by Amanda Tru
“I do not! It could be a scarf, a sweater, or even a sweatshirt or hoodie.”
Heath pushed Selby’s bowl over to her. “Open it.”
The wrapping paper peeled off in a single move—just as it always did. The girl had skills. “An oatmeal container? So help me…” She shook it. “Okay, no. No ‘porridge’ for Christmas. That would be cruel.”
As she peeled the plastic lid from the container and pulled the burnt orange sweater from it, Heath grinned. “Thought it was time you had a proper sweater for St. Paddy’s Day.”
“You just want to pinch me. I know you.” Though Heath thought she might throw it at him, she didn’t. Instead, she flung her arms around him. “Thank you for being the best brother ever. No one I know gets twelve gifts for Epiphany.”
“Well, from what I read, your church should.”
“Not like you’re doing! I swear, I should have converted to Anglican years ago. Think of the loot!”
Only Selby Karras could make a greedy, materialistic comment like that and the true state of her heart shine through. Heath just hugged her and said, “What’d you learn today?”
She gave him a sidelong glance. “That the month associated with January third is October and not March?”
“Good thing that sweater is orange then, isn’t it?” A spoonful of ice cream flew at him. Heath missed it with his mouth, but he managed to scoop it from his shirt before it landed on the floor. “Yummy.”
“You did that on purpose!”
“When I realized that it was the third, I figured you might buy that I mixed it up and did March again. I also figured your little shamrock earrings would give you that spot of green to wear with it—win-win.”
Once more, Selby’s arms wrapped around him, but this time, she didn’t thank him. Instead, she whispered. “Are you okay?”
All ground he’d gained in watching her with her gifts zipped backward at warp speed. The picture of Jordan Aylward’s keen blue eyes and sandy curls filled his mind. The way her eyes crinkled when she gave him an awkward smile and shook his hand. The button nose…
His reply came out in a ragged whisper. “Selby, she had freckles.”
Selby’s arms tightened. “I’m so sorry…”
“That man will be single for the rest of his life.” As she drove through the streets of Fairbury, the worst date she could ever have imagined replayed until Jordan Aylward begged the Lord for mercy. “Isn’t it bad enough I’ll have to rehash this with mom?”
She pulled onto Primrose Lane and up to the house she called home for the last and the next eight months. Though a nice, roomy 20’s bungalow, Jordan had her eye on the houses in the “tree streets.” Holly Circle would be preferred, actually. Just in case the Lord was in any doubt of that, Jordan sent up a silent reminder.
Mail—none for her and only junk mail addressed to D.C. Wright. Junk she couldn’t throw away because D.C. insisted that she save every piece of mail with his name on it until he returned from a fifteen-month deployment. “Well, at least it’s no bills.” Thanks for small favors came to mind. Jordan offered them. It’s what she did.
The entry clock—who had those things anyway? She thought it every time she looked at it, and every time, Jordan had to admit that it was handy. It read eight. “I shouldn’t have been home until at least ten. And then I should have whined all the way to bed at midnight for agreeing to a Thursday-night date.”
Jordan made a stop by her room to grab sleep pants, shirt, and underwear. Linen closet—towel. And in the bathroom, she stared at herself in the full-length mirror. The reflection didn’t even hint that she was such a troll. “I always thought I was reasonably interesting and attractive. Who knew?”
Half an hour later with a giant bowl of ice cream, her hair still wrapped in a towel until she could blow out some of the curls, Jordan tucked herself into the couch and told Siri to call her mother. As usual, the phone went to voicemail, but in typical mom style, hers rang just five minutes later.
“Okay. I got the dogs put out. What went wrong?”
“And what makes you think anything went wrong? I mean, eight-thirty for a date. Most mothers would be thanking the Lord for their daughter’s good sense in coming home at a reasonable hour on a work night.”
Her mother would have nothing to do with it. “Spill it, girl.”
“Well, where do I start?”
“Is he—I mean was he cute?”
“Scary cute in that hipster, semi-tall, dark, and handsome with a nice beard sort of way.”
“Ouch.”
And that’s reason #242911194…point 4 why I love you.
“So, what happened? Are you sure it’s as bad as you think?”
What else could she do? Jordan took a giant bite of double chocolate crunch and grumbled, “Bladders, Mom,” around a mouthful.
“Sorry, you must be drowning your sorrows in frozen chocolate. I didn’t quite hear that. It sounded like ‘bladders.’ Did you ask why it matters?”
“Nope.” Jordan took another bite, smaller this time, and let it mostly melt before she repeated herself. “You heard me right. Bladders.”
Ever the zoologist, her mother confirmed that indeed, most mammals have them. “Except rats—no wait, that’s gallbladders. But what does that have to do with your date?”
“Well, I have a little-known fact for you, Mom. Most mammals of over one kilogram take approximately twenty seconds to empty their bladders. Cat or elephant, it doesn’t matter. Twenty to forty seconds is the norm.”
Her mother protested that it had nothing to do with the problem with her date. Jordan begged to differ. “First the guy spent about twenty minutes explaining why it was the same time for all mammals—”
“Predators. I know. I didn’t know about twenty seconds, though.”
Good. You’re rolling with it. At least it’ll give you a laugh now. With that thought prompting a smile—and another huge bite of ice cream, of course—Jordan moved in for the kill. “It’s all in the urethra. An elephant’s is huge, of course. A cat’s, not so big. And never fear, he’s got the scientific journal to back up his information. Very thorough.”
“Wait. Your date read to you out of a scientific journal on the mammalian emptying of bladders?”
“Yep—or tried. He didn’t actually read much to me. First, he told me all about them, and then before I could get a word in edgewise, he pulled out his phone and started reading the study.”
Her mother’s groan helped soothe the irritated edges of her emotions. “I am so sorry. I get what you mean. He will be single for a long time if he doesn’t figure out how to talk about books and movies or something a bit more benign.” A pause hinted at what would come next. “How’d you get out of it?”
“I dug a twenty out of my purse, stood the minute he finished reading, dropped it on the table, apologized, said I didn’t think we were compatible, and bolted.”
“At least you didn’t dine and ditch…”
And in that reply, Jordan heard everything she needed to. “I think he’s nice, Mom. I do. I just—I don’t know. Maybe he’s autistic and I was just a jerk, but I couldn’t listen to any more of it.”
“You don’t have to, Jordan. The right guy is out there somewhere. You’ll either find him and be happy, or not and you’ll stay single and happy that you didn’t settle for someone who makes you miserable.”
“And regale me with stories of bladders and urine during dinner. Yeah.” Instant pain came with her next bite, and Jordan jumped up, hand to her head. “Thanks, Mom. I’m going to bed. I’ve got an ice cream headache now.”
“I love you, girlie. Just keep up the faith or whatever I’m supposed to tell you religious types. Sending happy vibes.”
Happy vibes. “Love you, Mom.
Five minutes later, Jordan sat in bed, iPad in hand, staring at the website she’d seen advertised that afternoon. “I said I wouldn’t need it, but…”
Betwixt2hearts.com. Of course, there were options—personal match
maker or computer generated based on commonalities and interests. It also included a nice long list of questions—including those needed for a background check. I’ve got nothing to hide, I’m sick of blind dates, and I’m also ready to meet someone. How weird is it to admit that?
The temptation to “do it later” convinced her. “I never do it later. Never.” In the time it took to type in the memorized credit card numbers and hit submit, she’d done it. Step one to a new life. Step two… open the email. When it came in. It would take a while, surely.
I hope.
A momentary twinge of regret struck as Selby’s phone alarm chimed the five-minute warning before her favorite class began. “Heath better appreciate that I missed organic chemistry to try to experiment with his.”
The dashboard read nine-forty by the time she pulled into the parking lot at The Coventry. A quick text to Reid Keller earned her an even quicker reply.
Reid: Come on in. Back door.
That’s all it took for her to bolt from the car. He stood there, sleeves rolled up, a curious expression on his face. “Selby Karras?”
A lifetime of introductions on support-raising tours didn’t end with three semesters at the University of Rockland. Selby stuck out her hand automatically and thanked Reid for giving her a few minutes of his time. As he shook it, she translated his confused expression. “Sorry… habit. But seriously, I appreciate you talking to me.”
“Not sure what I can do,” he protested.
“Kelsey said if anyone could help, you can.”
“Well, I wasn’t shy or awkward, though…”
“But someone helped you get a move on anyway. What did it?”
Reid opened the kitchen door and urged her in out of the cold. “It was taken out of my hands. My landlord decided to deliver the flowers and card I’d ordered for my mom to Kelsey. It said how much I loved her. And I couldn’t deny it even when I had to confess that it was meant for someone else.” He smiled at her wince. “Yeah, awkward, but it did make me say something sooner than I’d intended.”
“Forced… how can I force Heath not to talk about weird, random animal facts?”
Reid had picked up a knife and had reached for a zucchini. He had. But that stopped him, knife poised as if ready to throw. “You want to force him not to do something? Does he really think girls are interested in animal facts?” His eyes widened, and a smile formed. “Little brother? Maybe… twelve? Thinks—”
“Older brother—almost thirty. Still traumatized by our mother forcing him to ask a girl out every time we were in the States—for cultural literacy.”
“Cultur—”
Selby couldn’t take it. “Trust me, we had weird classes in our school.”
Knife replaced, arms folded over his chest, Reid gave her a, “This I gotta hear,” look and asked, “Such as…?”
“Commercial Jingles 101. The History of Sitcoms.” At his look of disbelief, she added, “Socialization of American Children.”
“Homeschooled?”
She nodded. “On the mission field, no less—Dominican Republic.”
“Aaah… I get the literacy then. I guess…” He picked up the knife again. “But it didn’t work out for…”
“Heath.” Selby shook her head and leaned against the prep table, fascinated at the speed with which he turned the zucchini into perfect slices. “No… what worked in awkward situations while visiting churches to raise support didn’t work with girls. But he’d already trained himself to do it. And the more interested he is, the worse it is.”
She waited a moment, uncertain if she should risk mortifying her brother further and then threw discretion in the waste bucket beside Reid. “Over a hundred dates since coming to live in the States.”
The next question—so obvious she almost answered it before he could ask, but it wasn’t nice—not nice at all. So, she waited. After the better part of one of the longest minutes of her life, Selby would have given up, but then he asked.
“How did he get so many girls to go out with him?”
“Girls like him. They give him their number. He sends a text message or tries to email. People also like to set up the MK.” Reid’s blank look prompted her to translate. “Missionary kid. So, he gets lots of blind dates. Once he thought he’d meet someone at church for a first date. He did great all the way through the sermon. After the final hymn and prayer, he stood, turned to ask her if she’d like to go out for coffee, and said, ‘Did you know African civet coffee isn’t the only partially digested coffee out there? In India, rhesus monkeys spit out coffee cherries and then they’re harvested, cleaned, and roasted.’” Selby shrugged at Reid’s incredulous expression. “She chose to take that moment to excuse herself.”
Reid reached for more zucchinis. And began chopping again. “I would have, too.”
“Anyway, as you can see, I need help. Kelsey said to talk to you. What do I do?”
“I’d say talk to Wayne at The Pettler. I mean, he’s the one who came up with getting us together. I didn’t do any of it. Maybe he’d know?”
Within ten minutes, she’d said goodbye, driven across town, and burst into a humid florist shop. A woman with dark hair and a wide smile greeted her. “How may I help you today?”
“I’m looking for Wayne? Reid sent me. About Kelsey’s flowers.”
The woman started to respond, but a voice from behind the curtain called out, “Send her back. Reid just messaged me to say you were coming.”
“But, Wayne—”
“Now, love. I’ll keep working!”
Despite the exasperated look that crossed the woman’s face, the moment she stepped into the back, it softened. She moved to Wayne’s side, kissed his cheek, and whispered something that sounded like, “Don’t meddle. It won’t work every time.”
Ignore her. Meddle. Please.
Wayne pointed to a stool and asked to hear her story. So, as if she hadn’t already done it that morning, Selby went through the history of their respective childhoods, Heath’s disastrous dates, and her desperation to find him something that would work. “Reid thinks you’re just the man for the job.”
If she’d expected Wayne to snap his fingers and shout, “I’ve got it,” the moment she finished, Selby would have been disappointed. In fact, she didn’t expect him to do it at all. But he did. He actually did—just after more of life’s excessively long minutes.
“I’ve got it! There’s a new dating service based out of Rockland—Stamped with Love—but it’s countrywide. It’s a great concept. They do snail mail with service-provided post office boxes and everything. Maybe if he writes to someone and really gets to know her, he can explain his nervous habit and—”
She had to stop him before he convinced her. “No, no. Sorry. But that’s not going to help him overcome it. It’s just going to prepare some girl for the awkwardness. We need a way to get him over it.”
For the next twenty minutes, they discussed a dozen ideas, but Wayne’s only contribution was the snail-mail dating service. Even as she left, he gave it one last plug. “After all, he doesn’t have to try to be anyone but himself. They can progress to phone… and then maybe Skype. You know, get up and walk away if he starts to spout stuff. Come back with duct tape over his mouth or something.”
If he hadn’t winked right then, Selby would have blasted him for making fun of her brother. That’s my job. Instead, she thanked him anyway and pretended not to see her speedometer inch closer and closer to the right as she sped back to Rockland.
One idea formed as the snowy landscape whizzed past. “… he doesn’t have to try to be anyone but himself…”
“Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe he needs to quit trying to be himself and practice being someone else—someone who doesn’t cope with awkwardness by relating the digestive habits of cattle.”
The numbers stared back at him—a nice, round five-thousand dollars in the furnishing category. Hands spread out over the cheap, Formica dining table, he relaxed. “Hey, Selby! It’s time!”
Only then did he recall that she hadn’t come home from classes yet. A glance at his phone showed a message he’d missed.
Selby: Stopping for Starbucks. Text me if you want anything.
But before he could respond, keys rattled in the door before she burst through, a carrier with two coffees. “I took a chance that you’d like a peppermint latte before they’re gone.”
His eyes strayed to the bookcase while her back was to him. How do I give a clue for that?
“Heath?”
“Sorry… just thinking about how to give you a hint for your gift.” He turned the laptop around and pointed to the furnishings column. “I have enough to buy the table, chairs, and still keep a buffer.”
The latte landed before him without spilling too much, and she squeezed his shoulders. “Did you order yet?”
“I thought I’d have you do it. You know how to tell them what we want. As long as it’s like the reclaimed scaffolding one we saw, I’m good.”
“Of course! But the benches you were going to choose—ugh. Ugly and uncomfortable.”
He still didn’t know if he agreed. “But they match… and benches mean we can put more people here.”
“Because you always have more than eight people over, right?” Selby plopped down in the chair next to him and dragged his laptop over to face her. “I’m ordering this now before you decide that you need triple what you spend before you spend it.”
Well, a lifetime of weighing every dime spent doesn’t go away overnight—not for some of us, anyway. It wasn’t a fair thought, and he knew it. Still, Selby had adapted to American life much easier than he had.
“There. Read that… and then I figured out half your problem. So, you’ll want to hear it.”
He glanced around the room again before the idea hit him. “And while you tell me, you might wander through the forest for your gift.”
She’d made it three words into her “brilliant idea” before his words registered. Selby whirled in place and gave him that look. The one that he never quite knew what to do with. “Did you say to wander through the forest?”