The Dating Charade

by Melissa Ferguson

  “You sure?” Sunny said.

  Yes. Simply, the answer was yes. If he was stuck between a rock and a hard place and had to take up Sarah’s offers for babysitting, he at least could try to avoid her on Sundays, when he was off. Also, there was another, equally significant, reason for going his own way. “Cross Point doesn’t have a double service. I’m going somewhere they have two services.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “So for two and a half hours I can breathe.”

  “Let me get this straight.” Sunny slid on his only pair of nice shoes—one in fact disfigured by Drew’s chew marks. “The service is going to end, people are going to leave, and you are just going to keep sitting in some pew, going through the whole thing again.”

  “That’s right.” Jett adjusted his tie, then picked Dakota up. “And I’m going to relish every moment of it.”

  Sunny laughed and opened the door. “Whatever floats your boat, man.”

  Sarah’s own door opened.

  “Ready, boys?” Sarah turned the key in her deadbolt and faced them. Jett had never seen Sarah wearing earrings so large before, and the thick eyeliner above her lids made the almond shape of her green eyes seem almost catlike. Catlike . . . in a pretty way. She tied a decorative belt around her pea coat.

  Jett picked up the car seat and grabbed Drew’s roaming hand. “Not for us today. We’re going to try another church down the street.”

  Sarah glanced to Sunny, the gears clearly turning behind those catlike eyes of hers. “Oh? We could . . . go along with you if you wanted. I’m sure you could use the help.”

  He felt the tug from Drew toward the stairs, and gladly obliged. “No, you guys go on. I had to get out of the house with them eventually. Might as well be today.”

  Sarah seemed hesitant, uncertain as she watched him take the car seat from Sunny. “If you’re sure . . . Will you still meet us for lunch?”

  It was painful hearing how hard she was trying to sound nonchalant. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, which only pushed him more to know what he had to do: refuse the babysitting offers as much as possible, show an obvious nonchalance toward her, emphasize as much as possible that their relationship was utterly, wholly platonic. In essence, dig himself out of this grave of kindness. “We’ll probably lay low after service—or rather, services. You guys have fun.”

  She fiddled with her keys. “Oh. Alright. Well, we’re just a call away if you end up needing us. Right, Sunny?”

  “Oh, sure. Definitely. I’ll definitely not have my phone turned off the second you walk downstairs.”

  “Thanks, Sunny. You’re a true friend.” Jett let himself be pulled down the stairs by Drew, which didn’t feel too far off from getting yanked by a Doberman. “I’ll be sure to keep the kids away from your DVD collection while you’re gone.”

  * * *

  Cross Point, the old grocery building turned church he’d attended the past few months, was nothing like First Community. The church itself looked like an ancient European monastery with a mall parking lot, all plotted on no less than seventy-five acres. Just to get into the parking lot there were three volunteers in orange jackets directing him. Still, he got lost twice.

  “Stick on that roof!” Drew proclaimed, pointing out the window. “There’s a stick on that roof, Uncle Jett!”

  Jett squinted. “That’s what we call a steeple, buddy.”

  Three car seats to unbuckle, one pair of shoes kicked off to replace, and several hands to hold, and Jett finally made it into the stream of churchgoers in the main lobby. He searched around for a sign. Women in skirts carefully climbed the stairs to a second level. A group of men gathered in the center of the ornately red carpet, chatting. Three couples were standing next to various doors leading to what he could assume was the church sanctuary. They passed out sermon notes while someone inside struck the piano keys.

  Finally, a break in the crowd led to a sign, where the word Nursery was followed by an arrow.

  He pulled the kids left. Hey, this wasn’t so bad.

  Dakota was in one arm. TJ was drooling, fast asleep in his car seat in the other arm. Drew, for once, was calmly walking beside him down the deep and long hallway. The large, wallpaper-type pictures of people from around the world caused Drew to slow to a stop several times as he became fascinated by the face of an elderly Indian man or a Filipino child. For a minute Jett waited, letting Drew look at the photograph of two women washing their clothes along the Nile.

  He took a breath, eyes skimming over the card beside the photo describing the church’s work in that area. Despite the commencement tune on the piano down the hall, despite the rush of latecomers kicking up their heels and oxfords as they rushed by them into the sanctuary, the kids were quiet, and everything felt calm. Maybe he wasn’t so bad at this parenting thing after all. The kids were here, weren’t they? They were happy; they were clothed.

  In this moment he felt a sort of sweetness as he held his niece close and watched Drew’s wide eyes take in something new. The kid was always learning. Every day they were learning. And for the thousandth time he felt a pang, trying to imagine where Trina was, how she was faring, knowing she was missing this.

  He set TJ’s car seat down and leaned back against the wall, letting Drew take his moment to observe. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t going to be impossible. If he just got himself together, got a sitter when he was working, made a schedule, read some parenting books. He might have to find a bigger place, but the dream of settling into his own home had already started churning a few months ago. Gatlinburg had plenty of good houses out in the country, where you could open your blinds to something else besides a parking lot. Where you could drop a dumbbell on your floor without getting a complaint from downstairs tenants. He’d always liked the idea of having cows. Plenty a meal at work had come from the beef raised on the farm of one of the guys. He could call up his old buddy from high school he’d run into the other day, a realtor—

  “Are you looking for the nursery?” A middle-aged woman paused in her passing, her arm tucked around a stack of hymnals.

  He straightened up. “Yes, actually. This is our first time here.”

  “Wonderful. I can walk you there.” The woman smiled to Dakota and TJ as she spoke, her accent deep and rich. “Oh, how precious. And how old are they?”

  He picked up the car seat, took a step beside her down the hall. “This little guy is TJ. He’s—” He paused. How many weeks was he exactly? He’d never been told TJ’s exact birthdate. “Two months. Give or take a few weeks.”

  The woman’s brows rose.

  Jett pressed on. “The twins just turned three.”

  “Oh? She’s a twin?”

  “Yes. Her brother here—” He looked down to his side. Turned his head. “Her brother . . . Excuse me a moment.”

  Clinging tightly to Dakota on one hip and hauling TJ’s car seat in the other arm, Jett started jogging down the long, wide hall like a quarterback on the field—only this time his pale-green tie was slapping him in the face and the ball was an eight-pound baby.

  He’d only let his mind and eyes wander for a minute, and yet somehow there was no sign of his nephew at all. There were side halls that went off from the main hall every few seconds, but as his face swiveled from one side to the next, he found no sign of the wandering two-foot toddler. The piano ceased playing from inside the closed doors of the sanctuary, and vaguely Jett heard the group rise and begin a group call and response.

  The hall spilled back into the main lobby, and Jett swiftly turned in a circle in the center of it.

  Then he saw him.

  “Drew!” he hissed, sprinting across the lobby floor.

  Blood-red communion wine covered the front of his Thomas the Train T-shirt as he leaned against a small metal cart on tiptoe. Hundreds of tiny plastic cups filled the cart, which shook dangerously as the toddler picked one up and held it, the ounce of communion wine shimmering a candy-apple red.

  Jett dropped the car
seat midstride. Abruptly he set Dakota down as well. She tumbled to her bottom and began to wail beneath the glittering chandelier.

  Drew tipped the cup back just as Jett cleared six feet in one jump. He grabbed his nephew’s pudgy hand. Drew stumbled back a step, the cart shaking vigorously.

  An elder turned, suddenly aware the communion cart he was charged to protect was under siege.

  Gripping the empty communion cup, Drew looked up to Jett with a red stain already forming on his lips. He smiled. Several empty cups lay on the carpet around his feet.

  The car seat began to rock as TJ, alone beneath the three-tiered brass chandelier, gave a high-pitched scream that easily eclipsed his sister’s howls.

  The elder’s mouth couldn’t have gaped any wider.

  Jett picked up Drew. Chest heaving, he pointed to the cart. “Wine or grape juice?”

  The flabbergasted man looked as pasty as raw dough.

  “Is that wine or grape juice?” Jett repeated.

  “It’s—it’s—it’s juice. Just juice,” the elder replied, then gripped the cart protectively as though the pair was about to make another run for it.

  Jett let out a breath. “Thank you.”

  The elder’s mouth took ages to form words. “You’re . . . welcome.”

  Five minutes later, and one emergency bathroom trip (in which Drew rolled underneath the stalls, Dakota “missed” the potty, and TJ grabbed Jett’s tie midhandwashing, giving it a nice, deep soak), he hauled the trio back through the wide hall.

  Miraculously, the woman was still waiting, although she’d craned her neck uncertainly, as though unsure of his promised return. She said nothing as Jett held a teary-eyed TJ in one arm, the empty car seat banging against his hip. Clingy Dakota wrapped her knees deep into his stomach and back from the other side, and if Jett held Drew’s hand any tighter he would’ve been called out by social services.

  “So, where were we? Ah, yes. This is Drew.”

  “Hi. I’m five.” Drew held up four red-stained fingers and smiled with red-streaked teeth.

  The woman smiled at him. “Oh, my, isn’t that—”

  “He’s three.” Jett cut the southern charm. “Where is that nursery again?”

  Three turns, one water-fountain break, and a staircase later, he was finally, finally scribbling their names with numb fingers onto a check-in sheet. A young girl and waiting couple watched him silently as he wrote the contact information while gripping TJ in one arm. He finished, and pushed the clipboard the girl’s way, trying to manage a well-adjusted smile while every piece of evidence suggested the contrary: He was thirty minutes late to the service. Freshly splattered grape juice decorated his white button-up and crooked green tie. He felt the sticky residue of Dakota’s sucker on his neck.

  The door to the room opposite opened. A single line of toddlers obediently marched out.

  Drew, in the meantime, was rolling in the middle of the hall.

  “Oh, Mrs. Davis,” the girl called out. “We have two more who’d like to join you all today.”

  Mrs. Davis took one look at the twins and kept walking.

  “Mrs. Davis,” the girl called out again. She snapped her fingers. Leaned over the counter. “Mrs. Davis!”

  “Hm?” Mrs. Davis paused, as though giving in to the fact she was actually going to have to take them. “Oh, were you talking to me, dear?”

  With a bit more prodding, for the twins and Mrs. Davis, Dakota and Drew finally joined the marching line and headed down the hall.

  Now, just one more kid to unload, and he’d be free.

  “And if the baby falls asleep?” The mother beside him clasped tightly onto an infant twice TJ’s size while the father held a supportive arm around her shoulder. She was bouncing as she spoke to the girl at the desk. “Do you lay them on their stomachs or on their backs?”

  “On their backs, ma’am. We follow safe-sleeping guidelines.”

  “And during diaper changes? You wouldn’t put some synthetic cream on my baby without consent?”

  “No, ma’am. But to make sure, we can write that as a request on your family profile.”

  “Oh, yes. Please do.” The mother squinted toward the caretakers behind the girl—three ladies in their mid-seventies wearing white aprons and rocking infants. “They have all had their background checks?”

  Check-In Girl nodded patiently, as if such paranoid behavior was routine. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “How about your cleaning supplies? Do you know if you use bleach? Or vinegar?”

  “I—” The girl looked uncertain this time. “I think so. I can ask if you’d like.”

  “You think so, what? Yes, to bleach?” The woman bounced more rapidly on her toes and shot a glance to her husband. “Honey, if they’re going to use bleach on the toys, and then Thomas goes around licking them—”

  “Darling, he can’t even crawl yet. I doubt he’ll be licking the toys.”

  Jett leaned against the counter while the check-in girl stood on a chair, moving bottles around above the diaper-changing station. At this point, he would’ve taken an hour of lying in the middle of the hallway so long as he could just do it without kids. He could sleep on this countertop if they just let him.

  Six more questions, a handoff of a diaper bag larger than some suitcases, and one painfully long good-bye to their child with fourteen kisses—he counted—and it was finally his turn.

  “Here he is. I think he’s pooped.” Jett held TJ out, sans diaper bag, sans directions, sans kisses and painfully long hugs.

  She took him in her arms, calling out as he started around the corner. “Sir? About TJ’s date of birth.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut, cursing his feet for obeying and turning around. “Yes?”

  “You left it blank.”

  “October.” He threw out a number. “Let’s say October 25th.”

  “Sorry, sir. But childcare is only available for children eight weeks and up.”

  “The first, then. Does that work?” He adjusted his crooked, dripping tie.

  Her lips parted, then shut, then opened again. She patted TJ’s back. “Yes, sir. Okay, I’ll write that down.”

  “Thank you.”

  The preacher was well into the sermon by the time Jett slumped into a pew three rows from the back. He exhaled. Then a prayer started, and for one glorious minute there was silence in a room of well over one thousand people.

  A loud chime echoed from his pants pocket, loud as the drop of a headlamp echoing through a soundless cave. Perfect. Just perfect.

  Several eyes opened. Fumbling to pull out his phone, he caught Sarah’s text as he silenced it.

  Just checking in. You doing ok?

  Clinging to the single thread of dignity he had left, Jett jammed the phone into his pocket without answering.

  For the next forty solid minutes, he did nothing but breathe.

  It was heaven.

  “Let us stand.” The preacher lifted his arms, the cart of communion cups beside him. “Whenever you are ready, come.”

  Jett merged into the long line. A pause caused him to stop, and he looked ahead, two rows up, to see several women breaking into the crowd of people. His eyes started to move on. But then, like a lulling baby jerking awake, his gaze snapped to the two women he knew only too well.

  Donna Gene, standing out like a purple Easter egg in a basket of black eggs, adjusted her broad-rimmed violet hat just before pushing a walker into the line. Edie wobbled close behind, spraying her hand sanitizer in the air just before merging.

  “Excuse me.” Jett gestured for another woman to go ahead of him and ducked away. With a church that size there were two other lines on this floor, and another two on the floor above. He’d just have to move to another—

  A hand gripped him by the shirt and tugged him back.

  Cassie, grinning elfishly at the sight of him, pointed to his shirt.

  “What happened?” she whispered. “You look like you broke into the wine early.”

&nb
sp; “It’s grape juice, actually,” he whispered back. “And as a matter of fact, I did.”

  Her smile dropped slightly. “You did what now?” she hissed.

  Oh, right. As if he was going to explain everything here. In a silent sanctuary, with award-winning acoustics.

  Quickly, Jett flashed a warm, somewhat apologetic smile as if to say, “Oh, I’d love to chat, were it the right time,” and turned his face forward, head bowing reverently. Nobody ever interrupted a person with a bowed head; it was one of those universal rules. And sure enough, they silently went forward, took communion, and found their seats.

  A few final words and ten minutes later, Jett found himself back in the foyer among a sea of people—most important, the woman in the comfortable-looking gray-and-white striped dress who peered up at him.

  “What are you doing here?” Cassie stuck her arms into her dress pockets, a tease in her grin. “Are you stalking me now? I’ve never been stalked before. I probably shouldn’t sound so excited.”

  “This was my first time.” Jett crossed his arms, trying to cover as much of the stain as possible. At least the tie had stopped dripping at this point.

  “Sure. Sure. If you’re stalking me, I guess you’re not supposed to give it away. Well, what’d’ya think? Think you’ll stick around?”

  “I think I might.” The memory of Drew standing on tiptoes for the communion cups came back to him. “It took some work getting here, but it was worth it.” His smile tilted. “And no, not just because of the present company. Although it certainly is a plus.”

  And for several minutes he felt as though they were alone in the middle of the large foyer, standing beneath the chandelier amid a whirl of men greeting each other with friendly slaps on the backs, families toting children toward the nursery, and attendees leaving to make room for those coming. It was calm, it was normal. For the first time that morning, he felt like a decently pulled-together human being.