The Gift

They sat on the patio drinking huge coffees. Oblique sunlight glinted on yellow leaves, pale gold on gold. The light had never been more gorgeous. It was spun light in a fairy tale.

I never know what size to order, Rose complained. There’s tall, medium, large, and extra-large.

What size is this? Ben squinted at the gigantic glass mug. Huge? If it were good, I’d appreciate the size.

Rose sipped her medium coffee. It’s a cheap grade of beans, she guessed. We’re paying for the setting.

Yeah, sure. But we’re used to good coffee.

Everybody was a coffee connoisseur, spoiled by Starbucks and the independents. The coffee boom had started in the late ‘80s or early ‘90s, replacing punk and supermarket blends with Seattle grunge and gourmet coffee. Nirvana and latte. She had read about the death of Kurt Kobain while his music played in a coffeehouse. Standing in line reading the newspaper and exclaiming to the priest behind her, Kurt Kobain’s dead. Then explaining who Kurt Kobain was. The priest seemed to think he was Rose’s personal friend. When the urge took her, she could walk to her corner coffeehouse and drink gourmet coffee. But this rural coffeehouse, built at a crossroads in the country near their favorite state park, had a view of the river and substandard coffee.

She gave a snack to the dog, who stared dotingly out of big brown eyes. Unlike the watchdogs in their urban neighborhood, Binkie was a people dog. He sat under the table
and stared very alertly at the other customers. A squirrel caught his attention momentarily

So what’s the gift?

She was dying to know what the gift was. She had never seen Ben so worked-up as he’d been since she came home. He watched her like Binkie, as if he dreaded her going away again. And he seemed worried about the gift.

He looked at her. Well, it’s two things. One thing I know you’ll like.

Now he opened their knapsack and pulled out the package. A gigantic book, wrapped.

Oh my God, she said. She could hardly believe her eyes. It was the reference book she’d been yearning for, the latest edition of the Oxford Classical Dictionary. The one she’d bought when she was a graduate student had mildewed during a period when it was stored in her mother’s basement. She had never been able to justify buying a new copy.

I thought you’d like that.

Like it? I love it. Maybe it will inspire me to get back to classics. I’ll apply to a doctoral program.

I have something else for you.

Oh! What? Rose was flushed with happiness. Looking up witches, she was referred to magic and amulets. She smiled at Ben.

He handed her an envelope.

Inside was a letter from a friend of Ben’s. The friend, a wealthy stockbroker, had bought some land near the state park. He wanted Rose to design a five-bedroom house with a sauna and a housekeeper’s apartment. He was offering a large amount of money.

Stunned, Rose clutched the letter. Ben! This is a lot of money.

He likes your work. He read about the prize you won for the Birds’ house and asked if you would consider it.

Rose tried hard to remember who he was. She thought he was the serious tall man who had looked through all their CDs at their last party, lecturing on some jazz guy.

Oh, and he liked you. You made a good impression. He liked it that you were quiet. He says most people try to get his attention.

Was it just a dream?

Thank you, Ben. Do you know I love you? Without this?

Ben looked relieved. Please don’t leave me like that again.

I promise, she said.