The Christmas Light (8 page)

He shook his head. “Oh, no! I’d be over at Perk’s checking out their skinny soy-Frappuccino girls.” She smacked his hand but couldn’t help laughing.

“How fun seeing you here!”

Jen turns and forces her face to smile at Gabrielle and Ryan, in line behind them.

“Would you like to eat with us?” Ryan asks.

She feels Avery looking up at her. “Thanks, but we were just grabbing some soup to go.”

“And a chocolate chip scone,” Avery says. “Dad’s favorite.”

Jen sighs. “And a chocolate chip scone,” she says, too tired to argue.

“Is this your daughter?” Gabrielle asks. “She’s so cute! I see your eyes but the rest of her must look like her dad.”

Jen looks at Avery and smiles. “She does look like her dad.”

She’s grateful that it’s her turn to order, and when she and Avery move to the end of the counter to wait for their soup, she looks for something hidden and unreachable at the bottom of her purse. She pretends not to see Gabrielle and Ryan sit at the booth together where she and Michael sat years ago and convinces herself she can’t hear Gabrielle’s steady laugh or smell her perfume, wafting throughout the restaurant.

She reaches for Avery’s hand. “Let’s go home, VV. I’m tired.”

“She’s pretty. Don’t you think, Mom?”

Jen reaches for the white bag on the counter filled with their order. “Yes. Gabrielle’s very pretty.” She means it. The last three and a half years have taught her that she’s never more in touch with life than when so much of it hurts.

EIGHT

God asks no man whether he will accept life. This is not the choice. You must take it. The only question is how.

—H
ENRY
W
ARD
B
EECHER

Lily and her husband, Stephen, sit in a booth at Betty’s Bakery. Large plastic ornaments hang from the ceiling and a decorated Christmas tree sits in the corner of the restaurant. The windows have all been etched with fake snow, with electric candles glowing on each sill. Stephen opens a manila folder, looking over the paperwork one final time. The two met in college where Lily was attracted to his sense of purpose and quiet character, not unlike her dad’s. It didn’t hurt that he loved bicycling and hiking. His hair is just as thick and dark as it was in college but his goatee is flecked with gray. Lily thinks it makes him look distinguished for his work at the bank. For the first four years of their marriage, Lily and Stephen lived in Louisiana, where he worked in sales and Lily for a nonprofit. Although they enjoyed the work, the heat and humidity was, in Lily’s words, devastating. That and the distance from each of their families compelled them to find work closer.

“Lily?”

Lily turns and smiles at Kaylee. “Hey, Kaylee!” she says, getting up and hugging her. “This is my husband, Stephen.”

Stephen stands and reaches his hand out for Kaylee. “Kaylee from the other night, right? Nice to meet you. Lily told me all about you. Meeting you ended up being the highlight of her week.” Kaylee smiles and tucks strands of hair behind her ear. “I don’t know what you talked about but she came home in a great mood, so feel free to talk with her anytime because I like it when she comes home that way.”

“You say that as if I always come home in a bad mood!”

“Those are your words, not mine,” Stephen says.

Lily laughs and rolls her eyes. “Are you here for lunch?” she says, looking at Kaylee.

“I’m meeting my mom here. She’s getting off work at lunchtime so we can go to an appointment.”

Stephen indicates the side of the booth next to Lily. “Feel free to sit with us while you wait,” he says, gathering the paperwork and sliding it back into the folder. “Would you like a pastry? I can get one for you.”

“No, you don’t! You are not going to use Kaylee to get yourself a pastry,” Lily says.

“That was not my intention,” Stephen says. “Honest.”

Lily laughs. “Honest! Right! We just had a huge conversation about food choices,” she says, looking at Kaylee. “I said that just because we’re at Betty’s, doesn’t mean we
have
to eat a pastry.”

Stephen slaps his hand on the table. “And I said, why didn’t we just go to the grain and sprout restaurant for the meeting?”

Lily laughs harder, pointing her finger in the air. “Number one, there isn’t a grain and sprout restaurant. Number two, I didn’t choose the meeting place. Dorothy did.”

Stephen growls, leaning his head in his hands. “So what can I order? A big bowl of grass? Maybe a handful of berries and twigs?”

Lily shakes her head. “He has it so rough. I’d like to keep him around for a few years, so I encourage healthy eating. But what do I get from him?”

“Anything you want!” Stephen blurts out. Lily leans onto the table, laughing, and Kaylee smiles listening to them. “For ten years I’ve been listening to her about how to eat, and the day I want a pastry with my lunch, she says no.”

“You had two doughnuts for breakfast!”

Stephen shoots her a look that says she’s crazy. “What does breakfast have to do with lunch?” He raises both hands and swipes them in the air. “That’s all I’m saying.”

“Do you always argue like this about food?” Kaylee asks, confused. Stephen’s laugh is like an exploding note from a trombone, making Kaylee laugh, too. She felt it the first time she was with Lily and feels it again sitting here with her and her husband, that feeling of being okay. She often imagines what adults think, when they look at her pregnant belly. They remember their own sophomore years, filled with basketball, football, cheerleading, choir, and sleepovers, and can’t begin to imagine what the sophomore year of a pregnant teenager looks like. Does she still go to sleepovers or meet her friends at the mall? Does she hear students whisper about her as she walks through the halls and does she have anyone to sit with at lunch? They never ask these things but Kaylee imagines the thoughts playing out in their minds. Lily and Stephen don’t look at her in those ways.

“I’m sorry,” Stephen says. “Your parents are probably normal people and we have completely freaked you out.”

Kaylee shakes her head. “Oh, no! They’re not normal, they’re just like you guys.” She hadn’t meant it to be funny but it came out that way and the three of them laugh, together. Her eyes widen and she places her hand on top of her belly. “Wow! The baby is going crazy right now.”

“Can I feel it?” Lily asks, her face open with surprise. “It’s been years since my sister was pregnant and I haven’t felt a moving baby in a long time and would love to.” Kaylee reaches for Lily’s hand and guides it to the spot just above the navel. Lily smiles. “Wow! This is one active baby!”

A grin spreads across Stephen’s face. “A future running back!”

“It’s always about football with him,” Lily says. She bends toward Kaylee’s belly and says, “Hello, little one. Merry Christmas! You’re going to make the perfect gift.”

Stephen watches Kaylee’s face. “What would you like for Christmas?”

“I haven’t really thought about it.”

He looks at her over his coffee mug. “You haven’t thought about it? When I was a kid I started dropping hints about Christmas in June.”

“You still do that!” Lily says.

“Of course I do! It’s a big deal!” He sets the cup down with a thud to make his point. “So what’s on your list?”

“It’s been kind of a weird Christmas, in case you didn’t notice,” Kaylee says, trying to smile.

“But the weird situations are where Christmas really shines,” Lily says.

“So what do you want?” he asks. “And you can’t say stuff for the baby.”

Kaylee thinks, playing with the zipper on her coat. “Some money for clothes that fit would be great, and a new cell phone cover.”

“That’s it?” Stephen says. “I doubt that will be any problem for Santa.”

“Santa hasn’t stopped by my house in a few years,” Kaylee says.

“Well, we’ll write a letter ourselves and clear that up,” Lily says. “I’m sure he’s just had too many pastries and he’s suffering with brain fog.”

Steven groans. “Even Santa isn’t exempt from your food rants.”

“The last time I saw him here at Betty’s he had two pastries on his plate!” Lily says.

“And I don’t think Mrs. Claus helps any,” Kaylee says. “She’s overweight, too, so you know the entire year she’s making lots of pies and cakes and covering everything he eats with cheese sauce.”

Stephen’s face falls. “And I thought you were my friend.” He lifts his hand when he sees a woman in a maroon woolen peacoat approaching their table. “Dorothy, you have saved both me and Santa!”

Kaylee takes her cue and scoots to the end of the booth, getting up. “I’ll see you later,” she says, looking at Lily.

“I hope you can bring your parents to the Nativity. We’ll be doing it twice on Christmas Eve. I’d love to see you again before the baby comes.” She stands and hugs her tight, whispering, “Remember, everything will be okay.” She holds Kaylee’s shoulders and looks at her. “Everything.”

Somehow, when Lily says things will be okay it’s not some pie-in-the-sky hope but rather the audacious hope of Christmas that Kaylee feels. She nods. “I’ll tell my parents about it. Nice to meet you,” she says to Stephen. Then leans to whisper, “I’d let my husband get a pastry.”

Stephen punches his fist into the air. “And she swings back around to my side!”

As if she’s been sold out, Lily moans, “Oh, come on!”

Kaylee walks to the other side of the restaurant and sits at a table where Lily and Stephen can’t see her but, when she cranes her neck around a post, she can see them and the woman who has taken her place at the booth. Kaylee watches Lily and Stephen, and while moments earlier they were laughing with her, their faces are now serious as they pore over the papers in the folder. She has never been to see a Nativity program at a church before and can’t imagine wanting to go, but for whatever reason, she feels the nudge that Lily talked about to see one now.

*   *   *

They are asked to wait in the reception area and Kaylee’s mom, Joni, picks up a magazine as she stares up at the TV. The volume is down but it is a cooking show, complete with tiny bowls filled with spices and a mound of beef that is being manhandled and roped into submission.

“I’ve never used strings when I’ve cooked a roast,” her mother says. Kaylee isn’t paying attention. “I wonder if tying it up like that somehow makes it more tender?” She looks at Kaylee. “I always just throw it in the crockpot but maybe I’m missing out on that string method. What do you think?” Kaylee lifts her shoulders, studying her phone. “Maybe on the way home I should buy a roast and some string, huh?”

“I don’t care, Mom.”

Her mother turns her attention back to the TV. “Well, we have to eat. It won’t hurt to try this.”

“Then try it.”

Her mom sighs, twisting her wedding band. “I’m just nervous, Kaylee.”

“Why should you be nervous?”

“Why should I be nervous?” Her worn expression and slumped posture gives away her exhaustion. “This decision, this child changes all of our lives for the
rest
of our lives. It’s not just you. It has never been just you. From the moment you got pregnant it’s been about all of us. So yes, I’m nervous.”

Kaylee is quiet. She hears the sadness in her mom’s voice and knows she’s right but she doesn’t want to say that. She doesn’t want to say anything or even be here. They watch the cooking show in silence. “I never meant to get pregnant, Mom.” It is the closest thing to an apology Kaylee can offer today.

Her mother takes hold of her hand. “I know that. I can’t imagine any sixteen-year-old setting out to get pregnant.” She squeezes Kaylee’s fingers. Her mouth turns up in a sad, small smile. “I’m so sorry, Kaylee.”

Kaylee is ashen-faced. For months, she has been angry at her parents, at Jared, her friends, at the school and the idiot kids inside it, but mostly at herself. In her times of deepest anger, she has hated her parents more than Jared but never knew why. They have been the ones to stay by her side, to rearrange their schedules, to take her to appointments, and now to apologize for something that isn’t their fault.

Kaylee looks up at the television. “Things always look easier on TV.”

“That’s because writers resolve things in thirty minutes or an hour.”

Kaylee studies her phone. “How would they resolve this?”

Her mom is quiet. “It doesn’t matter. What’s on TV isn’t real. Even the real stuff is rarely real. It’s edited.”

“No editing here,” Kaylee says to her phone.

They both watch as the cook on TV rubs a blend of seasoning onto a roast and then ties it together.

“You know, everything
does
look easier on TV. I’d either pull the string too tight and the roast wouldn’t cook well or I’d leave it too loose and the roast wouldn’t cook well.”

Kaylee stares up at the screen. “I want you to stick to your regular crockpot roast. There’s been enough changes at our house for now.” Joni laughs and leans over, bumping her shoulder into Kaylee’s.

When Kaylee’s name is called it is twenty-five minutes past the appointment time. They are led down a short hallway and into a small office with a cluttered desk. The woman behind the desk smiles in recognition. “Well, hello there.”

“Whoa,” Kaylee says, sitting down.

NINE

Gratitude is the heart’s memory.

—F
RENCH
PROVERB

Gloria called two days earlier wondering if Jen could swing by her home to sew some of the angel costumes. “I’ll be at practice with Miriam but I’ll leave you a key so you can come in. I’ll have pie,” Gloria told her.

“I’d do it without the pie,” Jennifer had said, but looks forward to the treat she rarely has time to make herself.

She watches Avery’s face in the rearview mirror and knows her thoughts are flapping around as if on a mast, her hands twisting in the act of remembering. Jen feels a pang of heartache and a rush of sadness but mostly pride as she looks at Avery. All that is precious to her in this world comes down to the fifty pounds in the backseat.

The house is warm, with the scent of pinecones, as Jennifer opens the door. She has been in Gloria’s home only once, for a Glory’s Place present-wrapping party a few Christmases ago, before Gloria married Marshall. Now, pictures of the two of them together sit on side tables and line the entry walls, along with photos of their blended family of children and grandchildren. “She said there are some toys over there in the corner,” Jen says, pointing into the living room. Avery finds them and reaches for a Barbie in a long purple dress and a pale plastic horse with a mustard-colored mane, as her mother goes upstairs.