Jay Asher - What Light

He smiles warmly. “It has some peppermint, some Christmas trees. A little chocolate, I think.” The label on the jar, in scripted gold letters, says A Very Special Christmas. He sets the lid back on the candle. “It reminds me of you.”

I wet my lips. “Do you want me to buy it for you?”

“That’s a hard one,” he murmurs, our faces mere inches apart. “I think I’d probably go crazy if I lit this thing in my room.”

“Guys!” Devon interrupts. “Heather and I are getting pictures with that Santa in the plaza. Want to come?”

Heather must have seen the moment happening between Caleb and me. She grabs Devon’s hand and pulls him back. “It’s fine. We can meet them later.”

“No, we’ll come,” Caleb says.

He holds out his hand and I take it. Really, I would love to disappear somewhere uninterrupted with him. Instead, we leave to get our picture taken while sitting on a stranger’s lap.

When we get to the plaza, the line snakes out from Santa’s Gingerbread Cottage, through the courtyard, and halfway around a wishing fountain with a bronze bear reaching into the water.

Devon flicks a penny and it hits the bear’s paw. “Three wishes!” he says.

While Devon and Caleb talk, Heather leans close to me. “Looks like you two could’ve used some alone time back there.”

“That’s the joy of Christmas,” I say. “You’re always surrounded—completely—by family and friends.”

When we finally get to the cottage door, a chubby guy dressed like an elf guides Devon and Heather to Santa, who is perched on an oversized red velvet throne. They squeeze together onto his lap. The man has an authentic snowy white beard, and he puts his arms around them both like they’re little kids. It’s silly, but adorable. I lean into Caleb’s shoulder and he puts his arm around me.

“I used to love getting pictures with Santa,” he says. “My parents dressed Abby and me in matching shirts and would use that year’s picture for our family Christmas cards.”

I wonder if memories like these are bittersweet to him now.

He looks me in the eyes and touches a finger to my forehead. “I can see your wheels spinning up there. Yes, it’s okay to talk about my sister.”

I smile and lean my forehead against his shoulder.

“But thank you,” he says. “I love that you’re trying to figure me out.”

Devon and Heather walk to the register, which is staffed by another elf. When we take our turn on Santa’s lap, I watch Caleb pull the purple comb from his pocket and run it through his hair a few times.

An elf with a camera clears her throat. “Are we ready?”

“Sorry,” I say, turning my gaze away from Caleb.

The elf takes several pictures. We start with some goofy faces but then lean back with our arms around Santa’s shoulders. The guy playing Santa goes along with everything, his jolliness never fading. He even tosses in a “Ho, ho!” before every photo.

“I’m sorry if we’re heavy,” I tell him.

“You haven’t cried or peed,” he says. “That puts you ahead of the game.”

When we hop off his lap, Santa hands us each a small wrapped candy cane. I follow Caleb toward the counter to look at our pictures on the computer screen. We choose the photo of us leaning against Santa, and Caleb buys a copy for us both. While those print, he requests a photo keychain, too.

“Really?” I say. “You’re going to drive around in your manly truck with a picture of Santa on a keychain?”

“First, it’s a picture of us with Santa,” he says. “Second, it’s a purple truck, making you the first person to call it manly.”

Heather and Devon are waiting outside the cottage for us, with Devon’s arm around her shoulders. They want to grab something to eat, so Caleb and I follow, but I have to guide him by the arm while he attaches the photo to his keyring. I successfully navigate him around one near-collision. Then I get so distracted by his careful expression as he slides our photo onto an item he’ll see every day that we walk into someone.

He drops his phone. “Oops. Sorry, Caleb.”

Caleb picks up the phone and hands it back. “No problem.”

We continue on and Devon whispers, “At school, that guy’s always got his face in his phone. He should try looking up every once in a while.”

“Are you kidding me?” Heather says. “You are the last—”

Devon holds up a hand like a shield. “I’m joking!”

“He was talking to Danielle,” Caleb says. “I saw her name on his screen.”

“Still?” Heather fills me in. “Danielle lives in Tennessee. He met her over the summer at theater camp, and they totally fell in love.”

“Like that’ll last,” I say.

Caleb’s eyes narrow and I wince, instantly regretting my words. I squeeze his arm tighter, but he keeps his gaze straight ahead. I feel awful, but he can’t possibly think there’s a real future in such a long-distance relationship. Can he?

This—Caleb and I—can only end one way, with both of us getting hurt. And we already know the date that will happen. The longer we push this thing forward, the worse that hurt will be.

So what am I doing here?

I stop. “You know what, I should really start heading back to work.”

Heather steps in front of me. She can see what’s going on. “Sierra…”

Everyone stops walking, but only Caleb refuses to look at me.

“I haven’t been helping out as much as I should,” I say. “And my stomach’s hurting anyway so…”

“Do you want us to drive you back?” Devon asks.

“I’ll walk with her,” Caleb says. “I’ve lost my appetite, too.”

We do most of the thirty-minute walk back to the lot in silence. He must know my stomach doesn’t really hurt because he never asks if I’m okay. By the time the Bigtop comes into view, though, it does hurt. I shouldn’t have said anything.

“I have a feeling all the stuff with my sister bothers you more than you admit,” he says.

“That’s not it at all,” I say. I stop walking and take his hand. “Caleb, I am not the kind of person who would hold the past over you like that.”

He runs his other hand through his hair. “Then why did you say that back there, about long-distance relationships?”

I take a deep breath. “You really think it’ll work for them? I don’t want to be cynical, but two lives, two sets of friends, two different states? The odds are against them from the beginning.”

“You mean they’re against us,” he says.

I let go of his hand and look away.

“I knew that guy before he met Danielle, and I’m glad he’s with her. It’s inconvenient, and he doesn’t see her every day or go to dances with her, but they talk all the time.” He pauses and, for a fleeting moment, his eyes narrow. “I really did not see you as a pessimist.”

Pessimist? I feel my anger rising. “That proves we haven’t known each other very long.”

“We haven’t,” he says, “but I’ve known you long enough.”

“Is that right?” I can’t shake the sarcasm from my voice.

“He and Danielle have a huge roadblock, but they work around it,” Caleb says. “I’m sure they know more about each other than most people. Are you saying they should only focus on the one thing that makes it difficult?”

I blink. “Are you serious? You avoid the girls around here because you don’t want to deal with explaining your past to them. That’s pretty focused on the difficult.”

The frustration pours out of him. “That is not what I said. I told you I wasn’t with anyone long enough to find out if they were worth it. But you are worth it. I know that.”

My head swims in what he just said. “Really? You think we’re possible?”

His eyes are adamant. “Yes.” Soon they turn gentle and he gives me a delicate, sincere smile. “Sierra, I combed my hair for you.”

I look down and laugh, and then push my hair out of my face.

He rubs his thumb along my cheek. I raise my chin toward him and hold my breath.

“My sister gets here this weekend,” he says. There’s a nervousness in his voice. “I want you to meet her. And my mom. Will you?”

I look deep into his eyes to answer him. “Yes.” With that one word, I feel like I’m answering a dozen more questions that he no longer needs to ask.

When I get to the trailer, I collapse on my bed. I set the picture of Caleb and me with Santa on the table, gazing at it sideways while I rest my head on the ugly-sweater pillow.

Then I leap to my knees and hold our picture up to my frames from back home. First I show it to Elizabeth. In my best Elizabeth voice, I ask, “Why are you doing this? You’re there to sell trees and hang out with Heather.”

I answer, “I have been, but—”

I switch back to Elizabeth. “This can’t go anywhere, Sierra, no matter what he says about focusing on the possible.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “I don’t know, you guys. Maybe it could.”

I move on to Rachel’s picture. The first thing she does is whistle and point out his dimple.

“I know,” I say. “Trust me, that does not make it any easier.”

“What’s the worst that can happen?” she says. “You get your heart broken. So? It sounds like that’s going to happen anyway.”

I drop back onto my bed, clutching Caleb’s picture to my chest. “I know.”

I go outside to see if I can help in the Bigtop. Things are slow, so I mix hot chocolate in my Easter egg mug and head back to the trailer for schoolwork. Passing our tallest Fraser firs, I see Andrew tugging a garden hose between them. After our blowup the other day, I decide to make nice for the sake of working together.

“Thanks for always checking their water,” I say. “They look good.”

Andrew completely ignores me. He twists the nozzle on the hose and starts misting the trees. So much for staying cordial.

In the trailer, I pull out my laptop and review a chapter write-up I threw together late last night. Checking my email, I see Monsieur Cappeau is upset I blew off our last conversation, so I reschedule it and then shut everything down.

Peeking through the curtains I watch Dad approach Andrew, motioning for him to pass him the hose. He demonstrates the way he wants the trees misted and then hands it back. Andrew nods and Dad smiles, patting him on the shoulder. Then he walks into our forest of trees. Instead of resuming misting, Andrew quickly looks over to the trailer.

I snap back, letting the curtain close.

I decide to make dinner for the family, slicing up vegetables from McGregor’s and cooking them together in a large pot of soup. While that simmers, I watch another flatbed loaded with trees pull up outside. Uncle Bruce hops down from the cab. While some of our workers swarm the truck and climb the ladder to the trees, Uncle Bruce jogs over to the trailer and opens the door.

“Wow, it smells great in here!” He pulls me into a bear hug. “Out there, it smells like tree sap and teenage boys.”

He excuses himself and ducks into the bathroom while I check on the soup. I sprinkle in a few spices from the cupboard and then stir it with a wooden spoon. Uncle Bruce returns to have a taste before heading back out to the trees. I lean against the counter and stare at the door as it closes behind him. These are the moments that make me look forward to doing this for the rest of my life. When my parents get too old, it will be up to me to decide the fate of our farm and whether we run any lots.

When the truck bed is empty, Dad stays outside to direct the workers, but Mom and Uncle Bruce come in and join me. They’re so thrilled with the soup, slurping it up like hungry wolves, they say nothing about me bailing on the heavy labor.

Ladling himself a second bowl, Uncle Bruce tells us about Aunt Penny wrapping their whole Christmas tree in lights without plugging them in first. “Who does that?” he says. When she finally turned them on, half of the lights didn’t work, so now they’ve got a tree half as bright as it could be.

After Uncle Bruce goes outside to take over for Dad, Mom heads into the tiny bedroom for a short nap before the evening rush. Dad comes in and I hold out a bowl of soup for him. He stands just inside the door, seemingly agitated, like he wants to talk to me about something. Instead, he shakes his head and walks to the bedroom.

The next afternoon, when things slow down, I return a call to Rachel.