To right a life

XXXIV

On December 24, Eleven and Henry decide to retire to bed early.

   "Tomorrow we can have a big breakfast and then... celebrate."

   Celebrate. It even seems like an exaggeration to use that word to describe what will happen the next day, but neither of them mentions it.

   Neither of them mentions, either, how pointless it would be to organize a Christmas lunch to which no one will come.

#

The next morning, when Eleven enters the dining room, she is met with an extremely generous breakfast for just two people.

   "Isn't it... too much?" she asks, sitting down at the table.

   Henry, already sitting, shakes his head. "Since I didn't know what you would like for breakfast,"—neither of them mentions that the Eggo menu has already been used that week, for reasons completely unrelated to Christmas—"I've decided to prepare several options."

   Eleven understands: it may sound silly to someone else, but to her, who has spent her life imprisoned, living on just rations, this abundance continues to seem unreal.

   She supposes that Henry must feel something similar.

   "Thank you," she tells him then.

   "I just hope you like it."

   "I like it," Eleven assures him, deciding to spread some peach jam on her toast. "A lot."

#

Once they've finished washing, drying and placing the dishes back in the cupboards, Henry claps his hands together. "Now... I wonder what's under the tree?" he asks her. "I hope you were a good girl and didn't cheat," he warns her with mock seriousness.

   Eleven smiles back at him. "Under the tree? It's not... under, not really..."

   Henry looks at her with an expression that seems to say 'oh, really, you, know-it-all?,' but he doesn't say anything; instead, he simply places a hand on her head and ruffles her curls.

#

Henry takes a seat on the living room sofa, resting his elbow on one of its soft armrests and crossing one leg over the other, watching Eleven's movements with rapt attention. Meanwhile, she kneels in front of the impressive box of vibrant red; like this, on her knees, it is almost equal to her in height.

   "So? Won't you open it?" The corners of her lips lift at the anticipation in Henry's voice (although she knows he would never admit it).

   "I'm going to..."

   The first thing she does is remove the gigantic green bow. Then, with her fingernails, she scratches one of the corners of it until she breaks a bit of the wrapping; from there, finally, she tears the paper in three precise movements.

   What she discovers takes her by surprise.

   "This..."

   "Do you like it?" Eleven turns to see Henry's hopeful face. "Because if you don't, I can..."

   She shakes her head. "No. It's fantastic, but..."

   It's a dollhouse. If the illustration on the box is to be believed, it's huge, pink, with six rooms spread over three floors and packed with tiny accessories.

   And Eleven...

   "I... I don't have dolls," she explains, a bit embarrassed. Not the kind that would fit inside a dollhouse, at the very least.

   Henry's face goes blank.

   "Give me... Give me one second," he asks, standing up immediately.

   "Henry, it's okay," she assures him. "I can... make some or... use wood figures or..."

   But he doesn't listen to her: he just bolts through the house's front door.

   To Eleven's relief, he doesn't take long; after a few minutes, he is back. In his hands, he carries a box wrapped in blue paper.

   "This has been riding with me all these days in the car's trunk," he mumbles, and Eleven notices his cheeks are flushed red. "I... took the big box inside, apparently, and forgot..."

   Eleven bites her bottom lip and looks down.

   "Sorry," Henry blurts out, with the look of someone who's made a huge mistake. "Sorry, I overlooked it and obviously made you feel uncomfortable and..."

   At that, she can't take it anymore: Eleven places her hands around her belly, doubles over on herself and lets out a laugh.

   "Hey," he protests, and she has trouble reconciling his annoyed look (the annoyed look she's seen on his face when he's about to murder people) with the colorful gift in his hands. "It was an honest mistake. At least I didn't forget the dollhouse actually requires dolls...!"

   Eleven just cannot deal with it: she extends a hand towards him in a pleading gesture. "Please... No more... I can't—" Another laugh rises up her throat again.

   Henry frowns. "If you keep laughing at me," he mutters, "I have no qualms about returning it to the store I bought it from..."

   "Okay, okay...!" she replies with tears in her eyes, even though she knows it's an empty threat. "I just... I just thought it was... very funny," she admits. "Your face when... when you realized... that you forgot...

   Henry sighs and looks up at the ceiling. "Well, I'm sorry I can't be perfect at everything." The arrogance in his voice barely disguises his wounded pride. "It's my first Christmas in years, and... well... I considered just buying you some dolls, you see, but then..."

   "You got carried away by the Christmas spirit?" Eleven suggests.

   At his sulking expression, Eleven laughs once again. Henry narrows his eyes and, still holding the gift, fixes his gaze on the Christmas tree behind her.

   "Ouch!" Eleven protests when one of the Christmas ornaments comes off the tree to bounce off her head. "Henry...!"

   He just rolls his eyes and wipes the blood from his nose with his fingers.