Джей Эшер: What Light

“I’m sorry I can’t help on Christmas,” he says.

“We only have a few days,” I tell him. “I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

“Come with me to the candlelight service,” he says. “The one Abby told you about.”

I hesitate. I haven’t been to church in forever. It seems like on Christmas Eve he should be surrounded by people who believe what he believes and who feel what he feels.

His dimple returns. “I want you there. Please?”

I smile back at him. “Okay.”

He starts to return to the lot, but I grab his hand and pull him back. He raises an eyebrow. “What do you need now?”

“Today’s vocab word,” I say. “Or are you done trying to impress me?”

“I can’t believe you doubt me,” he says. “Truth is, I’m really getting into these weird words. Like today’s, it’s diaphanous .”

I blink. “Another one I don’t know.”

He raises his arms in the air. “Yes!”

“Okay, that may be the word,” I say, cocking an eyebrow, “but what does it mean?”

He cocks an eyebrow right back. “It’s something delicate, or translucent. Wait, you know what translucent means, right?”

I laugh and drag him out of hiding.

Luis waves us down and comes jogging over. “The guys and I picked out a perfect tree for you,” he tells Caleb. It’s been great to see Luis become part of the lot family. “We just finished putting it in your truck.”

“Thanks, man,” Caleb says. “Give me the tag and I’ll pay for it.”

Luis shakes his head. “No, we got this one.”

Caleb looks at me, but I have no idea what’s going on.

“Some of the baseball guys, they think it’s cool what you’re doing,” Luis says. “And so do I. We figured we could kick in a few bucks from our tips and buy this one.”

I nudge Caleb with my shoulder. His good deeds are becoming contagious.

Luis looks at me, a little nervous. “Don’t worry, we didn’t use the employee discount.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t worry about that,” I say.

The day before Christmas Eve, Heather picks up Abby and brings her to the lot. Abby has been bugging Caleb to see if she can help me out because, apparently, she’s wanted to work on a tree lot since she was a kid. Even if that’s an exaggeration, I’m happy to indulge her.

At the far end of the Bigtop we set up two sawhorses and lay a plywood piece the size of a door across them. We pile that high with tree clippings, and the three of us stuff the trimmings into paper bags and let customers take them home. People love to decorate table settings and windowsills with these before their families come over. The bags are going almost as fast as we can fill them.

“What’s this secret you got Devon for Christmas?” I ask. “My bet’s on a Christmas sweater.”

“Well, I did think about that,” Heather says, “but I went with something better. Wait here.”

She runs back to the counter to where she left her purse. Abby and I look at each other and shrug. On her way back, Heather proudly holds up a two-foot-long, slightly twisted red and green… scarf?

“My mom’s been showing me how to knit,” she says.

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. “Christmas is in two days, Heather.”

She looks at the scarf, defeated. “I had no idea it would take this long. But I figure after I leave here, I’ll lock myself in my room and watch kitten videos for however many hours it takes to finish.”

“If nothing else,” I say, “it’s the perfect way to ascertain his love.”

Abby stops filling a bag. “I forget, what’s ascertain ?”

Heather and I both crack up.

“What I think it means,” Heather says, stuffing the scarf in her pocket, “is if Devon really loves me, he’ll wear this crappy scarf like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever received.”

“That’s what it means,” I say, “but that’s not really a fair test.”

“You’d wear it if I gave it to you,” Heather says, and she’s right. “If he can’t give me that same devotion, he doesn’t deserve his real gift.”

“Which is what?” Abby asks.

“Tickets to a comedy festival,” she says.

“Much better,” I tell her.

Heather tells Abby about the perfect day Devon gave her as an early Christmas present. One day, Abby says, she wants a boyfriend who’ll carry a picnic to the top of Cardinals Peak for her.

Heather smiles while stuffing her next bag. “It’s not like he didn’t enjoy himself up there.”

I throw a handful of tree trimmings at her. She does not need to expand on that with Caleb’s little sister right here.

Once Abby’s mom picks her up, the conversation turns to my love life. “It feels like there’s so much left for us here, but I’m leaving way too soon.”

“And next year’s still up in the air?” she asks.

“Not very high in the air,” I say. “In fact, it’s highly doubtful. I don’t know what I’ll do if I can’t see you next winter.”

“It won’t feel like Christmas, that’s for sure,” Heather says.

“My whole life, I’ve wondered what it would be like to stay home after Thanksgiving,” I say. “To have the chance of a white Christmas and experience things normal people do over the break. But to be honest, wondering about it is not the same as wanting it.”

By now, Heather and I have stopped filling bags.

“Have you discussed this with Caleb?”

“It’s been hanging over us the entire time.”

“What about spring break?” Heather asks. “You don’t have to wait forever to see him again.”

“He’ll be at his dad’s,” I say. I think about the winter formal tickets I hid behind our picture. To give him those, I would need to know for certain where we stand. I’d have to know what we both want. It would mean leaving here, but bringing the promise of him with me.

“If Devon and I can figure it out,” Heather says, “so can you and Caleb.”

“I don’t know if that’s true,” I say. “You get to be together while you do it.”

After we close for the year on Christmas Eve, my parents and I have dinner in the Airstream. The roast beef has simmered in the Crock-Pot all day, so the entire trailer smells delicious. Heather’s dad made and delivered corn bread. From across the tiny table, Dad asks for my thoughts concerning not coming back next year.

I break my corn bread in half. “It’s out of my control,” I say. “Every time we close on Christmas Eve, this is where we sit and eat. The only thing different is that question.”

“That’s from your perspective,” Mom says. “From this side of the table, every year looks different.”

I pull off a piece of my corn bread and slowly chew it.

“You’ve got a lot of people wanting the best for you,” Dad says. “In here, in this town, back home…”

Mom leans across the table and takes my hand. “I’m sure it feels like we’re all pulling you in different directions, but that’s because we all care. If nothing else, I hope this year has shown you that.”

Dad being Dad, he has to say, “Even if it ends up breaking your heart.”

Mom nudges Dad in the shoulder. “In high school, Mr. Cynical—your father—spent his summer at baseball camp here after meeting me the winter before.”

“I got to know you very well in that time,” Dad says.

“How well could you have known me in a few weeks?” Mom asks.

“Pretty well,” I say. “Trust me.”

Dad places his hand on top of mine and Mom’s. “We’re proud of you, honey. Whatever changes happen to the family business, we’ll make it work as a family. And whatever you decide with Caleb, we… you know… we can…”