by Erynn Mangum
Twenty-one heads start nodding. “Because it was dawk,” one little boy says knowingly.
“Oh,” three of them chorus, drawing the word out.
“I don’t wike the dawk.”
“Sometime it get dawk if you hode your hand over your eyes,” another one says.
“Yeah …” The three hum again.
“It wasn’t dark,” I say, trying to get the audience back. “It was daylight. He just couldn’t see ever.”
“ ’Cause he had on his mommy’s gwasses?”
I just look at the boy who asked me the question, mashing my lips together, trying not to laugh in the very serious little face six inches away from mine.
Rhonda grins across the sea of children at me. “Add in about ten zillion of those kinds of questions a day, Paige, and you’ve got life as a mother.”
I used to go to our church’s singles class. Then the pastor in charge of the class, Pastor Dan, went on a sabbatical and left four of the single guys in charge of the teaching while he was gone.
After one too many lessons on how Xbox is biblical, seeing as how it doesn’t allow for “idle hands,” I decided to go back to the regular service and see how things were there.
Things are much better. I’ve been here for almost six weeks now and I have never once heard Pastor Louis mention the word Xbox, much less the other favorite football.
I find my new regular row. When I left the singles class, Layla and her fiancé, Peter, came with me. Tyler never went to our Sunday school class, but he always went to service, and he sits with us too.
No one else is there yet, but that’s typical on the weeks when I teach the two-year-olds. I always end up here by myself for about fifteen minutes, in the lag time between services, before the others show up.
I set my Bible and purse down to save seats.
Right then I hear a gurgling, spitting noise and I look up to see Natalie, our youth pastor’s wife and my dear friend, standing there holding their new baby, Claire.
“I can’t sneak up on anyone anymore,” Natalie gripes but smiles adoringly at her daughter. Now that Claire is sleeping better through the nights, everything is all sunshine again.
There were days when I wondered if Natalie was going to make it.
“Hi, cutie patootie!” I have no idea why babies promote such goofy reactions from adults, but I partake in the tradition without much resistance.
“Hi,” Natalie says.
I barely spare a glance at Natalie. “Here, let me take that huge burden out of your hands.” I make silly faces at Claire. She’s still so little that she just looks at me, pacifier bobbing in her mouth, but I do it anyway.
Like I said. Tradition.
“Gosh, she’s heavier.” I shift her into the crook of my right arm.
“Yep. And I am getting biceps, baby.” Natalie flexes for me. “Forget Jillian Michaels. I’m going to start marketing that the best thing for weight loss is to carry a ten-pound baby around for sixteen hours a day.”
“I’m not sure very many people could commit to that kind of workout,” I say.
“Most likely not. How are you? I haven’t seen you in decades.”
In all reality, I picked up lunch and brought it over to Natalie’s house two weeks ago, but she’s right. Ever since Claire was born, we just haven’t seen each other as often.
The tiniest people seem to cause the biggest conflicts in scheduling.
“I’m …” I think about my answer. “Good” might be an overstatement, considering the current Luke/Preslee drama. “Okay” though will send off warning bells in Natalie’s brain, and we’ll have to rehash my entire life after the service over lunch at her house while Rick makes sarcastic remarks the whole time.
I end up being saved by the baby, because right then, Claire erupts in a smelly white lava covering the entire front of her dress and my left hand.
“Oh my!” I have never seen so much come from something so little.
Natalie sighs and digs around in the diaper bag hanging off her shoulder, then comes out with a cloth that already looks a little damp. “Sorry,” she mumbles. “Something I’m eating this week is not working for her. I should have warned you.”
I don’t say anything because “Uh, yeah, you should have” sounds mean and I don’t mind so much because I’ve already been snotted on, cried on, slobbered on, and I’m pretty certain I had pee rubbed on my pants during class this morning from a little boy who failed to wash his hands after using the potty.
A shower is in my very-near future. Preferably within the next two hours.
Natalie sops us both up and I shrug, patting Claire’s wet stomach. “Sorry, peanut.”
“No, she’s sorry. There’s no call to spit up on Auntie Paige like that.”
If Rick and Natalie keep calling every adult “Auntie” and “Uncle,” this poor child will believe that everyone everywhere is related to her.
I hand Claire back to Natalie as the band starts to take the stage. “All right, you need to call me,” Natalie says. “This is ridiculous that it’s been so long since we’ve seen you. And speaking of that, you can come to dinner. Tomorrow night. I’ll make that pot roast you like.”
My mother makes an incredible pot roast. Out of this world. She’s given me the recipe seven times when I call her completely homesick for her cooking, and each time it turns out terrible. I’ve kind of decided that she spits in it, since my mother’s saliva is the only thing missing from mine.
Natalie, though, also makes an incredible pot roast. Very similar to my mom’s. Which is probably why we became such good friends so quickly.
“I will be there.”
“Good. See you, love,” she says, balancing the baby, the diaper bag, and her Bible as she leaves the sanctuary.
Layla and Peter come skirting in right as the band starts playing. Layla smiles at me, brown eyes sparkling, hair bouncy, and hugs me as she slides by. “Hi, Paige!” Peter smiles slightly at me as he slides past, wearing jeans and a button-up shirt, his short dark hair obviously freshly cut.
Layla is the happiest person I know. I am fairly convinced it could be raining teacup saucers outside, shattering everyone’s windows and eardrums, and Layla would still be declaring that it was the most beautiful day and her best day ever.
It can be an annoying trait, especially when I am PMSing. Which I’m not today. That I know of anyway.
Halfway through the second song, Tyler shows up and smiles at me as he sets his Bible on the aisle seat I’d saved for him. “Right on time,” he whispers and I shake my head.
Tyler is late 90 percent of the time. The other 10 percent he shaves so close to the time that he doesn’t need to use a razor the rest of the week.
I am on the other extreme. I really like being early. I don’t like the getting up and leaving my apartment early, but I do like being on time. My father taught me well. My mother made us both crazy my entire living-at-home life. “I’ll be right there, go get in the car” was the code phrase for “I’ve still got probably twenty minutes in the house.”
To this day, I have no idea what would take her so long to get ready to go.
We finish singing, Pastor Louis preaches on 1 John chapter one and says we are going to be starting a new series. “I haven’t ever preached through this book and I’m very excited to do so. If you are struggling with how to love your family or your friends, if you are curious how to live in this world without becoming tainted by it, if you are wanting to know how much God loves you, then keep coming back. It will be a great sermon series.”
I bite the inside of my cheek and further damage those nerves when Pastor Louis mentions “love your family.”
Great.
Never once have I been able to go to church and sit here and just half listen to the sermon since it doesn’t apply to me. Just once I’d like to go to church and hear a message on not kicking puppies or something like that.
Then I could just mindlessly listen, agree that is a bad thing, and
never do it.
Not that I would anyway.
The band plays another two songs and then dismisses us. Tyler turns to look at me, stretching. “Good morning.”
“Hi.”
“Hello, Late One,” Layla says around me to Tyler. “Your alarm clock break again?”
“I was early!” Tyler protests. “I didn’t even know they did music before the sermon.”
I laugh. He’s kidding. He’s usually here right around when the band moves onto the stage.
“So where are we going today?” Layla asks.
She means for lunch, because the four of us have gone out for the last four weeks in a row. It works as long as I budget the money for lunch into my groceries for the week.
Although Tyler has paid for me the last two times.
I’ve felt horribly guilty both times, seeing as how we aren’t official and we certainly weren’t on a date then.
Tyler shrugs. “There’s that new place just up the street. The Store?”
“The Market.” Layla nods. “I was going to suggest that. One of my boss’s clients said that it’s the bomb.”
“That bad?” Tyler grins at Layla.
Tyler and Layla can hardly communicate between all of his sarcastic comments and her miscommunications. I have somewhat decided that they need to just stop talking to each other.
But there’s another part of me that is very glad my best friend is getting along with the guy I’m kind of interested in.
Definitely interested in?
I look at Tyler and he’s cute today. He doesn’t look any different than he normally does and I like that. Jeans. Work boots. A flannel shirt over a T-shirt. Five o’clock shadow. Curly blond hair.
I never in my life would have thought I’d find that look attractive, though. I used to be all about the clean-cut and put-together look. None of this ratty-hems-on-the-backs-of-the-jeans thing like Tyler currently has going on.
“Hey, guys.”
A part of my chest freezes at the voice behind me. Speaking of clean-cut, Luke has apparently decided to join our church this morning.
My church. Layla and I started coming here when we were in college. Right after the Luke phase of my life was officially over.
Or so I thought.
Layla smiles happily at her brother and then drops the expression. “What are you doing here? This is our church.”
“I’m trying out churches.” He holds a hand out to Tyler. “Tyler, good to see you. And Peter, you as well.” The men all shake hands while Layla and I have a little silent chat.
I had no idea, Layla mouths.
It’s okay. We were leaving anyway.
“Well,” I say, probably louder than I should have. “Shall we?”
“Shall we what?” Luke asks.
Awkwardness. I shouldn’t have opened my mouth. Layla gives me a pained expression and then looks at her brother. “We are going to lunch,” she says in a quiet voice.
Luke is a bright guy. He got straight As all through school and a hefty scholarship to college. He’s obviously moving up in his company. He knows social cues.
He apparently doesn’t care today. “Great! Where are we going?”
Layla tells him in an even quieter voice and we all walk out to the parking lot, Luke chattering happily while Layla, Tyler, and I are uncharacteristically quiet. Peter is silent as well, but that’s not that weird. Peter is a quiet sort.
Tyler offers me a ride since it’s just up the road, and I climb into his truck. He closes my door and the second he closes his door, I start ranting.
“We! We, we, we!”
“Want to go all the way home?” Tyler grins over at me. I guess I am sounding a little too much like the Fifth Little Piggy, but I can’t help it.
“It’s apparently a very hard word to understand. We. I understand it. You understand it. Why doesn’t he understand it?”
“Well,” Tyler says, pulling out of the parking lot. “We can’t all be we-ally smart. That would just be we-diculous.”
I cover my face. “I don’t even like you anymore.”
“Ah, come on. It was funny.”
“No it wasn’t.”
“Not even a wee bit?”
I hit him with my purse.
Chapter
6
Rick and Natalie live in a cute little neighborhood on the north side of Richardson. I get to their house a little early, but I brought dessert so Natalie won’t make me wait on the porch until it’s officially six o’clock.
“Please tell me those are salted caramel brownies,” she says, opening the door, not bothering with common courtesies like “hello” and “how are you.”
“I got your text.” I hold the foil-covered pan out in both hands, bowing my head lightly as I offer it to her.
“I really do like you, you know.”
I shrug. “You can say whatever you want. I know the truth. You only like me for my brownies.”
“Well, it will make for less-awkward dinner conversations now that you’re in the know.” She closes the door behind me.
Rick is in the kitchen, Claire in one arm and a cup of coffee in the other hand. Rick is a big, big man with a bald head, which makes him both a cool yet somewhat threatening figure. Perfect for a youth pastor. “Dude, I almost wore that shirt.”
I look down at my outfit. This is Rick and Natalie’s house. So I wore my most comfortable jeans, which are also full of snags and fades and holes, my favorite T-shirt from youth camp last summer that I chaperoned on, and my slippers.
“Aw, you should have called her.” Natalie lifts the lid on the slow cooker on the counter, sending a plume of delicious, meaty-filled steam up into the room.
“I’ll just have to do that next time. So. Paigey.”
Anytime Rick adds a y to my name, it’s bad.
“No,” I say.
“Come on. You haven’t even heard what I was going to say.”
“I don’t need to. The answer’s no. And I’ve been working really hard to learn how to say that word, so give me points on saying it so well a second ago.”
“I thought your diction was perfect,” Natalie says.
“Thank you.” I nod graciously because no one really likes an overly proud person.
“I need you, Paige.”
I sigh and give him a resigned look before pushing him and Claire out of the way so I can get the silverware out of their drawer. “Need me to do what exactly?”
“Intern. At the church. It’s a paid position. Probably more than what you are making now answering phones and kicking the copier.”
Rick and Natalie know all about my copier issues.
“Intern,” I repeat, dubiously, setting the table. “What exactly does that entail?”
“You would be at my beck and call any and every minute.”
“No.”
“Again. I just can’t get over how well you say that word.” Natalie pushes a cookie sheet with a store-bought bread loaf on it into the oven.
“I told you, Nat, I’ve been practicing.”
She nods. “It’s just amazing.”
“Okay, how about only the minutes included in forty hours a week?” Rick bargains.
“Rick.”
“Paige.”
“Look.” I finish setting the table and cross my arms over my chest. “I’m barely back to having time to myself. I’ve just barely started doing my daily devotions again, and I’ve got major personal issues at the moment.”
“All of my stuff is on the top shelf in the cabinet above the toilet,” Natalie tells me, not even looking at me as she pulls plates out. “Help yourself.”
“What?”
“Tampons. Pads. I think I even have a couple of pantyliners in there.”
I shake my head. “Not those kind of personal issues.”
“Oh. Well. You know for future reference.”
Rick is waiting for me to continue, sipping his coffee.
“Can’t do it, Rick.”
“Let me just ask you to think about it, Paige. You’d be perfect for the job. You already teach the high school girls. And it requires a lot of counseling type of work with the girls one-on-one, and that would give you the opportunity to use your major that you worked very hard for and don’t currently use.”
I just sigh at him. “Well played.”
“I’ve been holding that card for a while.” He grins all self-satisfyingly, sipping his coffee, cradling his sleeping daughter, and I just smile at him.
“You look happy,” I say. I like seeing Rick and Natalie like this. Content. Settled. The baby is a natural part of their home now. For weeks I’d come over here and all I’d hear about was their fears about parenthood while Natalie’s stomach stretched and grew. Then Claire was born and didn’t ever sleep, and I came over to find a sobbing girl in the fetal position while Claire looked on.
Natalie finally pulls the bread from the oven and puts the pot roast on a platter. We pray and I start pulling off the tender meat, slicing it onto the plates, and adding scoops of potatoes and carrots.
“Going to set her down to eat?” Natalie asks Rick.
He shrugs. “I can eat one-handed.”
Rick is softening and I love it.
“So,” Natalie says to me, chewing a bite of bread. “Tell me about your huge personal problems that have nothing to do with monthly visitors.”
I growl into my delicious dinner. “Ugh. Don’t ask.”
“I already did.”
I was still dating Luke when I moved here for college, but it ended fairly soon after. I wasn’t super close with Rick and Natalie then. They were spared a lot of the drama.
“This guy I used to date is back in town,” I say.
“Please tell me it’s not Michael the Martian,” Rick says around a bite of pot roast.
“That’s not very nice, and no.” Michael was a little too into space-related things. On our first date, he took me to the planetarium. Which sounds romantic until he made me sit through a four-hour discussion on whether or not some comet’s tail was long enough to be considered a comet.
Or something like that. I think I nodded off six times that night.
“Who?” Natalie asks.