by Meg Moseley
We had to talk about it sometime. Might as well get started.
I glanced toward him. “So, you survived meeting my mom.”
“Yes, indeed. She’s a great cook.”
“I knew you would appreciate her cooking, but . . .”
“Yeah, but.” He sighed. “Why is she friendly toward Eric but so unfriendly toward me?”
“We’ve known Eric forever, but you came out of nowhere. And you’re a fast-moving, fast-talking guy from the city. To Mom, that makes you too much like my dad.”
“But I’m not him.”
“No, but she’ll take some convincing.”
“If she thinks giving me dirty looks will scare me off, she’s wrong, but she’ll make us miserable the rest of our lives if we don’t stand up to her.”
Had he heard himself? The rest of our lives? He might as well have mentioned marriage. It should have made me shiver in anticipation, but I slumped in my seat and tried not to cry.
“It’s not my place to deal with it, though,” he added. “She’s your mother.”
“I know.” My voice cracked. “You can’t fix the problem for me.”
“I wish you hadn’t kept it from me for so long. We’re a team. I’m on your side.”
“Now there are sides? You want me to choose between you and her?”
“No, but I don’t want her to sabotage us.”
That familiar ringtone came from the depths of my purse, and I started digging for my phone. “Speak of the devil.”
“We were just there,” Gray said. “What could she possibly need?”
His tone made me hesitate, phone in hand. “Well . . .”
“Let it go to voice mail,” he said.
“She’ll wonder why I’m not picking up. She’ll worry.”
“Oh, you’re worried that she might worry?”
I hit Ignore and slid the phone into my purse. “There. She’ll live.”
“And so will you.”
I felt cut off, though. Disconnected. As if the phone were the umbilical cord and Gray had snipped it. Who was he to talk, though? He couldn’t live without his phone.
But his mother didn’t call him all the time.
I glanced out my window at a strip mall that had fallen on hard times. Most of its storefronts were vacant, the parking spots empty. The place looked as dismal as I felt.
Gray reached for my hand. “You okay?”
His instant awareness of my mood nearly brought me to tears. “I’m fine,” I said lightly. “But it’s kind of painful to keep hacking away at the apron strings.”
“I’ve never had that problem with my parents. We’ve never lived in each other’s pockets.”
“Lucky you.”
He squeezed my hand. “I am lucky, Ellie. I have you.”
There he went again, saying things that should have made my heart turn somersaults.
He pulled off of Highway 78 and made a couple of turns. As we passed his apartment complex and then Java Town, I tried to imagine being married. Would I move in with him, or would he move in with me? My apartment was bigger, but his backed up to Lenox Park. We could go running there in the evenings. Have coffee on his balcony in the mornings, or walk to Java Town. Together. We would even pay our bills together. That would be a relief. I’d been living a bit beyond my means.
He slowed for a red light near the little white church. “Done any weeding lately?”
Hearing the smile in his voice, I smiled too. It was good to have the meeting-Mom thing behind us. “No. You keep me too busy. Have you seen your friends lately?”
“The guerrillas? The bride and groom? No. I don’t know them well.”
“Really? It was such a small wedding, I thought they’d only invited family and close friends.”
“I know him from work, but working from home so much, I don’t see him often. I’d never met her. They weren’t getting any love from their families because there was already a baby on the way. So . . . when he invited me, it just seemed right to go.”
No wonder he’d asked me not to rat out his friends. They had enough troubles.
I wished Mom would see this side of Gray. His kindness. But she would only see that he socialized with people who put the bed before the wed, as she would put it.
As if she had any room to talk.
“Your friends looked happy,” I said. “I hope it lasts.”
“I do too.” He hit the gas as the light turned green. “I wonder what the minister there would think of a guerrilla wedding on church property.”
“He probably wouldn’t approve. I suspect he’s pretty conservative. I’ve seen him a few times, from a distance, and he looks like an old country preacher.”
“You’ve never spoken with him?”
“No, and I hope I never will. It would be awkward to explain.”
He laughed softly. “You told me you pull weeds to escape when life gets crazy, but I think it’s to de-stress from time with your mom. Or to shore up your courage for the next visit.”
“You’re probably right. So, are you gonna start weeding with me?”
“Nah. She doesn’t scare me. Much.”
My heart was lighter by the time we arrived at Myrtle Gate. He punched the code at the security gate, drove to my apartment, and walked me to the door. Inside, I dropped my purse on the floor. Gray pulled me close and made all my worries evaporate like mist in the sun.
When we were in the middle of an especially enjoyable smooch, Mom’s ringtone chimed.
“Again?” he murmured against my lips. “Ignore.”
“But I have to talk to—”
He released me and stepped away, frowning, while the phone repeated its insistent tune from the floor. “If you have to talk to your mother at this particular moment—”
“That’s the whole point. I have to talk to her right now and tell her to bug off. It’s gonna get ugly, so you might as well go home.” I tried to steer him toward the door.
He resisted, sneaking in one last kiss. “Okay, then. Call me later—and good luck.”
As soon as he was out the door, I grabbed my phone. “Mom, please. I have a life.”
“I was worried. When I called before, you didn’t pick up.”
Gray was already backing his car out, and I waved good-bye through the window. I’d hated to send him away, but this was my battle. Not his.
“Gray and I were having a conversation,” I said. “Is there a problem?”
“Watch your attitude. I only want to remind you to pick up that guest book for Alexa.”
“Is that all? I’m sorry, but you have to stop living in my pockets.” It felt good to use Gray’s phrase.
“I’m your mother. I have a right to be involved in your life.”
“But you can’t run my life. Especially when it comes to Gray. I’m an adult. I make my own decisions.”
“You’re rushing things. Walking into a trap. He’ll hurt you like—”
“No, he won’t. He isn’t Dad. He’s Gray, and I love him.”
“Listen to me, young lady. You’re saying the same things I said to your grandfather. He said I was rushing things. I didn’t believe him. Well, we all know how that turned out.”
“That doesn’t mean it’ll turn out the same for me and Gray.”
“I’ve warned you. That’s all I can do.” Mom’s voice hardened. “Maybe you shouldn’t bring him next time you come for Sunday dinner.”
“If he’s not welcome, I’m not coming.”
Mom grumbled something and hung up on me.
I tossed my phone onto the couch and paced the living room, my heart pounding and my hands shaking. I felt as if she’d slammed a door in my face. And in Gray’s. That hurt even worse.
With my hands itching to get busy, I stood before the flower bed and took an invigorating breath of morning air. Between April’s rainy weather and my frequent breakfast dates with Gray, I hadn’t visited my secret garden in a month. I missed it.
I missed weekend dinners w
ith Mom too. I still saw her fairly often, but meeting to discuss wedding details with her and Alexa wasn’t the same as sitting at the table with them.
For Alexa’s sake, Mom and I had entered an uneasy truce. We simply didn’t talk about Gray. The strain of it was wearing on me, though.
I tried to shake off my gloom. It was going to be a sunny day. The dogwoods were finished, the azaleas were fading fast, and someone had replaced the cold-loving pansies with heat-loving pink petunias. Petunias were risky because we could still have a killing frost, but it wasn’t my garden. Or my church.
Church. That was an issue Gray and I had to settle. He didn’t exactly like my church; he said the worship band was all glitz and no substance. But his church was too informal and home-churchy for me, and the services went too long. He argued in his amiable way that the first-century church was home-churchy too. Sooner or later, we would figure it out.
Fairly sure the old parson wouldn’t be out and about so early, I knelt by the petunias. Getting my hands in the dirt again made me feel . . . grounded. Smiling at my bad pun, I pulled my first weed in a month.
It was obvious that the groundskeeper didn’t use chemicals. That was healthier for the honeybees—and for me—but combined with the rainy season, it gave the crabgrass and dandelions an advantage in their mission to conquer the world.
Within minutes, calm descended.
I still had some questions for God, though. Big ones. I hadn’t heard any answers.
Sometimes I wondered if I was stupid to ignore Mom’s advice—like she’d ignored her father’s advice. Gray was a good guy, though. I’d set my boundaries, and he respected them. Sure, we had to fight each other off sometimes, but we never let it get too steamy. We could exercise self-control like the adults we were.
I hadn’t seen any red flags in our relationship. Gray loved God and his family. He was a considerate boyfriend, a good son, a conscientious employee. A wise manager of money, he knew when to pinch pennies and when to be generous.
As far as I could tell, impulsiveness was his biggest flaw. He trusted his instincts, and once he’d made a decision, he moved fast. His impetuous streak showed even in the way he drove. He wasn’t overly concerned with the letter of the law, sometimes fudging on the speed limit or parking with the nose of his car in a no-parking zone.
He’d even put a dent in my car the first time he drove it. When he’d lifted his hands in a beguiling “forgive me” gesture, I’d wanted to strangle him and hug him simultaneously.
“Now we have his-and-hers vehicles,” he’d said with a boyish grin. “They match. One dent each.”
Of course, he took care of the car repairs. Then he’d said we would save money on car insurance when we were both with the same company. And there it was, another hint that he was thinking about marriage, spoken as casually as a mention of rotating his tires.
It wasn’t a decision to make lightly, though. Too many marriages didn’t last. Gray might abandon me someday like Dad abandoned Mom. Impulsively, without warning.
I sat back on my heels. Staring up at white clouds drifting across a blue sky, I tried to remember Dad, but I only recalled the caricature Mom had made of him. A smooth talker. A player. Gray wasn’t that kind of man, though. I trusted him. I loved him. He was worth the risk—wasn’t he?
Brooding over everything, I worked until my bag was full. Getting to my feet, I surveyed the petunias. Beautiful—but weeds still lurked here and there. They were part of the curse of a fallen world, along with thorns and mosquitoes—
“Good morning!”
I whirled around. The old clergyman stood a few feet away, his face shaded by his broad-brimmed hat.
Trapped, I attempted a cheerful smile. “Good morning.”
“I was starting to wonder if I would ever catch you at it,” he said.
“I’m sorry. I should have asked permission.”
“No, no. You’re welcome anytime. The fella who takes care of the grounds says there’s an angel doing some of the work for him. Why do you do it, though?”
The line I’d rehearsed so often came easily. “When life gets crazy, pulling weeds helps me relax.”
He tipped his hat higher on his head, bringing cherubic features into the sunlight—round cheeks, a gentle smile. “But why are you so secretive about it?”
“It would have been odd if I’d knocked on your office door and asked permission to pull weeds.”
His laughter was as contagious as Gray’s. “No odder than pulling weeds without permission. But maybe you like to bend the rules a little.”
“Not usually. I just like gardening.”
“I’m no gardener, but I love flowers. Sometimes a garden’s better than a cathedral for worship and prayer, and I’m happy to share this one.” He made a sweeping gesture that took in the whole property.
“Then you wouldn’t be upset if somebody borrowed this spot for a sneaky little sunrise wedding?”
His eyes twinkled. “You have a date in mind?”
I laughed. “Not at all. Back in February, I happened to be here when somebody did just that. They call it a guerrilla wedding. It’s part of a trend to save money.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. Getting hitched used to be simple. Inexpensive. A short ceremony in Mother’s parlor, perhaps, with everybody in their Sunday best, and then a wedding trip to the next county. None of this Cancun business.” He peered at me more closely. “Do you know this couple?”
“No, but I stuck around to watch. It was beautiful.”
“Good. I hope they’ll be as happy as my wife and I have been for nearly fifty years.”
I tried to imagine Gray at seventy or eighty, still smiling. Married to me—or to someone else?
“How did you know you’d found the right person?” I blurted.
He fiddled with his wedding band and smiled as if he were reliving the moment his bride had placed it on his finger. “It was simple. I was young and foolish and madly in love.” He looked up. “This person you’re contemplating. Do you love him?”
“Yes.”
“Ah. You didn’t even hesitate. That’s a good sign. It doesn’t need to be complicated, dear. If you love him and you want to marry him, well . . . marry him.”
I smiled at the simplistic advice. “He hasn’t asked me.”
“I think a woman should be at liberty to pursue a man, if that’s what the situation calls for. I can even back it up with Scripture. Do you know the story of Ruth and Boaz?”
Now he had me laughing. “Yes, but threshing floors are in short supply these days.”
“Who says you need a threshing floor?” He chuckled and checked his watch. “I’d better be on my way. Remember now, Adam and Eve ran and hid when they heard God walking in the cool of the day, but this isn’t Eden, and I’m not God. So please don’t hide from me.”
“I won’t. Not anymore.”
“Good.” He stuck out a gnarled hand. “I’m Pastor Michael.”
I shook his hand. “I’m Ellie. Glad to meet you.”
“I’ll see you around, Ellie. God bless you.” He turned and limped up the rise that Gray had taken at a lope when his impatient friend had called his name.
I reached out to groom an azalea of spent brown blooms that had once been bright white. By the time I’d tucked them into my bag, my mood had darkened again and I knew exactly why.
Out of that entire conversation with Pastor Michael, one particular phrase kept rattling around in my mind: A short ceremony in Mother’s parlor, perhaps.
Of course I didn’t want to get married in Mom’s living room, but when I tried to imagine our families gathered around Gray and me, sharing our joy, I could only visualize Gray’s parents, Alexa, and Eric. Mom wouldn’t even want to be there.
A week after I met Pastor Michael, my romance with Gray was cruising along at warp speed, my dealings with Mom were still strained, and I was just about sick of the real estate business.
Humans are constantly shuffling the ownershi
p of their properties when God is the true owner anyway. We all live on the top layer of the earth like ants clinging to a beach ball, and it is God’s beach ball. I wouldn’t blame him if he decided to brush off the ants, take his ball, and go home.
That was what I wanted to do. Go home. It was only early afternoon, but I was running on empty and impatient for Gray to show up with lunch as he’d promised. Either he was stuck in traffic or he’d forgotten to check the clock. That happened a little too often.
When he finally arrived, I had a hunger headache and a bad attitude. Trying to hide them, I led him to the sunny courtyard behind the building, where we sat on the wrought iron bench and indulged in a kiss. A quick one. We were in full view of a number of windows, including Betty’s. At least nobody could see our faces. Just our backs.
Gray gave me a searching look, then reached into a bag from the Publix deli and pulled out two half subs wrapped in paper. “Something tells me you’re not having a great day.”
“You’re right. My closing in Decatur ran overtime because the buyers were late, so I was late for an appointment all the way up in Mari-flippin’-etta.”
“You’re cute when you’re trying not to cuss.”
“Thanks so much.”
“You’re welcome.” He smiled, unwrapping my sandwich for me. The Ultimate on whole wheat, as I’d requested. He passed it over.
“Thanks, Gray.” I could hardly wait to sink my teeth into it.
“I have an idea to make a rough day a whole lot better. Ever heard of Hard Labor Creek? Out past Social Circle?”
“Isn’t it a state park?”
“Yeah, with miles and miles of horse trails. One of my college buddies called today. He’s trailering his horses there for a trail ride the day after tomorrow. He’s had two cancellations. Think you can clear your calendar?”
“No. Sorry. That’s the day Mom needs a ride to Midtown so she can pick up her dress for the wedding. She’ll have to try it on and make sure the alterations are right.”
The excitement faded from his eyes. “And you’re her chauffeur.”
“You got it.” The very thought intensified my headache.
“You’ll have to pick her up in Wynnville, haul her to Midtown, haul her back to Wynnville, and drive home. That’s almost four hours on the road.”