Джей Эшер - What Light

“Abby says she would love to join us,” Caleb says when we get in his truck. “You can invite Heather, too.”

“Heather, believe it or not, is frantically putting together a gift for Devon,” I say. “My guess is it’ll be a Christmas sweater.”

Caleb opens his mouth in mock-horror. “Would she do that?”

“She totally would,” I say. “She’ll also get him something good, but if I know Heather, she’ll give him the sweater first to see how he reacts.”

After we shop for ingredients, Caleb ushers me into his house, each of us carrying a bag of groceries. Abby is on the couch tapping rapidly on her phone.

Without looking up, she says, “I’ll join you in a minute. I have to make sure my friends don’t think I fell off the earth. And take off that ridiculous hat, Caleb.”

Caleb sets his knit hat on the kitchen table. He’s already set out cookie sheets, measuring spoons, cups, and a ceramic mixing bowl. “Will you send me messages like that from Oregon,” he says, “so I know you haven’t fallen off the earth?”

My laugh comes out sounding forced, which it is. In less than a week I need to figure out how to say goodbye.

I pull items from the grocery bags and set them on the counter.

The doorbell rings and Caleb shouts into the other room, “Are you expecting someone?”

Abby doesn’t answer, probably still texting. Caleb rolls his eyes and leaves to answer the door. I hear it open, and then a pause.

Finally, Caleb says, “Hey. What are you doing here?”

The next voice—familiar and deep—reaches me all the way from the front door to the kitchen. “That the way you talk to your onetime best friend?”

I nearly drop a dozen eggs. I have no idea what Jeremiah’s doing here, but I feel like running a victory lap around the kitchen, arms in the air.

Both guys walk in and I put on my calm face. “Hey, Jeremiah.”

“Tree lot girl,” he says.

“You know, I do other things, too.”

“Trust me, I know,” he says. “If it weren’t for you pushing and prying, I probably wouldn’t be here.”

Caleb smiles and glances between the two of us. I never told him about Jeremiah and Cassandra visiting the lot.

“Now, things still aren’t perfect,” Jeremiah says, “but I took a stand with Cassandra and my mom, and… I’m here.”

Caleb turns to me, his eyes full of questions and unspoken gratitude. He rubs his forehead and turns to look out the kitchen window.

I start putting the ingredients back in the bags. This moment is not about me, and it shouldn’t be. “You guys talk. I’m going to bring these to Heather’s.”

Still facing the window, Caleb starts to tell me I don’t have to leave, but I stop him.

“Talk to your friend,” I say, not even trying to hide my smile. “It’s been a while.”

When I turn around, grocery bags packed, Caleb’s looking at me with pure love.

“Let’s meet up later,” I say.

“Is seven o’clock good?” he asks. “There’s something I want you to see.”

I smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”

When I reach the front door, I hear Jeremiah say, “I missed you, man.”

My heart swells and I take a breath before opening the door.

After we drop off our latest tree along with a tin of Christmas cookies, Caleb and I drive around while he updates me on his reunion with Jeremiah.

“It’s hard to say when we’ll hang out next,” Caleb says, “because he’s got his friends now, and I’ve got mine. But we will, which is sort of amazing. I assumed we never would again.”

“That is amazing,” I say.

We park in front of Caleb’s house and he turns to me. “It’s because of you,” he says. “ You’re amazing.”

I want this moment to last, the two of us in his truck feeling grateful for each other. Instead, he opens his door, letting in the cool air.

“Come on,” he says, and then he steps out.

He walks around to the sidewalk and I shake the nerves from my fingers before opening my door. When I get out, I rub my hands to warm them, and then he takes my hand and we go for a walk.

He leads me past four of his neighbors’ houses and around the corner to an alleyway. The entrance to the alley is lit by a single lamppost. The ground is rough asphalt with a smooth concrete gulley running down the middle.

“We call this Garage Alley,” he says.

The further we move into the alley, the more the light from the lamppost fades. On either side, short driveways lead to garages. High wooden fences around the backyards keep out most light from the houses. I almost lose my balance in the gulley, but Caleb grabs my arm.

“It’s kind of spooky back here,” I say.

“I hope you’re ready,” he says, “because I am about to majorly disappoint you.” He tries to make his shadowy face look serious, but I can see a slight grin.

We stop where the alley meets his driveway, and he turns my shoulders toward the garage. The large metal door is mostly buried in the shadow of the roof’s overhang. He takes my hand and pulls me forward. A motion sensor above the door clicks on an attached light.

“My mom warned you that I’m terrible with surprises,” he says.

I push his shoulder. “You did not!”

He laughs. “Not on purpose! Not this time. I had to get bungee cords out of the garage, and my present was right there.”

“You ruined your mom’s surprise?”

“It was her fault!” he says. “It was right there! But I think you’ll be glad because now I can share it with you. So you won’t tell her, right?”

I can’t believe this. He is acting like such a little kid, which is far too cute to be annoying. “Just show me what it is,” I say.

The motion sensor light stays on, and Caleb walks to a control box mounted beside the garage door. He lifts a hinged plastic flap, which covers a pushbutton keypad.

“When we were little,” he says, his finger hovering over the first number, “every year I asked Santa for the same gift. A few of my friends had one and I was so jealous, but I never got one. After a while I gave up and stopped asking, and I guess everyone assumed I outgrew it. But I totally didn’t.”

His smile is radiant.

“Show it to me!” I say.

Caleb’s fingers tap-dance a four-digit code and then he closes the flap. He steps back and the garage door slowly rolls open. I’m pretty sure he didn’t ask for a convertible as a child, though that would make tonight very fun. When the door is halfway up, I duck to peek inside. Enough light creeps in that I can see… a trampoline ? I collapse onto my knees laughing.

“Why is that funny?” Caleb says. “Jumping is fun!”

I look up at him, but he knows exactly why it’s hysterical. “Did you just say that? ‘Jumping is fun’? How old are you?”

“Mature enough not to care,” he says. When the door is all the way up, he enters the garage. “Come on.”

I look at the low wooden beams of the ceiling. “We can’t jump in there,” I say.

“Of course not. How old are you ?” He grips one side of the trampoline and bends his knees. “Help me out.”

A few feet at a time, we carry the trampoline onto the driveway.

“Aren’t you worried your mom will hear?” I ask. For me, the giddiness on his face makes that possibility worth it. So much for teaching him the value of anticipation.

“It’s the holiday office party,” he says. “She won’t be home until late.”

“And Abby?”

“She went to a movie with a friend.” He steps on the heels of his shoes to pop them off and then springs onto the trampoline. Before I get my first shoe off he’s already leaping about like a goofy gazelle. “Stop stalling and get up here.”