The Perfect Gift

"Can I help you?"

I hear a woman's voice, but I don't look up. I noticed someone behind the counter when I walked in, but I didn't want to bother her.

"I'm not ready for help yet," I say.

"OK," she says, "My name is Elsa. If you have a question, just ask for me."

"And you will get the sale, right?"

"I can handle the sale, but we work on salary, not commission, so anyone can help you. I was just being nice."

"That's what I need, a way to be nice. I'm not good at that."

"You're not good at being nice?" She asks, turning back and then standing in the aisle between the Limoges animal figurines and the Christmas ornaments.

I rub my fingers through my hair. "I need to thank a friend for being nice, and I know that sounds nice, but it wasn't my idea, so can you help me?"

"Do you know what you want for your friend?"

"None of this stuff. It's too ritzy. Is that a word?" I look out the door at all the people passing by, knowing where they are going. "I wish people wouldn't be nice to me."

"Do you want me to be nasty?"

I look at her face and see she has a broad grin.

"Are you trying to be the Grinch?" I ask, feeling the corners of my lips turn upward. "You see, you're even being nice. How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Be nice." I step backward and bump into a counter. Music boxes start playing. "Too cutesy."

"Is this a male or female friend?" she asks, smiling again.

"Does it matter?"

"It could," she says. "Women like different things then men, usually, that is."

"I don't know," I say.

"You don't know what?"

"Oh, I believe they do, but I don't know how they identify. That just adds another layer to this problem." I walk around the counter and down two steps to the men's gift section. "Should I get something a guy would like? Or maybe two things, one for each?" I wipe my brow with my sleeve.

"You are getting yourself worked up," she says. "Why not come over here and sit down? I'll get you some water and you can tell me what this person or persons did that you want to thank them for."

"Thank you."

I plop onto the hard leather cushion of a metal bench designed for husbands waiting for their wives and daughters to finish trying on clothes, only this isn't a clothing store and I don't have a wife and child. I just need to get something and leave.

She returns with a plastic cup of cold water, beads of water forming on the outside from the humidity, despite the airconditioning. She then sits down on another bench like mine across from me and leans on her knees. "Now, tell me what it is that this person did."

I take a sip and the water rushes back up, causing me to spit it out on her, and I choke violently.

She jumps up, brushes the water from her flowery dress and forces a smile. "No problem. I'll get paper towels."

"You see!" I say. "Why are you being nice? I showered you with water. You're not supposed to be nice."

She comes back with a stack of paper towels and I try to mop up the floor and my pants. She does the same with her dress and face. I watch the wrinkles on her brow bounce around like people playing beach volleyball. She's getting pissed.

"I wouldn't mind it in the least if you threw me out. In fact, I insist. I deserve to be sent away."

"Why are you being so hard on yourself?" she asks.

I fall back onto the cushion and drop my head in my hands. I pull my phone out of my pocket and open my photo app. After flipping through photos I took of sunsets and shorelines, seagulls, riverboats, clock towers and vineyards, I settle on the one photo I have of my wife smiling at the camera. I hold it up to show her.

"It's one of those live photos, where you press and hold and it becomes a short video."

I touch the photo and the beautiful smiling love of my life says, "Happy Anniversary."

I grab a tissue from my pocket and wipe my nose.

"You want to get something for your wife?" She holds the phone and stares at the photo.

"It's not for her. She's gone," I say.

"I'm sorry," she says. "So who is it for?"

I blow my nose, remove my glasses and wipe my eyes.

"Everybody has been so nice."

"Oh," she says. "I see." She hands me back my phone.

A woman walks by holding the hand of a young girl in pigtails. "Excuse me," she says.

"Mommy, that man's crying."

"I know dear," she says. She bends down to touch my shoulder. "I'll pray for you."

"See?" I slap my hands on my knees. "I don't even know her."

Elsa taps my hand and says, "Give me your phone. Wait right here. I have an idea."

I hand her the phone and try to sit up straight. The pigtail girl continues to watch me. It is as though she cares about me. Me. She doesn't know me. She smiles and waves. I smile and wave back.

People make their way in and out of the store, some looking at me, but most ignoring the lonely man on the hard bench, feeling not nice at all.

After a long while, I see Elsa coming back carrying a big white box with tissue paper billowing out of it.

"What's that?" I ask, standing to peer in.

She hands me my phone and then sets the box on the cushion. She starts peeling away the paper and puts something small and round in her palm. She holds it up and shows it to me.

"What is that?"

"It's an ornament with the picture of your wife on it."

I hold it up by the string and let it rotate before my eyes. It sparkles, like snowflakes on a winter night and in the center, surrounded by clouds is my wife's beautiful smiling face.

My eyes fill up. "How many of these do you have?"

"You can have as many as you need, but I made a dozen."

I give her a big hug. "These are perfect," I say.

"Now, you don't have to be nice. She can be nice for you."