Stay With Me

by Astfalk, Carolyn

  Did she say ‘church’? He moved his chair in a little closer. The three teens at the next table had gone from giggling to guffawing, and the noise made it hard to hear. Did he happen upon a church-going girl in a supermarket? “So, should I expect your dad to show up here and put an end to this?”

  She laughed again, but it sounded hollow. “No. I moved out of his house about six months ago.” She fidgeted with the straw wrapper, and her voice lost some of its vigor. “I’m sure he’d have something to say about it, but he no longer has the control he did when I was under his roof.”

  “How about your mom? Does she need to give your dates a stamp of approval, too?”

  The smile left her face, and she looked down at the straw wrapper she had folded accordion-style. “I only have a few memories of my mom. She’s deceased, but she had stopped being a part of our lives long before that.”

  “I’m sorry.” Shoot. He wanted to keep things light, not morose, so he steered the conversation in another direction. “You mentioned church. Where do you go?”

  “The Free Church.”

  He knew the one. He’d driven by it thousands of times.

  He glanced up at the long line of customers. He should probably order drinks soon, before it grew any longer. “Can I ask you something I’ve been wondering?”

  She set aside the straw wrapper and laid her hands in her lap. “Sure.”

  “What’s your church free from?” He had always taken the name for granted, that is until his conversion. That’s when he started to question everything.

  Her brow wrinkled, and she looked toward the ceiling. “I think it’s just freestanding. You know, not part of some big network or denomination.”

  Hmm. Uncertain about the appeal of a rogue church, he decided it didn’t seem like a topic for a first date.

  “Do you go? To church, I mean?” She stared intently, like this was important to her.

  “Yes. Just the past couple of years. My parents didn’t raise me with any kind of faith, but last year I became Catholic.”

  Something passed over her expression. Concern? Disappointment? He had been surprised more than once over the past year at the open hostility some people felt for Catholicism. Most Protestant churches weren’t anti-Catholic, but he didn’t know about her Free Church.

  Once he had come to believe in God with certainty, he had followed where he thought he was being led. He hadn’t given much thought to anyone else’s opinions with the possible exception of his parents. They had met his declaration of faith with confusion and a certain amount of indifference, but never opposition.

  “I knew a Catholic boy once. He came to our Bible camp one summer.” She gave him a reassuring little smile. She spoke like Catholics were a wild and exotic species she had encountered on an expedition. Maybe he should change the subject.

  “What can I get you to drink?”

  “A steamed vanilla milk would be great. The regular size, whatever they call it.”

  He left to get their drinks, looking back at her occasionally. Most everyone else in the place busily tapped on a phone, but she sat comfortably with her hands folded in her lap, people-watching. She saw him looking and gave him a little wave.

  He carried their drinks to the table, the heat and scent of his coffee wafting past his nose.

  She thanked him for the milk and took a tentative sip.

  “So, I assume your sister had the baby.”

  She set her drink down and reached for her purse. “Yes. He’s a handsome little guy. Big, too. Almost nine pounds. They named him Ian.” She pulled up a picture on her phone and extended it across the table so he could see.

  The ugliest baby he had ever seen lay swaddled in the standard-issue hospital blanket and knit cap. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you. I love being an auntie. I get to hone my mothering skills, and if there’s any lasting damage it’s on my sister, not me.” She grinned then, and he smiled. She tucked her phone back into her purse and took another sip of milk. “What about your family? Any nieces or nephews?”

  Chris swallowed the scalding coffee and pushed the cup forward on the table. “No. I have one older brother. He’s getting married in a few weeks, so no children yet.”

  “A wedding. Well, that’s exciting. I’ve never been to a wedding.”

  He leaned back in his chair, turned his head slightly and studied her as if he could tell by looking from that angle if she was for real. “Are you serious? Never?”

  “Nope. My dad’s side of the family is small, and we’re not in touch with my mom’s side. I had a couple friends marry. One was a destination wedding, and I couldn’t afford the flight or the time off, and the other I had planned on attending until I came down with some kind of stomach bug. My sister, Abby, and her husband eloped.”

  “Wow.” Chris thought about all the family weddings he’d been to throughout the years. He was sorry Rebecca had no happy memories of the dancing, eating, drinking, and general craziness that he carried with him. Being a little boy and trying to wrest a flying garter from the young men. Dancing with his mom while his dad looked on with pride. He remembered last year taking a shot of whiskey with ten of his cousins as they toasted the bride and groom.

  As Rebecca finished her milk and stuffed her used napkin into the paperboard cup, the conversation turned to work.

  “The yogurt restocking is paying the bills—barely—until I find something else. My degree is in chemistry,” Chris said. “In the meantime, I’m trying to keep from getting frostbite on my fingers. So what about you? I have absolutely no idea what you do.” If he had to guess, he would have picked something a bit artsy. Maybe music therapy or graphic design. He could easily imagine her creating floral arrangements or working in a museum.

  “I’m a payroll administrator,” she said with an air of disappointment in her voice. “I work with a handful of vendors to process their payroll and benefits.” She poked an unpolished fingernail into her paper cup and studied it for a moment. She looked back up at Chris and shrugged. “Boring.”

  “What would you like to do, if you could do anything you wanted?”

  Looking at her cup again, she opened her mouth as if to say something and then thought better of it. “I try not to think about it. I’m grateful to have a steady job, and I do the best I can at it.”

  “What about your dreams? Isn’t there something you’d want to do if you didn’t have to worry about money or education or any of that? If you were free to do what you wanted?”

  Her gaze rested on him for a few seconds, and she smiled. “Well, there is one thing. I’ve never admitted this to anyone.”

  “What is it?”

  “I want a little store where I sell homemade baked goods. Not elaborate cakes, you know, like the ones you see on the Food Network. Just ordinary but delicious cookies. By the dozen. That’s what I would do.”

  “I’d love to see you do that.”

  She leaned forward in her seat and studied him for a couple of seconds. “I think you mean that.”

  Chris laughed. “Of course I do. Do you bake much now?”

  “Yes. I love to bake. But I just do it for friends and family. Simple stuff like breads and cookies. Nothing too complicated.”

  “So, why didn’t you go to school for that? Why business or whatever got you into payroll?”

  “My dad said he would only help pay for college if I studied something practical. He didn’t deem baking practical, although he’s never refused anything I’ve baked.” She gave him a wry grin. “Anyway, I figured I’d be better off doing things his way and getting out without a mountain of debt. Then I could always go back later and do what I wanted. Only now there are bills to pay, and I can’t keep going to school without having some kind of income.”

  “Would you bake something for me some time? My mom is a good cook, but she doesn’t care to bake. My sweet tooth has been sorely neglected.” He realized as he said it, he had pretty much just asked for another date. That’s what h
e wanted, but not how he meant to go about it. Rebecca was easy to talk to, easy to look at it, and he wanted to know more about her.

  She nodded her agreement, and he realized the other tables had emptied save for two metrosexual-looking men in slim pants and turtle neck sweaters who sat in the leather chairs at the front of the café.

  “I think they’re getting ready to shut things down here. Can I walk you to your car?”

  “Sure.” She pushed back her chair before he had a chance to pull it out for her.

  He had to get better at this stuff. He grabbed her coat from the hook and held it for her.

  “Thank you.” She turned into the coat and used her left hand to free the hair that had been caught beneath the collar. When she couldn’t get it loose, his hand itched to help her. He let her struggle another second and then gave in, pulling her shiny brown tresses out so that they spilled over her faux fur collar. They were luxurious and tempted him to gather them again in his hands and release them, watching them splay over her coat. Before he could even attempt to do so, she shook her head, letting her hair fall evenly over her shoulders.

  They walked outside, and the wind hit them. Rebecca tightened her coat around herself.

  He zipped his black leather jacket. “Geez. It hardly feels like May. Where are you parked?”

  She pointed to a small, white sedan at the end of the first row of cars. He took her elbow as she stepped off the curb and walked alongside her to her vehicle.

  “Where’s your car?” she asked as she unlocked her door.

  “I don’t have a car right now. I ride a motorcycle.”

  “Are you serious?” Her brows rose and her eyes widened. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a biker dude.”

  Chris smiled. He loved to see people’s reactions when he told them he drove a motorcycle. “Why not?”

  She shrugged. “No facial hair. No jewelry. No visible tattoos.”

  “Stereotypes,” he said with a half grin. “Well, I had a nice time this evening, Rebecca. May I call you again?”

  “I’d like that,” she said, her cheeks growing rosy. “And I’ll have some goodies—for your sweet tooth.”

  “Thank you.” Before he could overthink it, he leaned in and brushed his lips against her cheek. She moved toward her car and gave him a nervous smile. “Good night.”

  He stepped back and allowed her to start her car, watching as she pulled out of the parking space and exited the lot.

  2

  You and Me

  The spring-like weather the following weekend convinced Chris a trip to the zoo would be a safe second date. There would be plenty of opportunity for them to talk, but if the conversation lagged there would be lots to see and do.

  Rebecca had brought him chocolate chip banana bread, and he knew it wouldn’t last the weekend. It was moist, delicious, and must have smelled like heaven when she’d baked it.

  The conversation between them flowed naturally, and the more he got to know Rebecca, the more he liked her. The only awkward moment had come at the mountain lion exhibit. The reason for the female’s vocalizations wasn’t immediately obvious. The incessant half-moan, half-growl eventually gave it away.

  Chris stared for a moment. “Whoa. I think they’re…I thought visiting the zoo was a G-rated activity.”

  Rebecca’s eyes widened and her cheeks bloomed an endearing shade of pink as the realization hit her. “Oh my. They are definitely—involved.”

  The next day, he caught up with his friend Father John Cavanaugh. Chris often joined him in the rectory after the last Sunday Mass. Sometimes they’d watch football, and sometimes they’d just have a beer and talk. Their friendship began when Father John was still Deacon John, and Chris peppered him with an endless series of questions about God, faith, and Catholicism. John wasn’t much older than Chris, and they found they had a lot in common.

  Chris took a seat across from Father John, who tore the wrapping from his Philadelphia-style hoagie and twisted the cap off of his Yuengling lager. Father John said grace, and before he’d gotten his sandwich to his mouth, Chris blurted, “I met someone.”

  Father John bit into his hoagie, wiped some stray sauce from his chin with the napkin, and chewed before he spoke. “A woman?”

  Chris nodded.

  “So spill it. You know you’re dying to. Is she from the college or is she a local?”

  Chris smiled. Father John knew him as well as his own brother. “Well, her name is Rebecca, and her family lives in Gettysburg, but for the last six months she’s had a place up in Harrisburg. She does some kind of payroll administration.” And she’s got the most beautiful brown hair and eyes I’ve ever seen.

  Feeling a bit like a fool, he bit his tongue before he went on to list every one of her positive attributes. He turned his attention back to his sandwich, which was proving to be surprisingly spicy, and waited for Father John’s response. His tongue felt like it had caught fire as the jalapenos slid over it, and he began to sweat.

  Father John took a swig of beer and smiled. “Sounds like you’re enamored with her. So, is she Catholic?”

  “No, she’s not.” He’d hit upon the one reservation he had about pursuing a relationship with Rebecca. Two years ago he couldn’t have cared less what kinds of religious beliefs she might have possessed, or if she had any at all. Not anymore. He expected when he found the right woman he’d be united to her in every way—emotionally, physically, intellectually, and now spiritually. The fact that she was a Christian comforted him, but he’d be lying to himself if he claimed he didn’t wish she were Catholic.

  “Do you know anything about the Free Church?”

  “Not much.” Father John rolled up his paper wrapper and took it to the trash. “I’ve met the pastor a couple of times. He seems nice enough. Can’t say they’re very ecumenical. The church kind of keeps to itself.”

  “Do you think I should end it before it goes any further?” Chris’s heart ached even as he said it. He liked Rebecca way more than he should after only two dates. “Because I felt like the Holy Spirit led me to her.”

  Father John smiled. “Well, sometimes a pretty face and what I’m guessing is probably an attractive body to match can muddle our discernment.” He sat and drummed his fingers on the table a few times.

  “Knowing you and your journey and taking into account my admittedly limited experience counseling couples, I’d say it would be better for you if the woman you chose to settle down with was Catholic, and not the kind of Catholic that checks off that box on a census form because she goes to a fish fry with her grandma or hangs rosary beads from her rearview mirror. The kind that knows her faith and lives her life accordingly.”

  Chris tried to keep the disappointment from his face. He didn’t want to hear this. Not when he was near to bursting with the excitement of a fresh, new relationship that had, just a moment ago, held so much potential.

  “That said, sometimes God puts people in our path for reasons we don’t fully understand. At least at first. And maybe he uses attraction, even sexual attraction, to draw us to them.” He stared at a point somewhere on the wall beyond Chris. He wasn’t just talking about Rebecca anymore.

  “That’s clear as mud, Father John.”

  “Yeah. Just because they gave me this Roman collar doesn’t mean I have it all figured out yet. I guess I’d say not to lose your head over this girl. If you’re dating because you’re looking to get married, then you’ve got to think about her in the context of marriage and children, not just how she looks when she’s seated across the table from you or how much fun you have together.”

  Father John was right, and Chris knew it. He would just have to find a way to navigate this relationship so that he didn’t lose his head—or his heart—until he thought it had a reasonable chance of success.

  ***

  Rebecca sealed the lid on the container of blueberry muffins then rested her elbows on the kitchen counter. She swiped her finger across the phone, opened the contacts app, an
d scrolled down to R. Reynolds, Chris. She tapped his entry, and her finger hovered over the call button.

  Facebook.

  She hadn’t checked in this morning. Rebecca switched apps and scrolled through her news feed. Cat photos, unfunny memes, and inspirational quotes.

  If he didn’t want me to call, he wouldn’t have given me his phone number, right?

  She and Chris had two really good dates, and he said he wanted to see her again soon. Unfortunately, a family dinner on Friday night and an overnight camping trip Saturday left little time for a date. It wouldn’t be for long, but this morning he’d be at his parents’ house packing for his trip.

  When Rebecca baked the muffins, calling and arranging to drop them off seemed easy. Now, it seemed presumptuous.

  She thought back to a conversation with Abby a few weeks earlier, just before she met Chris. That conversation later convinced her to accept Chris’s offer to meet her for a drink. The first stage of labor removed most of Abby’s filters, not that she had many to begin with.

  Abby had stopped pacing her dining room and pressed her palm into her back. She breathed heavily through a contraction and then focused on Rebecca, seated at the table. Abby dictated a list of bedtimes and favorite foods for the kids so Rebecca would know what to do while Abby was at the hospital.

  “The bottom line is, do you want to spend the rest of your life with one of the Daddy-sanctioned church boys? You know, the ones so socially-backward they can’t pry their eyes off their gaming devices? I swear I spotted that last guy—what was his name? Douglas?—at the furry convention. Joel’s work banquet was in the same hotel. The guy was dressed like a sexy porcupine puffer fish. Cause, you know, nothing turns a woman on like poisonous tumescence. So, if the answer is no on the Daddy-approved social rejects—and if it’s not, I swear I’ll disown you—then you need to put yourself out there and meet someone. You can’t continue to hide out and think your Prince Charming is going to sweep you out from under Daddy’s overlong nose. You’re out of his house now, and that’s a good start.”