With This Ring, I'm Confused

by Kristin Billerbeck

  Another silence. Finally, she speaks. “I didn’t want you to move in. I thought you were immature, sloppy, self-absorbed—”

  “Um, Kay. Never mind. I don’t think my ego is up for this conversation. I did just get out of jail.”

  “I was going to say no, but I prayed about it, and God clearly told me that if I didn’t let my sister in when she needed a place to stay, I was a clanging gong. A mere symbol of a Christian, not a real, loving version. That, and Seth begged me to let you come. When you brought that mutt home, and I started tripping over your shoes and cleaning up dishes in the sink, I knew I’d made a big mistake.”

  Now Kay starts to giggle.

  “You needed me, Kay. Otherwise you might have had that clipboard for decades, until you were organizing the senior group. And by then, you might have a microchip version implanted in your wrist. Oh yeah, I saved you.” I sit back in my seat as Kay continues to laugh through the phone.

  “Frankly, Ashley, you moving in has been one of the best things that could have happened to me, because it forced me to stretch my wings, to love annoying people when they get on my nerves. And maybe their dogs too.”

  “I’m annoying?” This shocks me.

  “Deathly so.”

  “Really? I like to think of myself as intense and intellectual. You know, the kind of person who enters a room and stirs conversation.”

  “Intellectuals don’t really watch that much reality TV, Ashley.”

  “How do you know? Even intellectuals need to come down off the cerebral high once in a while. Who’s to say they don’t sit down in front of a good Joe Schmo episode now and again.”

  “Sure they do, Ashley.”

  “I bet you’d be surprised.”

  “Uh-huh.” We turn right, and I recognize the glowing sign just up ahead.

  “Hey, you look great, Kay. Let’s celebrate my being out of jail and Simon’s thatch of back hair. We never do anything single girls should do. Let’s live on the wild side.”

  “Wasn’t a trip to jail wild enough?”

  “Ha-ha. I was thinking more like the Dana Street Roasting Company. It’s right in front of us, and I’m in the mood for a heaping iced mocha with real whipped cream. Not that fake stuff the cheesy coffee shops use, but the full-frontal fat assault.”

  Kay looks over at me while we sit at the stoplight and shrugs. “Sure. How much trouble could you get into at a coffeehouse?”

  “I agree. What’s Ashley on a double-espresso anyway?” I ask.

  “On second thought.” Kay waves and hangs up as she turns and heads for home.

  So much for Kay the party girl. Doused before we even got started. Where’s that clipboard?

  17

  Since the small police incident, my week has been relatively quiet. Purvi hasn’t come in much, so many Post-it notes have been spared an early death. Seth had to go to Taiwan—and since he enjoys fresh (killed instantly and slapped on the table) seafood, I can only assume this is good for both of us. Either that, or the calm before the storm.

  I haven’t seen my fiancé since the mad dash from the parking lot. This is typical, growing ever more so as time passes. I’m wondering if I will be this lonely in the future. I used to live by myself, but now I realize how codependent I’ve become having Kay as my roommate. I mean, there was that time I left for yoga and had my pants on inside-out with the tag fluttering in the back like a short, white tail. Who would have been there to save me from gym humiliation, were it not for Kay? Certainly Rhett would have tried, but it’s not the same. Kevin’s always so bleary-eyed for sleep—even if he is home, would he notice?

  Kay is sitting on the sofa this fine Saturday morning. Let me repeat that. Kay is sitting on the sofa. All is not right in the State of California.

  “Kay?” She doesn’t move. “Kay?” I say louder.

  “Yeah?” she says without inflection, still resting her chin on her balled-up fists.

  “What’s going on? Why are you just sitting here? Doesn’t something need to be disinfected?”

  “It can wait.”

  “What?” I rush over to the chair and shake her. “Snap out of it. What’s the matter?”

  “I don’t need to see Simon.”

  “No, you don’t. That’s true. But the back rug? Aren’t you remotely interested?”

  She doesn’t catch my joke, and not so much as the slightest smile makes its way onto her face. “What if he doesn’t want to apologize for what he did, Ashley? I’ve forgiven him and moved on, but if I have to open that wound again and he doesn’t apologize, I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive him. He’s never claimed to be at any fault, actually pointed the blame at my mother! Once again, it will be my burden.”

  “What did he do, Kay?” She’s freaking me out here. Seriously. Kay is not the maudlin type, and I’m not exactly sure why she agreed to this meeting.

  “You don’t want to know. I’ve prayed about it. I don’t want to see him, but I’m getting this nudge. I can’t tell if it’s from God or not, but maybe I shouldn’t see him.”

  Looking at her face, stark white with a lack of emotion, I’m thinking this is not a good thing. “Give me his number. I’ll call him and cancel. There’s no sense in making yourself miserable.”

  Kay doesn’t even look at me. “It’s on my cell. He called the other day and left a message. I thought I was over this. What is wrong with me? Christians forgive, and they move on.”

  “In theory, yes. But sometimes moving on is moving away. What’s his last name?”

  “Jameston. It’s a New Orleans number. 504 area code.”

  I find his number and call. “Simon Jameston. How can I bless you today?” he answers. Funny, he doesn’t sound frightening. If anything, he sounds weak-willed, milquetoast. I’m picturing Matthew Broderick. You might think I couldn’t possibly tell all this from the guy’s one sentence, but trust me, it was a very weak-willed sentence.

  “Simon, you don’t know me, but I’m Kay Harding’s friend. She won’t be able to meet with you this evening after all.” I’m pure business, no emotion lest he think Kay might change her mind.

  He lets out a ragged breath. “She won’t see us?”

  “Is there a reason she should?” I probe.

  “Is she there? May I talk with her?”

  I look at Kay, and she’s still ashen. I can’t help the lie that comes out of my mouth. “No.” Well, it’s really only a lie if he thinks I’m answering the first question. Clearly, I’m answering the second.

  “Will you tell her something for me?”

  “I will.” If I like it.

  “I’m a pastor, going on television with my ministry. I wanted to warn her in case she saw me that she’s involved in my testimony of how the ministry came to be. Not by name, of course. But she’s there, and she’ll know it’s her, so I wanted to tell her up front before she heard it in the wrong place. It will be on the Bless You show two weeks from tomorrow at 4:00 p.m. eastern.”

  “Thank you. If she has any questions, she’ll call you.” I’ve got to admit, I can’t imagine Kay has deep water. Especially if it’s not one part white vinegar for a cleaning solution.

  “Would you also pass on that Ruth is so sorry this has had such a harsh effect on Kay? We had no idea she would be so sensitive to our actions back then. Ruth will be beside me on television. Thank you,” he adds before hanging up.

  Kay has lived her entire life trying to control her environment. Clearly, this is something she was unable to control. I see her safety bubble in definite jeopardy, and I want to protect it for all it’s worth. Television? Of course no one will know it’s her. Milquetoast Backhair assured me of that, but Kay will know. She’s looking straight ahead at the blackened television screen. I have my Saturday agenda in hand, starting with the wedding registry, but I toss it on the coffee table.

  “He’s a pastor still.”

  Kay just nods. “I know that. He’s been doing a speaking ministry for years. People actually listen to him.” S
he lets out a halfhearted laugh.

  “He’s going on television to talk about his life, his testimony.”

  Kay’s eyes go wide and round.

  “He won’t mention you by name.”

  “He won’t need to, Ashley.” She gets up and starts straightening the books on the coffee table. Like they were crooked to begin with. “Ministry. If he cared about ministry, he’d—” She stops her sentence and goes quiet again.

  “I have a theory,” I say, because it’s awkward silence, and I want to fill it with my irrational thoughts. Anything is better than Kay’s silence at the moment.

  “When do you not have a theory, Ashley? And in case you haven’t noticed, your life is not exactly the model of perfect behavior. Keep a job for a year if you want to dole out advice, okay? Or better yet, let a year pass without getting arrested for some fashion crisis.” She rolls her eyes. “Hitting a police officer with a Prada. Puh-lease.”

  A little brutal. Certainly not the Kay I know and love. “No, this theory is good, Kay. I’ve used it before. When we keep our sin quiet, the Enemy uses it. When we come clean, God uses it. You may have forgiven this guy, but it doesn’t seem to me as if you’ve moved on.”

  “And he has? Finding speaking engagements where he can talk about his fabulous ministry until he’s blue in the face?”

  “So you fell victim years ago to your . . . to your yearnings? It was a mistake; it’s over.”

  “I’m not talking about it, Ashley. Please don’t try to fill in the blanks. You couldn’t be more off base. It’s not as easy as you’d like to think, so let’s move on. I’ll go back to what you like to call my OCD life, and you’ll get married and move forward. See? Everybody’s happy.”

  “I just don’t see how this history can be that dark and desolate, Kay. First off, it’s you, so I’m not expecting extreme drama. Second, there is nothing new under the sun, so why do you think you’re so different from the rest of us? I imagine God counts you as a sinner too. Just like the rest of us mere mortals.”

  “Drop it. Go shopping, Ashley. You’ve got to have a registry before the first shower, so please just go. You should have taken care of this already. I’m fine. I don’t have to see Simon, and that’s a good thing. You took care of it, and I appreciate that.”

  “I’m not leaving you like this. Just tell me and get it off your chest, will you? You’re not made of steel. Why do you have to act like it? This is just a form of narcissism. Pride in its worst form, because you think you’re too good to sin.” Oooh, that was good. I have to remember that one.

  “That’s ridiculous. You don’t even know how ridiculous.” She gets up, and I’m assuming she’s off to clean something.

  “Then get it off your chest, for crying out loud!” I yell after her.

  The phone rings, and I go to it while Kay fumbles with her words. Sheesh, I should have such trouble getting things off my chest.

  “Hello,” I answer.

  “Ashley?”

  Oh, the horror. It’s Emily.

  “Off to do my shopping for the registry,” I say cheerily.

  “I’m callin’ with a new name to add to the guest list. Amy Carmichael is goin’ to be in the area! She’s an old friend of Keh-vin’s, and I think he’ll just be so surprised. Let me give it to you.”

  Amy. No doubt the Amy whom I distinctly remember Emily mentioning that Kevin should be marrying. So, um, no. She’ll get on the wedding list when I ask Seth to walk me down the aisle.

  Emily rattles off this girl’s address, and like a pathetic lemming, I scribble it down. Did I expect Kevin to be history-free? No. I have mentioned he looks like Hugh Jackman, have I not? I already knew he and size-two Arin had a brief but twisted romance, but Amy . . . can’t say I’m overly fond of Amy entering the picture. Mostly because I don’t know her story, and hearing her name from Emily doesn’t bring warm fuzzies for me.

  “Who was that?” Kay asks, still lost under a mask of parchment-colored skin.

  “Emily calling with one of Kevin’s ex’s addresses for the wedding. I suppose I should be happy. She could have been my new maid of honor, complete with a lavender parasol. Maybe she’ll don a secret veil like Leah and Rachel in the Bible and be packing a crowbar in her garter.”

  Kay just nods indiscriminately. “That’ll be nice.”

  “I think you should come with us, Kay. I don’t know anything about kitchen gadgets anyway. Kevin’s got a million things on his mind with all his work. Come do this for us. I mean with us.”

  Rhett is following her everywhere. He senses something isn’t right too. “No. You and Kevin haven’t spent any time together. This is an important day, and what’s the worst that could happen? You pick out the wrong salad spinner.”

  Salad spinner? “Is there really such a thing?”

  She sighs. “Yes, Ashley, there is a Santa Claus and a salad spinner.”

  “I don’t mean to be naive, but what’s it do?”

  “It spins lettuce leaves so they dry out when you’re making a salad.”

  I shrug. “Isn’t that what paper towels are for? Or better yet, the salad bar at Whole Foods?”

  “It also can dry a cashmere sweater without harming it.”

  “Hey, I might be able to use that!”

  “Ashley, go shopping.”

  I haven’t told Kay the part about Ruth, who I can only assume is Simon’s wife. Something tells me now’s not the time. Simon said two weeks from tomorrow. I have two weeks to wait until Kay rolls back into a good mood. Perhaps the singles group will need a flowchart, and she’ll be back in the game.

  “You’re sure you’re all right?” I ask.

  “Ashley!”

  “I’m leaving. I just want to cheer you up.”

  “At the moment, you have about as much chance of cheering me up as I have of providing a closet big enough for your shoe collection.”

  I step out onto the porch, and with a rush of air, Kay slams the door behind me. “Don’t let the door hit me in the butt on the way out!” I yell through the door.

  “Go away!” Kay yells back.

  As I gaze out onto the sycamores that shade the street, I see Kevin’s car at the curb and my heart plummets. I march down the stairs and knock firmly on the window, which startles him awake.

  “Have you been home at all?” I ask.

  He turns on the car and rolls down the window. “Beg your pardon?”

  “Have you been home? Have you slept?”

  “I just had a great nap. I’ve been out here since seven.” He smiles.

  “That’s not even three hours, Kevin.”

  “We’re picking out plates. I’m not performing surgery. I’ll be fine.”

  “Residency is legalized abuse. You realize that? No, wait, residency combined with workaholism is a masochistic existence.”

  “Don’t be mad at me. You haven’t seen me all week. I miss your smile. I don’t miss this naggy part all that much.” He laughs to himself, gets out of the car, and comes around to open my door. He stands over me, and my stomach warms at his proximity. “Do you have a kiss for your fiancé?”

  I cross my arms in front of me. I want to be mad, but one good whiff of his clean, antiseptic smell softens me like butter in the microwave. We fall into an embrace and a heart-stopping kiss that makes me tingle all over. Life is good.

  “How’s Holly?” I ask as I get in and buckle my seat belt.

  “She’s doing better, which is good news and bad. She’ll be leaving the hospital soon.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I know.”

  A girl dreams about her wedding registry. There’s such a romantic air to picking out your first things together. But at the moment, Kevin looks like the walking dead. After my conversation with Kay, this just puts me in a worse mood. “Remember this moment,” I warn. “It might never come again. I do not want to shop right now.”

  “Even when it’s your chance to show me how it’s done and spend other people’s money?” />
  “Did you even take a shower? Your hands smell like hospital soap,” I accuse, though secretly I’ve developed quite an attraction to this scent. I’ll be the only woman on earth to walk into a hospital and have a Pavlovian response to clean people.

  He puts his arms around me before he starts to drive. “I don’t need a shower. That’s pheromones talking to you. Kind of sexy, no?”

  “No!” I wiggle free.

  “All right. A shower will make you happy? I’ve got clean clothes in the trunk. Let me run in and take a shower. Is Kay home? I don’t want to scare the poor woman.”

  “You can’t go in there. Kay’s home, and if you don’t want the Psycho shower scene coming to life, I suggest you steer clear.”

  Kevin kisses my cheek, and my anger slowly dissipates.

  “Stop that.” I punch my fist into my hand. “I want to be mad at you.”

  “No, you don’t. Tell me law school was easier than my residency. This is just part of my learning curve, Ashley, and I’m slower than you.”

  “You’re not going to charm me today.”

  “Ashley, you’re shopping. All day. You get to buy stuff that you’re not going to have to pay for. Why are you in a bad mood?”

  Expectations. It’s those nasty expectations again. “I thought you’d be more excited about this, that you’d actually be awake and showered for the event.”

  “Ashley, we’re picking out tablecloths. If we were picking out stereo systems or flat-screen televisions, I might have more enthusiasm.” He sneaks a kiss onto my lips. “Got you. You’re slippery today. Let’s go shop for junk I’ll never use.”

  “Who’s Amy Carmichael?”

  Well, there’s a conversation killer. Kevin doesn’t exactly sound as chatty as he did a minute ago.

  18

  I don’t want to say that Kevin avoided my Amy question, but he did get easily sidetracked as we headed for the mall. As I look at his tired frame, I can tell he’s only recently discarded his scrubs. He’s pulled on the jeans and wrinkled shirt he keeps in his locker for those rare occasions when he actually needs real clothes and not the jade-colored uniforms he normally wears.