bed a little earlier, you could wrap that present all the way around with one solid color."

Eric laughed. "That's a pretty good imitation. Now open it."

She tore off the paper bit by bit. There was a large shoe box inside. She was expecting a gag gift of some kind, maybe a box within a box and then nothing. So when she opened the lid, and saw what was inside, she gasped.

"Those are the ones, right?'

Nestled within the box were the beautiful cowgirl boots from the shop window, the one's right in the center of the lasso, the ones she'd told him, several weeks ago, that she desperately wanted but couldn't afford. Her hand was still on her mouth.

"I got your size from Kimberley."

Tami's hand slid from her face. "Eric, I can't accept these. These are far too expensive. I didn't get you anything."

"So? I don't need anything. It's a gift."

"Eric, no. You have to take them back. Get your money back. It's too much. How many hours did you have to work to get these?"

His expression was a mixture between disappointment, confusion, and anger. She hated that she'd done that to his face.

"I really appreciate the thought," she assured him.

"Listen, if it's because it makes you feel indebted, I'm not asking for anything in return. I just wanted to make you feel beautiful, and happy, because you've been so upset about Mo. And if it makes you any more willing to keep them, I won half the money I spent on them in a poker game with Mo at Billy Mack's party last night."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"Was Mo with Sue Beth? Was Anita there?"

"Tami, don't do that."

He was right. She had to stop doing that. She had to let go. "So Mo sucks at poker?"

He laughed. "Thanks a lot. Why not just assume I'm really good at it?"

"Because you don't have a good poker face. I can always tell when you're worried, or when you're irritated, or when you're happy. It's all in your eyes."

"You can't read me as well as you think you can," Eric said. "But I admit Mo was pretty drunk, and that probably didn't hurt my chances."

"I thought Billy Mack wasn't going to have alcohol at the party."

"Well, Mark Garrity got his cousin Buddy to bring a keg all the way from Dillon again," Eric said. "But I laid off it this time."

"Buddy Garrity came to Billy Mack's party?" It was one thing for Buddy to have gone to his own cousin's party, since he was supposed to be watching Mark, but Billy Mack's? "Isn't he like…twenty-two?"

"Yeah. That guy clearly misses his high school glory days. He was going on and on about how he once won a State Championship on the Panthers. And when Billy Mack pointed out that the Panthers didn't even make it to play-offs this year, Buddy got a little pissy and left."

"Was Mo upset when he lost to you?"

"Oh, yeah, and he immediately challenged me to a game of Red Light, Green Light to recoup his honor. On the street outside the house. In the sleet."

"You turned him down, I presume."

"No, I didn't turn him down. I lost to him last time we played that. I had to beat him."

Tami shook her head. "Boys." Then, with a slight smile, "Did you beat him?"

Eric's chest started to rumble as he laughed with closed lips. "You should have seen him, Tami, running drunk in the sleet, Tony yelling red light, and Mo just sliding on the slush, two feet, sprawled out on his ass."

"I kind of wish I'd gone now. What a maroon."

Eric nodded to the boots. "Try them on."

The embroidery on the boots felt fine to the touch beneath her fingertips as she traced the design, and she could smell the leather mingled with the aroma of coffee beans. She looked at the boots. She should make him take them back. It was too generous.

He leaned forward. "Try them on," he whispered.

She did. His eyes were fixed on the boots as she pulled up each zipper. He watched her as she walked around the shop.

"Do they fit?" he asked.

She came to a stop in front of him. "Perfectly. And you know what? I am going to wear these boots you bought with some of Mo's money. And I'm going to walk down the halls of school tomorrow and strut right past him." She started singing, "These boots were made for walking, and that's just what they'll do, and one of these days these boots will" Eric joined in on the "walk all over you!"

They laughed.

"You probably shouldn't sing though," he warned her. "You sing about as well as I dance."