Tomorrow is Morgan’s birthday, but her favorite gift arrived today. I say that because she is certain in her heart that she will not love anything as much as her package from Brooke.
For weeks now, she has carefully put together little gift packages for her girlfriend—they are called ‘care packages’, a charming name that implies a method of sending compassion and nurture to someone from a distance. Morgan does this with little snacks that Brooke loves, hand lotions and lip balm because she believes Brooke doesn’t take care of her skin as she should, earrings and bracelets, drawings and cards, all sprinkled liberally with glitter. I’ve enjoyed watching her put them together as much as I have enjoyed watching Brooke open them.
Brooke has intended to return the favor since she received the first one, but it does not come as easily to her as it does to Morgan. Though she thinks of Morgan often, it is in small flashes of warmth that come and go, whereas for Morgan thoughts of Brooke are always in the back of her mind. This is not to say that either of those ways of thinking are less good and loving than the other; it is only to point out their differences, and to clarify why it has been difficult for Brooke to put together a package. But with Morgan’s birthday coming up, she turned some of the focus she usually reserves for work onto this project. I did what I could to help, and I think we can both be pleased with the results.
Morgan thumped the package onto the kitchen table and began to open it without even setting down her purse. She was dancing with excitement, little hops and flicks of her toes as she pulled away the tape and ripped open the card. It had two small creatures on the front, one bright pink, the other green, and it burst into giggles and chatter when Morgan opened it, making Morgan laugh.
Happy birthday, baby, read the note in Brooke’s hurried handwriting. Don’t worry, you’re still queen of the care package. But I hope you enjoy my first efforts, and know that I’ll do my best to make them not the last. Love you.
Kissing the card, Morgan set it aside and dove into the package. The first item was a beautiful scarf, soft and thick, winding around all the other items, keeping them safe. Morgan drew it out and pressed it against her face, then wound it around her neck. It was a lovely color for her, a rich, iridescent purple.
There was a snow globe that scattered glitter rather than snow over a tiny panda, whose name the base declared to be Hua Mei. Morgan shook it, grinning at the sparkles, then went back in to find a small glass bottle filled with sand, presumably from the Pacific Ocean, and a tin of something called “Sex Wax” that made her laugh aloud. I am not quite certain what one would do with such an item, but it seems to be something I’m not meant to know.
At the bottom of the box were three different kinds of energy bars, a portrait of the San Diego skyline, and a small box that made Morgan’s heart jump. She opened it and gasped at the necklace inside. It was a beaded silver chain with a round pendant, swirling with etched white and glistening blue. Morgan blinked back tears as she put it on, touching the pendant gently.
I put my wings around her, then, and gave her my own gift: the sweet anticipation Brooke had felt on putting together the package, the joy she’d felt knowing the joy Morgan would feel on opening it.
Shivering with happiness, Morgan ran to her room to get her computer. I left her as Skype was ringing, content in the knowledge that they were both happy, despite the distance—and I was quite sure that they would want to put the Sex Wax to good use. I wish them both joy of it.