It really annoys me that a guy—yes Ashton is just a guy—has turned me into a mute. But in all fairness, it’s not Ashton. I had no problem talking to him on my own turf.
It’s just that the turf he hangs out on is totally foreign to me.
I wonder if that’s how he and his suit felt in Sunday school class. Or at lunch at the Hot Spot.
Omigosh! He frequents places that park his car and we made him carry his own tray.
Oh, the faux pas of the common people.
But if he was willing to step out of his comfort zone and carry his own tray, then the least I can do is step out of mine and let people pamper me.
And speak.
Now that sounds like a fair trade.
Even though I can’t imagine eating another bite, the waiter, who is dressed nicer than the valet attendant, which makes him dressed twice as nice as I am, slides an elegant piece of cheesecake in front of me.
Slides. Elegant. Those words aren’t an exaggeration. Everything about this place is luxurious. The napkins are soft just like the tablecloth that I want to pull off to take home and lay on my bed.
The chairs have more padding than any of my bras. And what’s not soft, sparkles. Real shimmer and shine. At least my hair fits in even if I don’t.
“How do you like the cheesecake?” Ashton asks.
“It’s great,” I say. “Probably the best I’ve ever tasted.” And that’s the truth.
“I’m glad you like it,” he says. “Say, I kind of heard talk Sunday about some of you planning a mission trip. Are you going?”
“Yes. Me, Velvet, Keifer and Braedyn along with some mission leaders in the church. We leave the sixteenth of July. Which puts me back in town one week before I’m throwing my mother a surprise party, which I admit isn’t good planning, but I can’t change my mother’s birthday or the mission trip date.”
Okay. Why did I reveal all that information? I think I’m better off not speaking.
“Sounds like you’ve got a busy schedule. How do you find out about the mission trips? Do you just sign up?”
I know my eyes are narrowing and I’m trying with all my might to stop them. I open them wide and bat my lashes in a hopefully successful attempt to look pleasant instead of skeptical. Could the celebrity baseball player really be interested in mission trips?
I’m not judging. Really I’m not. But from conversation I’ve learned that until last Sunday he hadn’t been to church in many, many years. And mission work is not for everybody. It’s physically hard work, spiritually hard work. You learn, you teach, you become really close to God.
But, if celebrity baseball player wants to go on a mission trip someday, who am I to discourage him? We need to build the body of Christ and I can be a living, breathing part of the body now by encouraging him.
“Our church is big so we have several mission trips going throughout the year,” I say. “The one we’re going on is full. It’s been planned for a while, but I think they’re planning one for October if you’d like to look into it.”
“Are you going then, too?” he asks.
Could the look on his face be described as hopeful?
Speaking of his face, he appears cuter every time I see him. His brown fly-away hair flies away from his face in a rugged sort of way. He has impeccable manners, and his nails look manicured.
Okay. I’ll stop there. Some things are better left unknown.
“No. I’m only going on one mission trip this year. I preferred the sweltering heat of the summer as opposed to the cool, possibly wet fall.”
He laughs. “Well, maybe I’ll look into the October trip. I’ve got some things going on, so I’ll see.”
Some things going on. Now that’s a really vague statement. Again, celebrity etiquette would be real handy right about now. Do I ask what things are going on? Or do I assume he’s being vague because he doesn’t want me to know?
I may not know celebrity etiquette, but I know my own. “If you decide you want to go, let me know. I’ll put you in touch with the people in charge.”
“Sure. Thanks.”
He sets his napkin on the table and within seconds the waiter brings the black mini-briefcase that houses the bill.
I’m fighting feelings of guilt. There were no prices on the menu. The bill probably has three numbers before the decimal and it’s only a lunch. But I tell the guilt to go away. I didn’t ask him to bring me here. He showed up and volunteered.
He may have three digit lunches every day, for all I know. You know, I don’t know a lot considering I’m supposed to be his girl.
But then again, we are from different worlds. That phrase may mean nothing in his world, but for some reason it’s bothering me.
By golly, if I’m somebody’s girl I want to know about it.
CHAPTER 4
It’s seven o’clock Sunday morning. The David Crowder Band is blasting in my bedroom. Actually, it’s my cell phone ringing and it only sounds like it’s blasting because it’s seven a.m. and I was asleep.
No. I was not dreaming about Ashton.
Okay, so my alarm is set to go off in thirty minutes anyway, but that’s thirty minutes worth of sleep I’m sure I need.
Caller ID equals Velvet.
“Good morning,” I rasp as I try to sit up.
“Allison. You’re in the paper. You’re a celebrity!”
I know it’s early, but I thought she called me a celebrity. I don’t know what she’s talking about.
“What?”
“It’s right here. In the society section of the AJC. The headline doesn’t flatter you really, but the article does. Can I read it to you?”
I stumble out of bed, pull my curtains aside and look at the driveway. There sits our Sunday paper.
“No. I need coffee. I’m going to get the paper out of the driveway. What page?”
“Lifestyle section, page two. I’m meeting Trent anyway, so I’ll see you in ten. Love you.”
I flip my phone shut. She still loves me. Her words warm my heart. And then I remember why she called and my heart doesn’t feel so warm anymore.
I know this has to do with Ashton.
I pad my way downstairs, flip the coffee pot on, and wander outside, pj’s and all, to retrieve the huge paper. If it gets any bigger we’ll need a crane.
In the kitchen I dump all the sections on the floor except for the Lifestyle section. I turn the front page.
There I am. With Ashton. And Velvet is right. The headline is way less than flattering.
PITCHER TRADES BEAUTY FOR BRAINS
Wow. Don’t I feel special? I’m standing next to Ashton as we were heading into Panos. I’m looking down like a true celebrity avoiding eye contact with the paparazzi. Ashton’s arm is possessively steering my elbow and he looks gorgeous. Smiling, confidant. And why not? He’s with a brainiac.
At least that what the paper thinks.
Former relief pitcher Ashton Boyd appears to have a new agenda concerning women. His blonde-haired companion tries to hide her beauty behind her sedate hairstyle and classically smart glasses. We don’t know her name, but if Ashton keeps spending time with this lovely unknown he won’t be able to keep her a secret much longer. The couple appear to be happy and when asked for an interview Ashton declined, stating “I’m having lunch with my girl.”
In other happenings, Friday night’s Gala Benefit held …
Friday night’s Gala Benefit doesn’t interest me. Ashton Boyd’s agenda does.
Am I flattered or mad? Both, which leaves me in a somewhat confused state of mind.
“Did you see? Did you see?”
Velvet bounds into the kitchen. She embraces me in a big hug.
“I know a celebrity. I know a celebrity,” she squeals as she lets go of me and pirouettes around the kitchen. She doesn’t look like a ballerina; she looks more like one of the fruits on the wallpaper has fallen off and is in the process of tumbling to the ground.
“Cut it out, Velvet. I’m not a celebrity an
d you know it. This is trash.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you had lunch with Ashton?”
Because you are extremely busy being Trelvet I want to say, but I don’t.
“I tried calling you Saturday but you didn’t answer.”
“Why didn’t you leave a message?”
Good question. Does I didn’t feel like it sound like a good response?
“I don’t know. I knew I would see you today at church, so I just thought I’d talk to you there.”
“What’s all the commotion about, girls?”
My mother and grandmother are standing in the doorway. Great. They are going to blow this out of proportion just like Velvet.
Velvet grabs her copy (yes, she brought her own paper) and shoves it in their faces.
“Allison is in the society section of the paper. Her picture and all. Isn’t it fabulous?”
My mother and grandmother peer closely at the paper.
“I can’t read this tiny print. My glasses are upstairs,” Grandma Fola says.
“Here,” Velvet says. “I’ll read it to you.”
She proceeds to read the article aloud. It sounds worse by the minute.
“So,” Grandma says, “this is the nice baseball player you told me you had lunch with? I didn’t know you two were a couple.”
“We’re not,” I say. “We’re not a couple.”
“The paper says you are,” Mother says.
“You believe the paper over your own daughter?” I ask.
Mother shrugs. She’s getting very good at shrugging lately.
Velvet, Mother and Grandma Fola just stare at me like I’m under a microscope.
“Look,” I start. “Believe me. Ashton and I aren’t dating. I don’t even know how to get a hold of him. Velvet, do you know how to get a hold of Trent?”
“Of course I do,” she says.
“Have you talked to him in the last thirty six hours?” I ask.
“Sure, I have. What does that mean?”
“It means you’re a couple.” There. I’ve said it. And it doesn’t hurt. As much. I’m making progress. “I don’t know Ashton’s phone number. I haven’t talked to him in the last thirty-six hours. Which means we are not a couple.”
“Oh,” Velvet says as she sits down in a chair across the table from me. “I mean, if you don’t want to be a couple with him, that’s fine. I just think it’s fun having your picture in the paper.”
“Of course it’s fun,” Grandma says. “Now I’m going to get ready for church.”
She heads out which leaves Mother in the doorway alone.
Mother walks over to me and kisses me on the top of the head. “Looks like that ponytail has finally paid off for you, dear.”
Walking into church with confrontation as your main objective isn’t what God wants. I know this, but I can’t help myself.
Ashton has put me in an awkward spot, and he needs to explain himself. I’m going to let him know I’m not somebody he can just call when he wants. Or better yet, he can’t just show up at my office unannounced and sweep me off my feet.
Which is basically what happened Friday.
Then this.
Until Velvet’s call, I had been looking forward to seeing him this morning. I had been praying for God to keep me grounded. Not make something out of nothing. I was prepared to greet Ashton as a friend, look at him as someone who is fun to be around and not expect anything more.
But the article threw everything out of whack. I think what bothers me the most is the false spin it throws on our relationship. The article implies we have one when we don’t.
I walk into the Sunday school classroom and quickly scope the place.
No Ashton. But there appears to be a worse disaster.
Trent is wearing a pink dress shirt.
Pink.
This is a disaster on several levels. Trent has made several comments about guys who wear pink. I won’t go into those. They really weren’t very Christian and we prayed about it.
Velvet’s favorite color in the whole wide world is pink. As unsettling as it is, I need no more proof that Trent is involved.
At least now I know at what level he’s involved.
He’s hooked.
I glance at my watch. Not quite nine-thirty and I’ve already had three disasters. Four if you include Mother’s off the wall comment.
Trials. Perseverance. Oh Lord, I’m trying. Help!!!!
I make my way to the seat next to Velvet. She smiles that I’ve-got-a-secret smile. I had asked her not to bring up the article while we were at church. She understood and agreed not to.
“Nice shirt.”
I say this to Trent because whether Trelvet knows it or not, the pink shirt makes a huge statement. One I’m not willing to ignore.
“I’m not commenting on your situation, so no comments on mine,” Trent says. Then he smiles his really cool Trent smile. The one I’ve grown to know and love.
It’s then I notice the glow about him. You know. The glow? Is the glow reserved for women? Maybe men only glow when they wear pink shirts.
What I do know is this. My resistant heart, the one that can’t bear to even think about Trelvet, needs to remember the glow. Love is great. What if Trelvet is living the true romance? Can I accept their love?
I glance their way, hoping to somehow glimpse their happiness. Trent is still glowing, but Velvet’s scowl sends a clear message. No more pink wise-cracks.
Sighing, I look the other way directly into another scowl. Braedyn’s. I straighten my shoulders in an attempt to escape.
“I never knew you were so sneaky, Allison Doll,” she whispers. Her eyes are slits barely hinting at the brown behind them. I guess I don’t have a monopoly on a confrontational spirit today.
Braedyn’s fist is tapping the Bible that sits on her lap, and I’m very glad her red pointed shoe is facing the other way as her crossed leg is swinging with fervor.
I’m sure God is not very thrilled with us at this moment.
Here’s how I see this playing out. I mean, she’s obviously read the paper. She has noticed that Ashton isn’t here today, because if he had been anywhere in the vicinity I can guarantee she would not be acting this way.
She’s mad because she thinks I have something she wants. I could try and explain the situation but in her frame of mind we all know that she wouldn’t hear me. The red anger hazing her brain prohibits her from hearing reason and logic.
So I choose not to comment at this time.
Although I will comment later. Braedyn and I have been friends a long time. Not special friends like Velvet and me, but smile-how-are-you-doing and actually caring friends.
Soon our prayer meetings with the others going on the mission trip will begin. As a group we decided to hold prayer sessions once a week in an effort to prepare our minds and hearts to do God’s will on our trip.
Braedyn and I are going to have to clear the air before then, but right this minute isn’t the time. Velvet and I are also going to have to clear the air.
How ironic is my situation? Trent is messing up my friendship with Velvet. Ashton is messing up my friendship with Braedyn.
My life is in havoc because of two men, and I don’t even have one to call my own.
CHAPTER 5
I relax on my back deck in solitude trying to put my life in perspective.
I read and reread the scripture lesson Jax taught this morning since I wasn’t concentrating during Sunday school. I found myself too focused on the fact that I was sitting between two hostile females and their hostility was directed toward me.
The sun shines and there is a coolness to the breeze which makes being outside possible. The Bible and nature go great together. You know like coffee and biscotti. Oreos and milk.
Hummingbirds flock to the feeder Grandma Fola recently hung up. They buzz around, then gorge themselves on the sugary liquid they need to survive.
I guess that’s what I’m doing. Trying to gorge myself on God�
�s word so I can survive. I can’t afford to lose any perspective I’ve manage to gain in my twenty-nine years.
This last week my life has taken turns I never expected, culminating with Friday’s lunch with Ashton. I kept thinking about how cool it was to be surrounded by all that luxury. But God has a way of setting me straight.
I look at my Bible again at the words of James.
The rich should take pride in a low position because they will pass away like a wildflower. In other words, riches don’t mean anything. They don’t make you a better person. They don’t make you a holy person.
Why didn’t Ashton show up today? Even though I wanted to yell at him a part of me wanted to see him for good reasons too. We seemed to “click” at lunch. The conversation had flowed. There weren’t those moments of thinking “This isn’t working. This is a waste of time.”
I can choose to look at things two ways. What I have and what I don’t. Right at this moment I don’t have Velvet, Braedyn or Ashton. What I would miss about Velvet and Braedyn if this situation continues, would be the familiarity. What I would miss about Ashton is the really getting-to-know-you part.
Such extremes. Such turmoil.
Maybe if I close my eyes and click my heels three times and repeat “I want my old life back. I want my old life back” it will happen.
I know the answer doesn’t lie in magical sayings or rituals. The answers lie in God.
I sit up straighter, wipe the corners of my eyes and continue reading.
To say Mondays are hectic would be a gross understatement, so I don’t feel a bit guilty about walking out of the fancy glass doors of our building at five minutes until six.
The sun warms my face as I make my way to my car. My heart turns cold as I see what’s parked next to my car.
The classic Jaguar. Sleek, silver and … suspect.
My steps slow while my heart speeds up. What is he doing here?
I wet my lips, wishing I had taken a moment to put on some lipstick. I take a deep breath, hoping I don’t look as haggard as I feel.
He steps out of his car like an actor on cue. His moves are precise and perfect. How can this be?
“Allison,” he says, walking towards me. “You look great.”
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