{"product_id":"the-light-we-lost-reeses-book-club-isbn-9780735212763","title":"The Light We Lost: Reese's Book Club","description":"\u003cb\u003eThe \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003eBestseller and A Reese’s Book Club Pick\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e“This love story between Lucy \u0026amp; Gabe spans decades and continents as two star-crossed lovers try to return to each other…Will they ever meet again? This book kept me up at night, turning the pages to find out, and the ending did not disappoint.”—Reese Witherspoon\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “\u003ci\u003eOne Day \u003c\/i\u003emeets \u003ci\u003eMe Before You\u003c\/i\u003e meets your weekender bag.”—\u003ci\u003eThe Skimm\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Extraordinary.”—Emily Giffin\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He was the first person to inspire her, to move her, to truly understand her. Was he meant to be the last?\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Lucy is faced with a life-altering choice. But before she can make her decision, she must start her story—their story—at the very beginning.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Lucy and Gabe meet as seniors at Columbia University on a day that changes both of their lives forever. Together, they decide they want their lives to mean something, to matter. When they meet again a year later, it seems fated—perhaps they'll find life's meaning in each other. But then Gabe becomes a photojournalist assigned to the Middle East and Lucy pursues a career in New York. What follows is a thirteen-year journey of dreams, desires, jealousies, betrayals, and, ultimately, of love. Was it fate that brought them together? Is it choice that has kept them away? Their journey takes Lucy and Gabe continents apart, but never out of each other's hearts.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e This devastatingly romantic debut novel about the enduring power of first love, with a shocking, unforgettable ending, is \u003ci\u003eLove Story\u003c\/i\u003e for a new generation.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e“It's \u003ci\u003ethe\u003c\/i\u003e epic love story of 2017.\u003cb\u003e”—\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003eRedbook\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003eA \u003ci\u003eCosmopolitan \u003c\/i\u003eBest Romance Novel of All Time \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"An irresistible tale of love and second chances.\"\u003cbr\u003e—\u003ci\u003ePeople \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Extraordinary.”\u003cbr\u003e—Emily Giffin\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"This moving story is a perfect understanding of the sacrifices we make for love and for our dreams.\" \u003cbr\u003e—\u003ci\u003eReal Simple\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"It’s \u003ci\u003ethe\u003c\/i\u003e epic love story of 2017 and the ending is one you’ll be feeling for months to come.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e—Redbook\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Your new tearjerker has arrived: Fans of\u003ci\u003e Me Before You\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eOne Day\u003c\/i\u003e will love\/weep over this elegant novel.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e—New York Post\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“This read is\u003ci\u003e One Day \u003c\/i\u003emeets\u003ci\u003e Me Before You\u003c\/i\u003e meets your weekender bag.\" \u003cbr\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Skimm \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“This book will sink its hooks into your heart on page one, and leave you scarred long after you're done.\" \u003cbr\u003e—\u003ci\u003eBustle\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Jill Santopolo’s extraordinary debut novel is a love story— an emotional roller coaster—that follows the lives of Lucy and Gabe who meet in New York City on September 11, 2001. The event transforms and shadows their lives. How do they reconcile passion and security, dreams and reality?  As\u003ci\u003e The Light We Lost\u003c\/i\u003e enchanted and compelled me, I found myself reconsidering my own choices, and wondering at the choices of my friends and the people around me – how did their dreams match their realities?  And what if that dream can’t include the person you love the most?”\u003cbr\u003e—Delia Ephron, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of \u003ci\u003eSiracusa\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A wonderful and heartbreaking book.... The kind of heartbreak that’s in \u003ci\u003eThe Way We Were\u003c\/i\u003e, that you really love to cry over.”\u003cbr\u003e—NBC New York's \u003ci\u003eWeekend Today\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Santopolo explores passion, fate, love, and what it means to truly be a good person.... A beautiful and devastating story that will captivate readers.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e (starred review)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Heart-wrenching yet beautiful.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003ci\u003eUS Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Comparisons will be made to David Nicholls’ \u003ci\u003eOne Day\u003c\/i\u003e, but there is something more romantic here—yet also more grounded—that will draw readers in.\" \u003cbr\u003e—\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“What can be more devastating than love? In her adult debut, Santopolo explores thirteen tumultuous years in the lives of two unique lovers, the difference between what’s forever and what’s finite, and how what seems fated might not be fact. Gorgeously written and absolutely unforgettable, Santopolo’s novel has a beating heart all its own.”\u003cbr\u003e—Caroline Leavitt, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003ePictures of You\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“In this intense, deeply moving novel, Jill Santopolo vividly illuminates how our personal lives and loves are changed by the common—and uncommon—events of our troubled world. \u003cbr\u003e—Nancy Thayer, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Island House\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“This is surely the next great romantic epic. . . . It is a novel that lives with you long after the final page. A book for a generation and a future classic.” \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e—The Sun\u003c\/i\u003e (UK)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The perfect beach read: an engrossing, romantic, and surprisingly sexy story about the power of first love.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003ci\u003eDomino\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Santopolo nailed the thrill and devastation that love can cause. I was gutted from the start and didn't put the book down until I was sobbing at the end. Witty, romantic and intensely moving, this book made me feel \u003ci\u003eeverything\u003c\/i\u003e!”\u003cbr\u003e—Renée Carlino, \u003ci\u003eUSA Today \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of \u003ci\u003eBefore We Were Strangers\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I basically inhaled this novel (could. not. stop. reading) and have been thinking about it ever since…this book is impossibly compelling and makes for a perfect summer read.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e—Well + Good\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Evocative, raw and at times breathlessly heartbreaking, Jill Santopolo’s \u003ci\u003eThe Light We Lost\u003c\/i\u003e is a page-turner that explores the intersection of fate and choice in our relationships. In this honest portrayal of love and loss, Santopolo leaves us wondering about serendipity and the existence of that one, true love. An emotional rollercoaster of a story that won’t let you go even after the last page is turned.” \u003cbr\u003e—Karma Brown, bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eCome Away with Me\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“We couldn't stop turning the pages of \u003ci\u003eThe Light We Lost\u003c\/i\u003e. Santopolo took us on a journey of missed chances, regret and uncertainty that left us pondering our own choices. The love story of Lucy and Gabe is one that will stay with you long after you finish.”\u003cbr\u003e—Liz Fenton \u0026amp; Lisa Steinke, authors of \u003ci\u003eThe Status of All Things\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003ci\u003eThe Light We Lost \u003c\/i\u003eis a beautiful, moving meditation on the choices we make in pursuit of love and a meaningful life, and the consequences that shape our futures.”\u003cbr\u003e—Bethany Chase, author of \u003ci\u003eThe One That Got Away\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Jill Santopolo's debut is a breathless, sexy, sweeping love story set against the backdrop of the defining moment of this century. Filled with light and hope, this is the romance we're all looking for.”\u003cbr\u003e—Brenda Bowen, author of \u003ci\u003eEnchanted August\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Emotional and heartbreaking. I predict a global tissue shortage. \u003ci\u003eThe Light We Lost\u003c\/i\u003e will definitely join the ranks of books that make you weep.”\u003cbr\u003e—Sarah Morgan, \u003ci\u003eUSA Today\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eMiracle on 5th Avenue\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\"An affecting and beautifully-written story about love and missed chances, and how global events can change the course of a single person's life.\" \u003cbr\u003e—Julie Cohen, author of \u003ci\u003eTogether\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“This is such a heart-felt story about both the bliss and torment of love. It’s clear that Jill has tremendous affection for her characters and so did I. It was fascinating to me that Gabe is a photographer, because Jill herself has an amazingly sharp eye, zooming in on emotions and the small ways in which they change while also pulling back for a wide-angle view of Lucy and Gabe’s relationship during the course of a tumultuous decade. I am not a weeper but dammit if I wasn’t crying at the end.”\u003cbr\u003e—Jane O'Connor, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A one-sitting kind of book. Fans of \u003ci\u003eOne Day \u003c\/i\u003eby David Nicholls will love this.\" \u003cbr\u003e—\u003ci\u003eStylist Magazine\u003c\/i\u003e (UK)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"An epic love story.\" \u003cbr\u003e– \u003ci\u003ePrima Magazine\u003c\/i\u003e (UK)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A stunning book, perfect and unputdownable.”\u003cbr\u003e—Jill Mansell, author of \u003ci\u003eMeet Me at Beachcomber Bay\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The harrowing day of Sept. 11, love, and the changes life brings are the concurrent threads that run through [\u003ci\u003eThe Light We Lost\u003c\/i\u003e].\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e—Nassau Herald\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “A beautiful, powerful and sexy novel, The Light We Lost grabbed me from the beginning and just refused to let go. Santopolo has given us a remarkable love story that enthralled me, surprised me, and ultimately, moved me. I couldn't put it down.”\u003cbr\u003e—Thomas Christopher Greene, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Headmaster’s Wife\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “The scale of this book's ambition is matched only by Santopolo's flawless execution. 9\/11, love, sex, war, Shakespeare, American foreign policy—\u003ci\u003eThe Light We Lost\u003c\/i\u003e has it all, illuminating so much of what our generation and what we in the media have lived through for fifteen years. The arc of this book, from the fall of the Twin Towers to a love letter written from the Middle East, gracefully and tragically charts the course not only of a genuine and deep love, but also that of our country and of our collective identities. It is memorable and haunting, because it is authentic and so close to home.”\u003cbr\u003e —Nick Schifrin, PBS NewsHour Special Correspondent, NPR Correspondent\u003cb\u003eJill Santopolo\u003c\/b\u003e received a BA in English literature from Columbia University and an MFA in writing from the Vermont College of Fine Arts. She's the author of three successful children's and young-adult series and works as the Associate Publisher of Philomel Books, an imprint of Penguin Young Readers Group. Santopolo travels the world to speak about writing and storytelling. She is the \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of \u003ci\u003eMore Than Words\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eThe Light We Lost\u003c\/i\u003e, a Reese Witherspoon Book Club pick. She lives in New York City.i \u003cbr\u003e\u003cp\u003eSometimes objects seem like they’ve witnessed history. I used to imagine that the wooden table we sat around during Kramer’s Shakespeare seminar our senior year was as old as Columbia—that it had been in that room since 1754, edges worn smooth by centuries of students like us, which of course couldn’t be true. But that’s how I pictured it. Students sitting there through the Revolutionary War, the Civil War, both World Wars, Korea, Vietnam, the Persian Gulf.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt’s funny, if you asked me who else was with us that day, I don’t think I could tell you. I used to be able to see all their faces so clearly, but thirteen years later I remember only you and Professor Kramer. I can’t even recall the name of the TA who came running, late, into the classroom. Later, even, than you.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eKramer had just finished calling roll when you pushed open the door. You smiled at me, your dimple making a brief appearance as you slipped off your Diamondbacks cap and stuck it into your back pocket. Your eyes landed quickly on the empty seat next to mine, and then you did too.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“And you are?” Kramer asked, as you reached into your backpack for a notebook and a pen.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Gabe,” you said. “Gabriel Samson.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eKramer checked the paper in front of him. “Let’s aim for ‘on time’ for the rest of the semester, Mr. Samson,” he said. “Class starts at nine. In fact, let’s aim for ‘early.’ ”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eYou nodded, and Kramer started talking about themes in \u003ci\u003eJulius Caesar\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“ ‘We at the height are ready to decline,’ ” he read. “ ‘There is a tide in the affairs of men \/ Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; \/ Omitted, all the voyage of their life \/ Is bound in shallows and in miseries. \/ On such a full sea are we now afloat, \/ And we must take the current when it serves, \/ Or lose our ventures.’ I trust you all did the reading. Who can tell me what Brutus is saying about fate and free will here?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI’ll always remember that passage because I’ve wondered so many times since that day whether you and I were fated to meet in Kramer’s Shakespeare seminar. Whether it’s destiny or decision that has kept us connected all these years. Or a combination of both, taking the current when it serves.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAfter Kramer spoke, a few people flipped through the text in front of them. You ran your fingers through your curls, and they sprang back into place.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Well,” you said, and the rest of the class joined me in looking at you.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut you didn’t get to finish.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe TA whose name I can’t remember came racing into the room. “Sorry I’m late,” she said. “A plane hit one of the twin towers. It came on TV just as I was leaving for class.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNo one knew the significance of her words; not even she did.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Was the pilot drunk?” Kramer asked.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I don’t know,” the TA said, taking a seat at the table. “I waited, but the newscasters had no idea what was going on. They said it was some kind of prop plane.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIf it had happened now, all of our phones would’ve been blowing up with news. Pings from Twitter and Facebook and push notifications from the \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e. But communication then wasn’t yet instant and Shakespeare wouldn’t be interrupted. We all shrugged it off and Kramer kept talking about \u003ci\u003eCaesar\u003c\/i\u003e. As I took notes, I watched the fingers of your right hand unconsciously rub against the wood grain of the table. I doodled an image of your thumb with its ragged nail and torn cuticle. I still have the notebook somewhere—in a box filled with Lit Hum and Contemporary Civilizations. I’m sure it’s there.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eii\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI’ll never forget what we said when we left Philosophy Hall; even though the words were nothing special, the conversation is burned into my memory as part of that day. We’d started down the steps together. Not exactly together, but next to each other. The air was clear, the sky was blue—and everything had changed. We just didn’t know it yet.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePeople all around us were talking over one another:\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“The twin towers collapsed!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“School’s canceled!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I want to donate blood. Do you know where I can donate blood?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI turned to you. “What’s going on?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I live in East Campus,” you said, pointing toward the dorm. “Let’s go find out. You’re Lucy, right? Where do you live?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Hogan,” I said. “And yeah, Lucy.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Nice to meet you, Lucy, I’m Gabriel.” You held out your hand. Amid everything, I shook it, and looked up at you as I did. Your dimple came back. Your eyes shone blue. I thought then, for the first time: \u003ci\u003eHe’s beautiful.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe went to your suite and watched TV with your roommates, with Adam and Scott and Justin. On the screen bodies dove out of buildings, blackened mounds of rubble sent smoke signals into the sky, and the towers fell in a loop. The devastation numbed us. We stared at the images, unable to reconcile the stories with our reality. The fact that this was happening in our city, seven miles from where we sat, that those were people—­actual human beings—hadn’t set in yet. At least not for me. It felt so far away.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOur cell phones didn’t work. You used your dorm phone to call your mom in Arizona to tell her you were fine. I called my parents in Connecticut, who wanted me to come home. They knew someone whose daughter worked at the World Trade Center and no one had heard from her yet. Someone else whose cousin had a breakfast meeting at Windows on the World.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“It’s safer outside Manhattan,” my father said. “What if there’s anthrax? Or some other biological warfare. Nerve gas.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI told my dad the subways weren’t running. Probably not the trains either.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’ll come get you,” he said. “I’ll jump in the car now.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’ll be okay,” I told him. “I’m with some friends. We’re fine. I’ll call you again later.” It still didn’t feel real.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You know,” Scott said, after I hung up. “If I were a terrorist organization, I’d drop a bomb on us.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“What the fuck?” Adam said. He was waiting to hear from his uncle, who was part of the NYPD.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I mean, if you think about it academically . . .” Scott said, but he didn’t get any further.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Shut up,” Justin said. “Seriously, Scott. Not the time.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Maybe I should leave,” I said to you then. I didn’t really know you. I had just met your friends. “My roommates are probably wondering where I am.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Call them,” you said, handing the phone back to me. “And tell them you’re going to the roof of the Wien dorm. Tell them they can meet you there if you want.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’m going where?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“With me,” you said, and you ran your fingers absently along my braid. It was an intimate gesture, the kind of thing that happens after all barriers of personal space have been breached. Like eating off someone else’s plate without asking. And all of a sudden, I felt connected to you, like your hand on my hair meant something more than idle, nervous fingers.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI thought of that moment, years later, when I decided to donate my hair and the stylist handed me my braid, wrapped in plastic, looking even darker brown than usual. Even though you were a world away then, I felt like I was betraying you, like I was cutting our tie.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut then, that day, right after you touched my hair you realized what you’d done and let your hand drop into your lap. You smiled at me again, but it didn’t go to your eyes this time.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI shrugged. “Okay,” I said.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe world felt like it was cracking in pieces, like we’d gone through a shattered mirror into the fractured place inside, where nothing made sense, where our shields were down, our walls broken. In that place, there wasn’t any reason to say no.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eiii\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe took the elevator up to Wien 11, and then you pulled open a window at the end of the hallway. “Someone showed me this sophomore year,” you said. “It’s the most incredible view of New York City you’ll ever see.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe climbed out the window, onto the roof, and I gasped. Smoke billowed up from the southern tip of Manhattan. The whole sky was turning gray, the city shrouded in ash.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Oh my God,” I said. Tears filled my eyes. I pictured what used to be there. Saw the negative space where the towers had stood. It finally hit me. “There were people in those buildings.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eYour hand found mine and held it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe stood there, staring at the aftermath of destruction, tears dripping down both our cheeks, for how long I don’t know. There must have been other people up there with us, but I can’t recall them. Just you. And the image of that smoke. It’s seared into my brain.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“What happens now?” I finally whispered. Seeing it made me understand the magnitude of the attack. “What’s next?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eYou looked at me, and our eyes, still wet with tears, locked with the kind of magnetism that ignores the world around it. Your hand slid to my waist, and I rose up onto my toes to meet your lips halfway. We pressed our bodies together, as if that would protect us from whatever came after. As if the only way to stay safe was to keep my lips on yours. The moment your body enveloped mine, that’s how I felt—safe, enfolded in the strength and warmth of your arms. Your muscles fluttered against my hands and I buried my fingers in your hair. You wrapped my braid around your palm, tugging it and tipping my head back. And I forgot the world. In that moment, there was only you.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFor years I felt guilty about it. Guilty that we kissed for the first time while the city burned, guilty that I was able to lose myself in you in that moment. But later I learned that we weren’t alone. People told me in whispers that they’d had sex that day. That they’d conceived a child. They’d gotten engaged. Said \u003ci\u003eI love you\u003c\/i\u003e for the first time. There’s something about death that makes people want to live. We wanted to live that day, and I don’t blame us for it. Not anymore.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen we broke for breath, I leaned my head against your chest. I listened to your heart and was comforted by its steady beating.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDid my heartbeat comfort you? Does it still?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eiv\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe went back to your dorm room because you promised me lunch. You wanted to go onto the roof with your camera after we ate, you told me, and take some pictures.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“For the \u003ci\u003eSpectator\u003c\/i\u003e?” I asked.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“The paper?” you said. “Nah. For me.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIn the kitchen I got distracted by a stack of your photos—black-and-white prints taken all over campus. They were beautiful, bizarre, bathed in light. Images zoomed so far in that an everyday object looked like modern art.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Where’s this one?” I asked. After looking for a while, I realized it was a close-up of a bird’s nest, lined with what looked like newspapers and magazines and someone’s essay for a French literature class.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Oh, that was incredible,” you told me. “Jessica Cho—Do you know her? She sings a cappella? David Blum’s girlfriend?—she told me about this nest that she could see out her window that someone’s homework got worked into. So I went to check it out. I had to hang out the window to get this shot. Jess made Dave hold my ankles because she was afraid I would fall. But I got it.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAfter that story I saw you differently. You were daring, brave, committed to capturing art. Looking back, I’m guessing that’s what you wanted me to think. You were trying to impress me, but I didn’t realize it at the time. I just thought: \u003ci\u003eWow.\u003c\/i\u003e I thought: \u003ci\u003eHe’s wonderful.\u003c\/i\u003e But what was true then, and has been true as long as I’ve known you, is that you find beauty everywhere. You notice things other people don’t. It’s something I’ve always admired about you.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Is this what you want to do?” I asked then indicating the pictures.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eYou shook your head. “It’s just for fun,” you said. “My mom’s an artist. You should see what she can do, these gorgeous enormous abstracts, but she makes a living by painting small canvases of Arizona sunsets for tourists. I don’t want that kind of life, creating what sells.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI leaned against the counter and looked at the rest of the photographs. Rust leaching into a stone bench, cracked veins of marble, corrosion on a metal railing. Beauty where I’d never imagined it could be. “Is your dad an artist, too?” I asked.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eYour face closed. I could see it, like a door shutting behind your eyes. “No,” you said. “He’s not.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI had stumbled into a fault line I didn’t know was there. I filed that away—I was discovering the landscape of you. Already I was hoping it was terrain I’d learn well, one that would become second nature to navigate.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eYou were quiet. I was quiet. The TV was still blaring in the background, and I heard the newscasters talking about the Pentagon and the plane that crashed in Pennsylvania. The horror of the situation rushed over me again. I put your photographs down. It seemed perverse to focus on beauty then. But looking back, maybe that was exactly the right thing to do.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Didn’t you say we were going to eat lunch?” I asked, even though I wasn’t hungry, even though the images flashing across the television screen made my stomach churn.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe door opened behind your eyes. “That I did,” you said, with a nod.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAll you had the ingredients for were nachos. So, mechanically, I sliced tomatoes and opened a can of beans with a rusty can opener while you arranged tortilla chips in one of those throwaway foil trays and grated cheese into a chipped cereal bowl.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“What about you?” you asked, as if our conversation hadn’t gotten derailed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Hm?” I pressed the top of the can into the beans so I could lever it off.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Are you an artist?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI put the metal disc down on the counter. “Nope,” I said. “The most creative thing I do is write stories for my roommates.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“About what?” you asked, your head cocked to one side.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI looked down so you wouldn’t see me blush. “This is embarrassing,” I said, “but they’re about a teacup pig named Hamilton who accidentally got accepted into a college meant for rabbits.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eYou let out a surprised laugh. “Hamilton. A pig,” you said. “I get it. That’s funny.”\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"G.P. Putnam's Sons","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46304762822885,"sku":"NP9780735212763","price":19.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780735212763.jpg?v=1767740240","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-light-we-lost-reeses-book-club-isbn-9780735212763","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}