Beneath the Lights

by Taralynn Moore

  “Well, hello, Marcus.” I laughed. “I’m in the dorm hall, um, studying.” The room echoed with ladies’ chatter, mocking my claim.

  “Uh huh, sure you are.” The smile in his voice melted my insides. “And what drink is on the menu tonight?”

  “Apple martinis.” I giggled, and the room erupted in laughter. “They’re sweet and they’re green.”

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I was just telling a story about you.”

  “About me?”

  “Uh huh. And apples.” The roomful of giggles rang endless at this point.

  “Jillian, just how many drinks have you had?”

  I shook my head as if he could see me. “A lady never drinks and tells.”

  He lowered his voice. “I think that’s kisses and tells.”

  Mine matched his husky whisper. “Whelp, it’s too late for that!”

  I slipped off the couch and rolled onto the floor, huffing as I made my way beneath the Christmas tree we’d pieced together as a group the week prior.

  “There.” I sighed. “Guess where I am.”

  “You’re cracking me up, J. Where?”

  “I’m in our spot. Under the tree. Lookin’ up at the lights.”

  “And are they beautiful?”

  “Oh, yes.” I sighed.

  “Not as beautiful as you. Red has always been your color.”

  “Green too.” I giggled. “Wait, how did you—”

  I peered out from beneath the branches and the now-emptied room held the vision of only two feet, standing just beside the tree. I stared into the phone. “How did you do that?”

  He laughed and slid beside me on the floor, the ornaments bouncing as he shifted on his side. One hand reached out and took the phone from mine, ending the call. He swept a piece of hair from my eyes and leaned in for a kiss.

  “Mmm. You taste good.” He smiled as he pulled away.

  “Like apples.” I nodded, wiggling my eyebrows, then tucked my head into his neck and exhaled. “You’re here.”

  “I missed you. I’m tired of missing you.”

  “Me too,” I breathed.

  He pulled back and met my eyes. “So, I decided something.”

  “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

  “I don’t want to miss you anymore, not without being able to envision our future, see our plans on the horizon.”

  My eyes went wide, and I patted his cheek. “Smaller words, hockey boy,” I whispered against his mouth. “Old-school apple martinis, remember?”

  He chuckled under my lips and started a slow kiss just long enough to get my attention.

  “J?” He kissed me again.

  “Mmmhmm.”

  “Marry me.”

  His hand was on mine, wriggling the cool of a ring around a certain finger. I pulled it up to my face and stared at it in a shocked awe. My head bobbed back and forth between the ring and his face until he started laughing at my mute response.

  “Please tell me you’ll remember this in the morning.”

  My eyes filled as I planted little kisses all across his face. “I’ll . . . never . . . forget.”

  He grabbed my cheeks and held me still, settling his eyes on mine. “And your answer?”

  “Yes. Of course, yes.” I laughed.

  He exhaled and pulled me in close, holding me as if our forever had finally started.

  And it had. And maybe it hadn’t.

  Because maybe it had started almost a decade before.

  We stared up at the tree, my hand often floating above so I could see the ring in its place, begin to accept the beauty of its welcome permanence.

  “Jill?”

  “Yes?”

  “There’s one thing I need to know before we do this.”

  I held my breath, my mind racing, thoughts tumbling. “How we’re going to pull off a years-long engagement, hours away?”

  “Nah.” He traced my cheek. “We’ll figure that out.”

  “You’re right.” I exhaled. It sounded crazy, but if anyone could do it, we could. There wasn’t distance enough that could drive a wedge between us. “What then?”

  He held my face again, searching. “What’s the deal with . . . the apples?”

  I exploded into giggles, and he listened close as I told him the story of how I’d finally fallen for my apple-crunching friend, or finally realized I’d fallen . . . years before, over honey pancakes on a tear-filled paper route break, somewhere in the light and shadowed places, somewhere between the two heart-felt spaces of us.

  Chapter 6

  Two Years Later

  It would be fine. It was the most beautiful day of my life. It didn’t matter if my dad showed up. Or didn’t.

  I wished I knew which I wanted.

  He certainly wasn’t giving me away. He hadn’t earned the right. My mom had.

  My head spun as I paced a new trail into the old worn one on the floor of my room, the white train of my dress perfectly draped across my outstretched arm. It was supposed to be a simple backyard wedding. That was the plan. Small. Private.

  Why had I invited him? Why?

  Because that’s what people did. They invited their fathers to their weddings.

  Except we weren’t “people.” We were some jacked-up hybrid of normal and barely functioning.

  And I was over it.

  I jetted to the door. I needed Marc. He was the only one who’d be able to calm me down. It didn’t matter if he wasn’t supposed to see me in my dress. I didn’t care anymore about the stupid rules.

  My hand went to the knob just as it turned under my hand. “Jill?”

  Marc. I smiled. Instantly my breath slowed, my mind calmed.

  “Hey kid, it’s the big day, huh?” My fleeting peace was flipped on end at the sound of my dad’s voice. He was here too.

  He’d come. He’d actually shown up.

  Why now? Why this time?

  The doorknob clicked back into place. I pictured Marc turning toward him, jaw pulsing with disdain, hands forced into calm by his sides. “Afternoon, sir.”

  “So formal, son.” My dad’s laughter boomed. “Isn’t that usually Jillie’s department?”

  My stomach churned. Like he would know.

  Marc’s voice was tight. “Why did you come?”

  I pressed my ear against the door, the cool surface soothing the flush of my skin. Leave it to Marc to ask the one question I’d wanted answered.

  “It’s my daughter’s wedding. She invited me. Of course I’d come.”

  It was Marc’s turn to laugh. “See, that’s where I disagree.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “She’s invited you to everything. Each birthday, graduation, play, a million choir events. And it falls on deaf ears. Well, at least absent ones.” A sarcastic exhale escaped. “See, the thing is, the thing that really ticks me off, is that I think you know you can’t be a father half-way. It’s why you left, isn’t it? But every time you forget and come meandering back, only to leave again, you crush her.”

  “I don’t—”

  “And I won’t let you crush her anymore.”

  My heart pounded as I hugged the door.

  My dad’s voice broke. “Are you telling me you won’t let me see my own daughter?”

  “I’m telling you.” He took a breath. “If you walk through this door, if you get to have the moment before I do of seeing how breathtaking she looks, of how hopeful she feels, and you turn it into a bitter memory of you leaving again, you won’t be welcomed back. Ever.”

  It was quiet for a minute before a guttural sound erupted, clawing at me from the hall.

  Was that my dad? Crying?

  Marc’s footsteps and their shadow left their post by the door. “It’s all or nothing, man. I’m committing to her today.” I pictured him laying a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Don’t you think you should too?”

  Marc’s footsteps carried on down the hall and, eventually, my dad quieted. The thought never crossed my mind that Mar
c would actually stop him from seeing me, but what he’d said? It was what I’d always wanted. The yo-yo of my daughter’s heart to finally stop its draining pull. We’d talked about it a million times.

  Leave it to my Marc to have the guts to actually say it.

  I waited, the sound of my dad’s breathing the only indication he was still present.

  For now.

  He approached the door. I stared at the handle, but it didn’t turn. “Jillian?”

  I tried to swallow back the lump in my throat. “I’m here, Dad.” Please don’t leave.

  “I, uh, I bet you look beautiful.”

  Okay.

  He let out a shaky breath. “I don’t want to disturb you.”

  So, he wasn’t coming in. My chest fell, part disappointment, part relief.

  His hand slid down the door, his palm sending its brushing drag through to my soul. “I’m sorry. For everything.”

  He took a few steps back.

  I waited. Was that it? Was he about to leave? Forever?

  I reached for the doorknob but stopped myself. Someone had to end the cycle.

  He cleared his throat. “And Jillie?”

  My heart pulsed. “Yes?”

  “I’ll do better. I promise.”

  How? When?

  He tapped his foot before turning to go. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

  I rested my head back against the door. “Okay, see you.”

  Maybe.

  The large bulbs of the outdoor lights laced across the sky. It was my one decorating demand. To which my mother had added her flourish. White lanterns with soft bundles of baby’s breath dotted the length of the aisle. Marc’s sweet smile greeted me at the end.

  My mom kissed my cheek, took my hand, and we stepped in sync past the rows of guests. Friends from high school choir, college apple-martini-sharing suitemates, and to my surprise, my dad, all stared back with bright, hopeful faces. My heart squeezed, complete, in its moment of fresh starts and fresh horizons.

  Later, after the chairs had been cleared away, Marc and I danced in each other’s arms. A swaying blob with hands and feet, beneath the white glow of lights, beneath the soft glow of stars, until all that was left was breath and beating hearts.

  Chapter 7

  Six Months Later

  Marc hadn’t wanted to leave college or hockey and the life he’d hoped to build for us with both. But he’d had no choice. His mom was sick. He had to care for her.

  I’d finished with a pit in my stomach on graduation day for the what-should’ve-been. For him. But he’d shown only cheers and support for my accomplishment. It was impossible to regret his sacrifice. Especially later, when his mom’s beautiful year-in-remission face glowed more luminous than any of the lights strung up at our wedding.

  He’d fought to retain her hope, her health, and to keep their house. His childhood home with all its memories, both good and bad, was the one thing he couldn’t save. He’d started working in restaurants, which suited him, but it still wasn’t enough. And though he’d lost the house, he was pleased to have found a new passion. Management was his ultimate goal, but more than anything, he’d fallen for the kitchen. He loved the pressure, the pace, the busy rush of having to pull off a perfect shift, the perfect plate each time. Maybe it reminded him of game night.

  We’d moved into our apartment right after the wedding. It was a commute into the city for both of us, but it was all we could afford. We’d made it work, made it home.

  Because we had each other.

  His shifts at the restaurants were grueling, but his years of working while in school had only set him up for success once it was his full focus. With his mom well, and nothing in his way, he was unstoppable. One promotion after another enticed him to stay on that track instead of heading back to school. We didn’t need any more debt added to the pile, and without hockey, that’s all we could see. Dollar signs.

  Our first Christmas in the apartment was a simple one. I’d been doubling up on my shifts at the coffee shop in and around my internship hours at the architecture firm of my dreams. A company established by women, they focused on building careers and family. Not that I’d spent years with babies on the brain, but my planning tendencies wouldn’t let me not think about it.

  Someday. Someday I’d be glad I had.

  I crashed through the door on Christmas Eve. The three flights up with even three meager bags of shopping was brutal after twelve hours on my feet. All I wanted was a cup of freshly ground coffee and a mouthful of the apple butter cookies I’d snagged before heading home. I’d picked up a few last-minute deals at the store. Waiting on presents had been risky, but clearance was my best bet. The day’s tips had to be stretched to their fullest.

  With a huff, I shook off my shoes on the front mat before letting the door swing closed behind me. Some great Christmas spirit had faced the bitter chill and hauled their tree up the stairs before me. Tiny pine-scented needles taunted me like confetti by sticking to the hem of my pants, following me inside anyway. I let out a final shiver and a laugh. They only bothered me because I wouldn’t have my own this year. We’d opted to skip a tree in favor of other minor things . . . like paying rent.

  I aimed for the kitchen, the little sweeper broom and dustpan my new plan of action, but stopped dead in my tracks, bags swinging, coffee and cookies tucked in a box under my arm. The living room was a picture of Christmas bliss. The fireplace crackled for the first time since we’d moved in, one of the few perks of a top-floor apartment finally put to use. It’s a Wonderful Life played on the TV, and sitting pleasantly on the worn-out couch, with knitting needles and a quiet roll of laughter, were my mother and Marc’s.

  “Jillie.” My mom jumped up, laying aside her attempted Christmas creation with a giggle. “Let me help you.”

  “Hello, Jill dear.” Marc’s mom greeted me with a happy slur as she wrestled with her equally messy creation. The short spiky do she’d rocked since treatment added an extra impish quality to her wide grin. She must’ve made her annual eggnog. And thoroughly taste-tested it.

  “Hello, Moms.” I giggled as my mother helped grab a few things from my hands, winking at me.

  We circled the corner to the kitchen, and I stopped in my tracks again. The previously empty dining room had a full table and chairs laid out with a carefully prepared meal and a Mom-light-wrapped fresh Douglas fir twinkling next to it.

  “When? How?” I stared at my mother.

  She kissed my cheek and pointed me in the direction of the patio, taking the bags from my arms. “He’s out there.”

  Marc’s dark figure could be seen through the glass door, scaling the railing with a strand of lights in hand. What kind of decorating madness was he up to?

  I slid open the door and hugged my arms to my chest with delight. I was almost warm enough on the inside to fight off the cold. Almost. “You’re going to kill yourself before I can even say thank you.”

  “Nah,” he mumbled, wrapping the last of the strand around the porch pillar.

  “The rail’s all icy.”

  He jumped down, his cheeks shining pink in the red lights. “The ice and I go way back.”

  “True.” I laughed, tugging at his sweater, bringing him in for a kiss. “How did you do all this?”

  He rested his arms around my waist and leaned back so he could watch my face as he unveiled his master plan. These were his favorite moments. “Well, I switched and took the opening shifts all week. Made it to Old Man Jones after in time to help with his wood-working jobs, stayed to man the tree lot with him at night.”

  “And he let you make the table set and take the tree as payment.” I smiled.

  Marc smiled back. “They’re great, right?”

  My chest hitched. “They’re perfect.” I held his face, kissing his lips. “When did you sleep, though?”

  He shrugged. “Sleep is for the weak.”

  “Marc—”

  “Here. Help me.” He handed me the final strand of lights and j
umped back up on the railing.

  I held them up as he finished wrapping the final pillar. He’d made the most of the space, a true wonderland of Christmas. The pillars were candy canes, the railing a-glitter with shining garland. “Where’d you get the lights?”

  He nodded inside. “Mother Double Trouble.”

  Through the door I could see their two heads bowed over their balls of yarn, chattering away like schoolgirls. They’d become even closer since Marc’s mom had moved into my old room. My heart swelled even more. His hard work had brought joy to their Christmas as well.

  I looked past them, admiring the table, his careful cuts and joints of wood. “We should eat before the food gets cold. It looks delicious. Did Todd hook you up?”

  Last of the lights in place, Marc eased around them, ready to climb down. “More of a congratulations. The second location is happening. He gave me head chef downtown. He’ll announce it Monday.”

  “Oh, my God!” I shrieked, beyond elated.

  Marc’s foot slipped at my excitement, but he caught himself just in time, laughing as he stared below. “Wouldn’t be much to announce if I landed on the pavement.”

  My heart jittered a happy rhythm. “Maybe you should take that up with your old friend, the ice.” I wiggled my eyebrows at him. “Sabotage.”

  “Ha. Never.” He looked so content. Even with one hand gripping the roofline, the other clinging to the pillar, he was at ease. He’d worked so hard, found a new plan, and pushed his way forward. The ice may have been his first love, but this was his second chance to chase a dream. And I was so glad he was taking it.

  I pulled him down from his perch, burying my face in his chest with a happy sigh. “I’m so proud of you.” I breathed, all worries fading away. Sure, he’d be working a lot more. And that would be hard. But as long as he was home every night, I could deal with it. This promotion would change so much for us.

  So much he didn’t even know about yet.

  I couldn’t wait to head inside and share our meal as a family. I couldn’t wait to gift our mothers with the specially picked trinkets I’d found for them. And I couldn’t wait to crawl under the tree in the morning and give him his presents.