Dark Light (The Dark Light Series)(3)

“Oh Jared… I love it,” I choke, my voice trembling. Do not cry... You better not freakin’ cry!

He really is one of my oldest, dearest friends. And while I may have admired his good looks in secret, our friendship is exceedingly more important than any romantic possibilities. I quell the foreign thoughts and clear my throat in an over-exaggerated manner.

“Glad you like it. So, um, any plans for tonight?” The static in the air from the tender moment swirls and sticks to us like humidity and I’m thankful for the changed subject.

“Dinner with the folks, drinks downtown… You game?”

“Hell yeah!” he exclaims and we fall back into being normal.

Dinner is at an upscale steakhouse in downtown Colorado Springs and Chris spares no expense. It’s dimly lit, plush and I get a whiff of mouthwatering meats, leather and big spenders as we are greeted by the prim and polished hostess. I immediately regret simply upgrading my shirt and replacing my white tennis shoes with plain black heels. From what I can see, most of the women are donned in cocktail dresses in rich, lush fabrics with the killer heels to match. Morgan would not be pleased with me if she could see me now.

“This is a special occasion, how about some wine, Kiddo?” Chris asks once we are seated. He isn’t overly strict and knows that I enjoy the occasional drink (or 2 or 3 or 8), but he’s never offered alcohol outside the privacy of our home.

“Sure, dad,” I reply, shyly, as if I’m 12 again, sneaking a taste of cheap, water-downed beer.

Chris orders a delicious, full-bodied bottle of red that I’m sure is substantially pricier than the $5 grocery store libations that I’m used to. It’s the perfect combination of sweet and tart and feels like silk in my mouth. I let my eyes close and feel the smooth liquid slide down my throat. When they reopen, I notice that I am being watched by a set of sad grey eyes. When I return her gaze, the young beautiful woman at a nearby table returns her attention to her mundane house salad. Her date, a much older and rounder gentleman, digs into his Porterhouse in ecstasy, his mock napkin bib catching droplets of grease and steak sauce. I instantly feel sorry for her; she’s so slender, her pale skin clings to her protruding bones like glass wrapped in silk. It’s evident that her waifish figure is no accident as she looks at her partner’s saturated fat-laden plate in longing. Like Jared says, ‘Homegirl needs a sandwich.’ I smile at our little inside joke, thankful that though I wouldn’t consider myself skinny, I’m fit, strong, and comfortable in my own skin. Nope, I’m not a salad-eating chick.

“So Gabriella, any more thoughts about your plans after graduation?” Donna inquires, breaking me from my reverie. She is simply asking me; not nagging like most parents would when questioning their child about the future. Chris and Donna have never done that. They’ve always taught me to live for today because tomorrow is not promised. Now looking back at my underwhelming list of achievements, I’m wondering if they were too laid back.

“Not sure yet, still considering the military. I just don’t think I can do another 2 years of college without having some sort of real passion for something. Plus I’d love to travel and see the world,” I reply as our waiter places luscious entrees of steak and lobster before us.

“Just let me know and I’ll go see the recruiter with you, Gabi,” Chris chimes in before digging in with enthusiasm.

Colorado Springs is a true military town. Housing Peterson AFB, Schriever AFB, the Air Force Academy and Fort Carson, just about every person in town has some connection to the military. For that reason, the city is bustling with the arrival of new people and businesses.

“Honey, your dad and I have a little something we’d like to give you to help you celebrate your big day,” Donna says towards the end of our sumptuous meal, her gentle eyes gleaming with pride.

She hands me a yellow envelope and an elaborately decorated gift bag. I open the card and 3 crisp 100 dollar bills spill out onto the white tablecloth. I look up in surprise; surely dinner is more than enough. Chris and Donna smile warmly, yet there’s a hint of something else. Sadness maybe? They urge me to open my gift and I store the card in my bag to read later to avoid a public outburst of tears. Inside the adorned bag lies a beautiful Coach bag and matching wallet. I squeal with glee and jump out of my seat to hug them. Just as I pull away from their loving embrace, I hear the familiar mantra of the Happy Birthday song. Oh no! I cringe but my parents are so happy I can’t bear to groan in annoyance. I graciously accept my decadent piece of chocolate cake and blow out the candle, genuinely thankful for the overwhelming amount of love that surrounds me.