'Til I Want No More

by Robin W. Pearson

  Maxine coughed but shook her head.

  Theodore’s index finger tickled Maxine’s palm. “Nothing could be further from the truth. You’ll see for yourself when you meet them what a beautiful blend they all are of Miss Viv and First John. It’s like they just spit them out. Are you okay, Max?”

  “Miss Viv? First John?” Again, Reverend Atwater consulted the clipboard in front of him.

  “Umm . . . ,” she croaked. “That’s what Theodore—Teddy—calls my mother and stepfather, Vivienne and John Owens. I’m sorry. Do you mind if I get some water?” She released Teddy’s hand.

  “Let me, Max.” Theodore gently pulled her back to a seated position, but before he could rise, the pastor pushed away from his leather-topped desk and unfolded himself from his chair.

  “No, please. Let me.” He strode over to a cart parked in the corner. It held a crystal pitcher of ice water and several glasses. “Maxine, is Theodore always this helpful? He’s barely letting you get a word in. I thought he’d had more than his say out there in the sanctuary.”

  “About that, Pastor . . .” Teddy cleared his throat.

  “No offense intended, Theodore, and none taken.” He laughed and handed over her water. “But let’s hear what Maxine has to say.”

  “It’s just she’s—”

  Reverend Atwater placed an icy glass in front of Teddy and shushed him with one raised, gray-streaked brow. Then he trained his expectant, hazel eyes on Maxine, who was rubbing her engagement ring this way and that with her left thumb.

  “Teddy’s right, Pastor. I am feeling . . . a bit out of my element.” Maxine sipped her water. “But I can surely speak for myself. In fact, I do so all the time in my magazine column, My Daily Grace. And very well, in fact, according to my editor. Jean credits my column with the slight uptick in subscriptions, which we desperately need.”

  The pastor swiveled from left to right in his high-backed chair. “Aah, she speaks! My wife and I are part of that ‘uptick’ at your magazine. We subscribed after Teddy shared the news of your engagement. I have to say, Maxine, you seem—how do you say it?—a mite less forthcoming in person.”

  She uncrossed her legs and sat a bit straighter. “That’s the nature of my calling, I think. I tend to ‘talk’ more with the words I write than the words I speak. Something Teddy will have to get used to.” She glanced at the man in question.

  Theodore took a deep breath and smiled.

  “So you do most of your preaching with your pen while I do mine from the pulpit?” Again Reverend Atwater swiveled in his chair.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m usually the choir I’m preaching to.” Maxine started to sweat under the spotlight over their conversation. She cocked her head toward the door leading to the sanctuary. “As you may have heard out there, Teddy and I were talking about the purpose of these meetings. I understand you want to get to know us—at least, get to know me—but what will we talk about for almost a year? Will you include a membership class as a bonus?”

  The pastor chuckled with her. “So you intend to join our church?”

  “Of course she does!”

  Still laughing, both Maxine and the older gentleman turned at the outburst.

  Theodore winced. “I’m sorry, but it’s not in me to sit still.”

  “Believe me, I know. I’ve prayed over you often enough since you moved here from the Big Easy.” Reverend Atwater shook his head at the younger man. “But, Maxine, that is your intent?”

  She smiled at Teddy. “Of course. Leave and cleave.”

  “Hmm.” The pastor ruffled the pages, but he didn’t look down this time. “Yes, leave and cleave. Well, you have some time before you need to wield any sharp objects.

  “As far as your questions about why we meet for such a long time, well, I think we’ll all discover that as we go along. Seven meetings may sound arbitrary, but I assure you, it isn’t. Seven is the biblical number of completion. And it isn’t as long as ‘until death do you part,’ now, is it?”

  Maxine pictured her eight-year-old self, standing by the window in her mother’s front room, waving good-bye as her daddy climbed into his car that long-ago night. Reverend Atwater’s voice drew her back to the land of the living.

  “I’m looking forward to this time together, and there’s nothing to be nervous about. I’m not trying to uncover any deep, dark secrets or put my stamp of approval—” his fingers made quotation marks—“on you. If God has brought you together, who am I to say anything different? I just want to help you both discover more about each other and your expectations for marriage. And it looks like we’ve already started to peel the onion.”

  “What do you mean?” Theodore shifted in his chair.

  “We’ve already learned Maxine’s a woman of few words—spoken, at least. You’d better start listening closely, son. Learn to pick up on some context clues.” He looked from one to the other. “Okay then. Let’s pray and seek the Lord for His will for you as a couple and for you individually.” Reverend Atwater stood and reached out a hand to each of them.

  Teddy sprang to his feet and stretched out his hand to grip the pastor’s.

  Maxine rose a little more slowly, to make sure her shaky legs would hold her. “Does that mean you plan to meet with us separately?”

  “If need be. If that’s what you’d like. But I try to see you two as God sees you. As one.”

  Her icy fingers reached for both her fiancé and the pastor. “I wonder what else God sees when He sees me.”

  Reverend Atwater smiled. He squeezed her hand and bowed his head. “That’s for Him to know and for you to find out. Let us pray.”

  Chapter Three

  “WHAT DID YOU THINK about Reverend Atwater?”

  Maxine plucked a brown packet of raw sugar from the basket in the middle of the wrought iron table. “He’s not as cute as a certain headmaster, but I like him.”

  “I knew you would.” Teddy sprinkled salt and pepper over his BLT.

  “Did you now?” She tapped the packet inside her left palm, tore it open, and emptied the sugar into her teacup.

  “Yes, because he’s a lot like you: he’s great one-on-one, and his messages resonate. But generally, he thinks more than he says.” Teddy took a bite and swallowed.

  Silenced by his assessment, Maxine folded and refolded the napkin in her lap. At first, she’d thought it a hoot to bring her readership along on her yearlong trip down the aisle. She’d connect weekly wedding updates on her website to her monthly magazine column. Now she wondered what she’d been thinking. Sacrificing her privacy to boost sales made her insides itch.

  Apparently Teddy was itching to talk about Reverend Atwater. His feet were firmly planted in the man’s pulpit. “Will you feature him in My Daily Grace?”

  Maxine smoothed the cloth and let it go. “Probably, since he’s an important part of our trip to the altar.”

  “If your post is due Saturday, you’d better get to it. Especially since we’re fresh from our first meeting. Speaking of meetings—” he checked his watch—“I hate to cut short our date, but I’m meeting with the art department at five thirty.”

  “Art department? It’s two people, Teddy.” Maxine emptied another packet into her tea, then stirred slowly. She took a cautious sip.

  “Well, you tell them that.” He picked up his sandwich. “You felt comfortable with him?”

  “Comfortable with whom?” Though Maxine knew who Teddy meant, she enjoyed making him squirm a bit. She relented when she saw him nearly choke on his last bite of bacon, lettuce, tomato, and ciabatta bread. “Yes, I felt very comfortable with Pastor Atwater. And I think it’s cool we’re being married by my pastor and counseled by yours. A meeting of the minds.” Maxine tucked into her collard green egg rolls, the only reason she ever ate at Sassafras.

  “Hmmm . . . a meeting of the minds. That’s one way to put it.” He took a draft of his sweet tea before wiping away the mustache of droplets over his top lip. “A nice title for your post, too.�
� He used a fork to pilfer some greens from her plate.

  “You seem quite invested in my article. You want to write it?” Maxine watched him stop short of popping the food into his mouth, almost relished the sound the stainless steel made when he dropped the fork with a clang onto his plate.

  “Excuse me? Did I say something wrong?” Teddy slowly retrieved his napkin from his lap and wiped his hands.

  But her fire flickered out as quickly as it flared. Retreating, she graced him with a view of her curly auburn crown as she busied herself with searching for yet another pack of raw sugar, tearing it open, and stirring, stirring, stirring. “No, but it seems I did.”

  “You haven’t said much at all.”

  Maxine sighed and set her spoon in the saucer. “Didn’t the pastor say something about listening closely to this woman of few words?”

  “Not this few. Not usually. ‘There is no following her in this fierce vein.’”

  Maxine squinted at him. “A Midsummer Night’s Dream. From Sherlock to Shakespeare. You’re quite the bulldog today. Am I the bone?”

  He shook his head. “Never, babe. Or should I say, always. I love you, and I’m interested in your work. In you. In us. I told you, I don’t intend to fail anything that relates to you.”

  Maxine watched him silently eye his plate.

  “You are still writing about our wedding plans?” Teddy’s voice was quiet as his tapered index finger traced the diamond-shaped ironwork in the table.

  More than a few uncomfortable seconds passed before Maxine reached across the table and covered his wandering hand with one of hers, bringing it to rest. With her free hand, she picked up a collards-stuffed bite of egg roll and slid it between his lips. “Just call me Bridezilla. I’m sure I’ll get scarier than this in the months to come. You’re going to see an entirely different side of me.” She kissed his fingers, then moved to refresh her tea.

  “Maxine? Hey!”

  Maxine dropped the pot with a thump, rattling her cup. Pale-green tea splashed into the saucer. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Theodore scoot back his chair. “Evelyn!” Maxine could barely speak over the lump in her throat as, in one big gulp, her eyes consumed the pregnant woman grinning at them.

  “No, please, don’t stand.” Evelyn set down her Sassafras take-out bag and moved her right hand in Theodore’s direction, as a conductor would indicate a decrescendo to the woodwind section. She wrinkled her nose after he stood. “Gracious, I’m interrupting your—” she glanced at the slim watch on her wrist—“lunch?”

  Maxine stopped dabbing the table and joined Teddy. She reached deep down, retrieved a smile to cover her shock, and plastered it on her face. “We’re just having a quick meal.”

  Their visitor’s eyes alighted on the nearly six-foot-tall man for a moment before flitting back to Maxine’s face. Eyebrows raised, she inclined her head in his direction.

  Maxine rounded the table to her side and brushed her cheek with a kiss. “Evelyn Lester, this is the man I told you about—Theodore Charles. Theodore, Evelyn.”

  “Well, I think I did a better job of introducing you to Reverend Atwater.” Chuckling, he edged around the table and extended his right hand.

  “Not according to my recollection.” Maxine elbowed him in his side.

  “Reverend Atwater?” Again, Evelyn’s eyes leapfrogged from one to the other.

  “Teddy’s pastor.” She opened the door a little more so Evelyn could put both her feet on their conversation’s welcome mat. “We met with him for premarital counseling.”

  Her mouth a lowercase o, Evelyn’s tummy bumped against the table as she stepped closer. “Premarital counseling? A lot happened while I was dealing with my Granny B. You’re getting married? I knew your mystery man was special, but you neglected to mention this big news!”

  “Not as big as some things, I guess.” Maxine nodded toward Evelyn’s obtrusive body part that had nearly capsized her cup. “I didn’t bring it up the other day because I wanted to hear about you, the baby, and Kevin.” She leaned closer to her fiancé to explain, “Evelyn’s husband, Kevin Lester.”

  Evelyn’s left hand splayed against the side of her abdomen. “As you can see, I’m about to pop any minute. Kevin’s at Mama’s house now, with my brother. I’ve . . . we’ve been spending more time there since everything happened with Granny B. Actually, we have a big family thing planned later.” Evelyn sucked in a breath and her eyes widened a bit.

  Seeing the emotions do a two-step across Evelyn’s face, Maxine’s own eyes narrowed. She wondered about the hidden thoughts percolating in her friend’s head. She watched Evelyn’s shirt stretch tightly across her middle, listened to her struggle for words as she filled the couple in on her husband and his company, her grandmother’s illness, and her new baby girl on the way.

  Celeste.

  “Maxine?”

  She dragged herself from her stupor to find both Evelyn and Theodore staring at her. Maxine’s smile wavered but never quite righted itself on her face, so she stopped trying and shrugged. “Oops, you caught me. I’ve got a lot on my mind these days. What did I miss?”

  “Your fiancé asked how long we’ve known each other, and I told him we were raised eating grits and bacon together.”

  “Then you should be able to tell me why Maxine uses Mama Ruby instead of calling her Grandma or Grandmother. Is that a North Carolina thing?” When silence rolled in like a fog after his question, Teddy turned to Maxine.

  Maxine imagined herself straining to pick up a set of barbells. She kept sliding off weights until finally, she stripped the truth to its bare bones. “My mother left me with my grandparents for a couple years after my daddy died. During that time I started calling my grandmother Mama Ruby because she became a mother to me. That’s when I met Evelyn.” This time she mustered a smile to lighten the mood. “Evelyn’s Granny B introduced me to tender greens, and my life was forever changed.”

  Evelyn’s eyes twinkled. “Forever changed? Really? So why was I not good enough to meet this guy?”

  If anyone’s not good enough . . . “Guilty again. It all happened so fast, Ev.”

  “I see that.” Evelyn tapped Maxine’s shoulder in what seemed a gentle rebuke. “Theodore, you do know you’ve got a passionflower on your hands.”

  “Maxine? My Maxine? No-o-o, she’s a peach blossom.”

  More like a wild Irish rose, Maxine thought. Her eyes met Evelyn’s before blinking, her trembling fingers reaching for his steady ones.

  “And please, call me Theo or Teddy. I keep looking around for my dad when you say ‘Theodore.’”

  Evelyn crinkled her nose at him. “Well, if Maxie calls you Teddy, I guess I should too, but if I’m not mistaken, passionflowers and peach blossoms both flourish in hothouses.”

  Cringing inwardly, Maxine pretended not to notice Teddy’s smirk. She took the wheel and turned the conversation around. “Hothouse, Evelyn? You’re starting to sound like Granny B and Mama Ruby.” She checked her watch. “Didn’t you say you had a family commitment? I hate to hold you.”

  Evelyn’s laughter petered out. Her fingertips tapped her midsection and she shifted the large white paper bag with the tip of her boot. “Thanks for reminding me. I do need to get these back to Mama’s and meet . . . Kevin and . . . the family. And I should let y’all get back to your date. Theodore—I mean Teddy—it was good to meet you. Maxie . . .” She leaned in as much as she could and kissed her former classmate’s cheek. She pulled a curl and let it spring into place. “I’m glad you’re letting your hair down.” She retrieved her bag with one hand and waggled the fingers of the other. “Kiss your mama for me.”

  Maxine and Theodore stood quietly, watching her waddle away. Then he sat down and inched his heavy iron chair closer to the table. “Maxie, huh? A hothouse flower?” The corners of his mouth lifted as he picked up another crouton and crunched it.

  As she returned to her seat, Maxine felt his eyes follow her, as if she would suddenly sprout crimson petals and
velvety green leaves right there on the spot and he didn’t want to miss the transformation. She dug up a chuckle. “She’s a funny one, that Evelyn. Not many people call me Maxie.”

  “She seems nice. And it also seems like something is going on with her husband, or at least it did. Kevin, is it?” Theodore wiped his hands and dropped his crushed napkin on the crumbs on his plate.

  “You think so?” And here I am, broken myself, whispering, pointing, and dissecting somebody else’s problems. Didn’t I warn Mother? “Maybe she was distracted. You know how pregnant women can be.”

  “No-o-o, actually, I don’t. Is that something from the bylaws of the women’s-only club I don’t know about? Oh!” Theodore abruptly looked at his watch. “This has been fun, babe, but if I don’t leave now, I’ll be late for my meeting with the art . . . teachers.” He stood and pushed his chair under the table.

  Maxine half rose and met his lips for a lingering kiss. She caressed his cheek. “I love you. Talk to you later?”

  “Of course.” He winked and bent to retrieve his leather briefcase. “Good-bye, my hothouse flower.” Without a backward glance, he wove through the tables and chairs toward the front door of the café.

  A wilted Maxine reclaimed her seat. Bemused, she picked up her cup and took a slow slurp. Ugh! She hated lukewarm tea. She twisted to get her purse from the back of the chair.

  “Not to your liking, Maxie?”

  Maxine whirled one hundred eighty degrees, and her elbow caught the delicate china she’d just set down. She gasped and stretched for it as it rolled toward the edge of the table, but all ten fingers bobbled the teacup and just missed grasping the handle. In those precious seconds before it shattered on the concrete floor, Maxine noted the torn brown sugar packets around the saucer, the smudges on Theodore’s drained glass, the green tea dripping through the wrought iron mesh, and the surprised server who’d chosen that moment to slip the check onto the table.

  It only took seconds, but her life as she knew it ended as her heart resumed beating. Maxine’s eyes crept up from the leather Timberland boots, to the dark-washed denims and chambray shirt, and finally to the widow’s peak of the man before her. His hair. It’s longer and curlier than I remember. And he has a beard!