My mouth, as I remind myself any time I can, tends to run away with me. I know this about myself and really need to focus on taming it. This is one of many tests I’ve faced in this area. I’m going to let the past go here, and truly focus on a future friendship with Matt.
“So,” I redirect our conversation. “The prison ministry, huh?”
A slow grin forms on his face. “Don’t blame Asher. Your dad suggested it. But I think that was before you came back. You are back, right?”
I tilt my head to the side. “Are you? You look back, but are you?”
He nods slowly. “I’m getting there.”
“Counseling?”
“Yeah.” He looks down for a split second.
“Is it as awful as the stories on the Internet? I’ve read blogs about Christian college counseling. Do they ask you way personal questions?” I read that they sometimes ask guys how often they’re… pleasuring… themselves. I can’t even imagine how that’s possibly relevant.
“Yep,” he confirms.
“Do you actually answer? Honestly?”
He lets out a loud laugh. One I haven’t heard in a long time. “No. Just… no. Please don’t ask me for more details.”
I put my hands up. “Wasn’t gonna.” I take a sip of water, enjoying just being with him.
Matt leans forward a little, a playful rasp working its way through his voice like he’s on a 1950s crime show. “Word on the street,” he says, “is that the only reason you’re coming back to CU is because of the show.”
I chuckle with a mouthful of water, which causes me to cough and sputter for a couple of seconds. “What friggen street? What word? And who says I’m coming back?” I challenge.
“You are coming back, aren’t you?” His eyes beg for an answer.
I look around, a new paranoia of seeing who might be eavesdropping. I nod. “But shh. I haven’t told my mom yet. She knows I’m coming back, like, in her heart, but she doesn’t know about the show yet. Yet. God help us all when she finds out.”
“How has she not heard about it?” Matt looks genuinely surprised.
I shrug. “She ignores as much about CU as possible nowadays. Unless I tell her, she pretends none of it is happening. Besides, she’s been oddly active in political campaigns this summer.”
“Oddly?”
“Yeah. She’s a lobbyist, so she’s always kind of involved, but in the last couple of months she’s spent more and more time volunteering for someone I think she’s hoping will toss their hat into the ring for Democratic candidacy.”
“Who?” Matt questions. “The Republican race is really heating up. There’s something planned for the start of the school year.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Here? Like what?”
“Some candidate that wants the young conservative vote, of course,” Matt says with a grin.
“You don’t know which one?”
He shakes his head. “It’s all speculation.”
“Give me a sec.” I pull my phone out of my bag and dial my mom’s number.
“Hey, Babycakes,” she answers playfully. “How are you settling in?”
“Good. I’m sitting with Matt, and we’re ta—”
“Wells?” she interrupts.
“Yes.”
“That’s new.”
I nod. “Yep.”
“Is it okay?” she asks, honestly.
I feel my cheeks turn red. “So far. I guess…” Matt looks at me curiously, but I wave my hand to dismiss speculation of my sudden blush.
“Want me to stop now?”
“Please.” I chuckle and sigh in relief at the same time. “Anyway, Matt says that the word on the street is that some conservative potential presidential candidate might have some event or something here at Carter at the beginning of the semester.” Matt sticks his tongue out at me for stealing his previous turn of phrase.
“Yeah…” Mom draws out. “Who?”
“Neither of us know, and nothing’s been posted on the school’s website. I was hoping you had some inside information on that.”
She sighs for a long few second. “Well I do have some information, but probably not the kind you’re looking for.”
“Oh?” My voice rises at the end of the word, piquing Matt’s interest. He leans forward, arms crossed on the table.
“Do you remember meeting Elizabeth Baldwin?”
Thankfully I’m sitting in front of my computer and can quickly Google her.
“Yes,” I answer with confidence. “At the pro-choice rally in Boston a couple years ago, right?”
Matt looks fully confused now, so I turn my computer toward him and let him read Liz Baldwin’s Wikipedia page while I talk to my mom. I study his face while he reads, watching as his teeth slowly work against the inside of his lip. I’m not sure if he’s against what he’s reading, for it, or simply uncomfortable. We agreed almost a year ago that we wouldn’t talk politics and, technically, we’re not. He’s reading, and I’m talking to my mom.
“What about her?” I ask. “Is she actually running for president?”
Mom takes a deep breath. “You’ve not been following the news at all, have you?”
“There wasn’t a single TV in the temple, Mom. I’ve been blissfully unaware.”
“Or ignorant,” she teases.
“Either way,” I concede.
“Yes, she’s running for president. Officially. The fall will be pre-primary campaigning ahead of the Iowa caucus in January.”
“Hmm,” I say. “That explains the rumor of a candidate hopping over here, I guess. Mom? You there?” She’s uncharacteristically quiet.
She hesitates for a few seconds before speaking. “I’m going to be working on Liz’s campaign full time,” she blurts out. “She’s asked me to manage her campaign.”
“Really?” I yelp. “That’s so exciting! It’s something you’ve always wanted to do!” While my mom’s always been active in local efforts for presidential campaigns, she’s never been able to take on the full time requirements of campaign manager. She’s spent a lot of time in Washington over the years, sure, but most of her lobbying efforts were centered on the state level so she could keep her family in Connecticut but do the job she loved.
“I’m thrilled you’re excited,” she finally says.
“You sound relieved.”
“This is going to be very time consuming, Kennedy. Exciting and challenging, yes. What I’ve always wanted? Yes. But time consuming nonetheless. And public. Very. Public.”
She says the words deliberately. Slowly. And, as they sink in, so does my stomach.
“Oh… right.”
“What is it?” Matt whispers, looking half excited and half panicked.
I hold up my index finger as my mind races.
“Are you okay with this?” she asks, sounding sincere.
I swallow hard. “Of course, Mom. Don’t be ridiculous. This is your, like, life dream.”
“You’re my life dream, Kennedy.”
She’s not normally this sentimental, and it makes me a little uncomfortable. Not in a bad way, just… we’re not typically all out-in-the-open emotional. “I know,” I say. “I just mean…”
“I know what you meant. I just want you to know that my priority always has been, and always will be you. I know you didn’t get to choose Roland being in the spotlight. Or you being there.”
Her words remind me that I need to tell her sooner than later about the reality show plans. “Mom…” I start, hesitantly.
“I don’t know if I like the sounds of that Mom,” she admits.
I decide to say it all in one breath, with Matt watching me closely. I whisper. “This is all top secret for now, and nothing definite. And I just found out a few days ago but I haven’t seen or heard anything technically official…” Besides Roland going a few rounds with CU admins about it.
“Way to be vague and freak me out,” Mom says with brewing urgency.
“NBC and CU are working on a deal for a reali
ty docu-series about the lives of students in evangelical America.”
As expected the other end is dead silent. I give her a few seconds.
“I haven’t been asked to sign on, but I expect to be. Roland suspects so, too. Well, he’s expected to sign on himself and he suspects that they’ll ask me.” I just let all the information hang out there, while Matt stares at me with wide, interested eyes.
“You’re going to do it,” she says as if it’s a fact. “You’ve decided already, haven’t you?”
I click my tongue against my teeth. “What are you even talking about?”
“You would have called me right away if you were for sure not going to do it. Outraged at such an idea. You might be growing and changing, Kennedy, but I know you. You haven’t told me about it in the last few days because you’ve been mulling it over. And you sound calm.”
“And you don’t sound surprised at all that the unspoken thing in all of this is that I’m returning to CU for the fall.”
Matt leans back against the booth and puffs out his cheeks as he exhales, feeling the tension in even half a conversation.
Mom’s voice softens. “I think we both knew that.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “We did.”
With Matt listening on, I take a few minutes to explain to my mom the reasons why I am, in fact, considering participation in the series. All the reasons I told Roland. Maybe I can be loud enough to encourage an honest look at some of the really amazing people here and keep attention away from the things I personally hate. Maybe I can just take the heat off of some of my friends. Maybe this just sounds like a ridiculously fun idea. It is TV, after all. What teenager wouldn’t want to be on TV?
Me.
“Let’s both just sleep on all of this,” she says once I’ve finished. “We’ve given each other a lot of information today, and before we start slathering our opinions over one another, let’s just… sleep on it.”
I grin, feeling the tension in my shoulders release. “How PC of you.”
“Well,” she sighs wistfully, “I need the practice.”
I laugh, realizing that despite the strong convictions it takes to run a political campaign, hotheadedness needs to take a backseat on the public stage. She’s got a bit of work ahead of her there I think.
“Oh, Kennedy?” She asks just before I hang up. “Don’t tell Roland any of this yet, okay? You, Jenny, and Dan are the only ones who know. And your grandfather of course.”
“Uh… okay.”
Absentmindedly, I realize it’s been weeks and weeks since I’ve talked to my stepsister, Jenny. She’s in medical school, and very busy, but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t avoided her calls once or twice. She can be a bit… much, sometimes. Even more so than my mother. The fact that she’s Jewish and annoyingly hardheaded makes discussions about my choice of school a dead end street. She’s liberal like I am, and she made it clear early on that my choosing to go to a school with extremists in my faith was negligent and borderline dangerous. She lumps all conservative Christians into the right-wing extremist category. In all honesty, I used to, too. This is one thing I’m hoping Jesus Freaks will at least attempt to accomplish—getting people to listen. But, I realize, that is likely a pipe dream.
Can’t blame a girl for trying…
Mom’s voice brings me back. “I just don’t want to say anything until it’s official.”
I shrug. “No problem. Don’t tell anyone about the show yet, okay? Until it’s, you know, official.”
She laughs. “Deal.”
Setting the phone down, I take the last bite of my sandwich, long since gone cold, and look at Matt.
“How’d… all of that go?” he asks, lifting his eyebrows.
I sigh. “Matt, I have a feeling that things aren’t going to get easier for me anytime soon.”
He chuckles. “Just catching onto that, are you?”
I grin, thanking God by the second that things feel easy with him again.
“Wanna get out of here?” He asks. “Go for a walk and talk about it?”
“I’d love that,” I answer with a rush of warmth surging through my chest.
Clearing my tray, I make eye contact with Riley, who is cleaning off a table to my right. I’m compelled to talk to her again.
“Bye, Riley,” I say brightly.
She seems startled, but offers a smile and a wave. Peering over my shoulder, her eyes settle on Matt. “Hey you. I haven’t seen you around in a while. Behaving yourself?”
Now it’s Matt’s turn to look startled. “Oh, hi. Yeah, you know, gotta get in shape for football.”
“It’s okay,” I offer. “I’ll eat his extra bacon next time.”
As Matt and I escape into the hot summer air, I make sure the door is closed before I speak.
Hitching my thumb back to the deli/cafe, renamed “Butcher Block” since last semester, I whisper, “That’s the girl Eden and Bridgette were talking to at Planned Parenthood last year. Did you know that? Or does she just know you from getting your feedbag on all summer?”
He shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “Just from here, I guess. I’m sure she was wrapped up with the three of you on the sidewalk that day. If you remember correctly I tried to stay just slightly out of the line of fire.”
I laugh. “Yes, and how chivalrous of you, indeed.”
“Sorry,” he mumbles, looking down.
“Shhh,” I start to say the curse, but stop myself. “Shoot,” I say louder, linking my arm through Matt’s. “I’m sorry, Matt. I didn’t mean to, like, bring anything up, like… I don’t think you’re less of a gentleman because of—”
He cuts me off. “No, no. It’s not you. It’s me. I’ve been working in counseling on some of the selfish behaviors I’ve been using as a… protective measure against getting hurt.”
We didn’t discuss where we were going to walk, but we both seemed to be heading to the trail we’ve walked on together many times before. The one that winds from downtown Asheville, up around the west side of CU, behind Roland’s house, and disappears into the mountains.
“That’s… honest of you,” I admit.
“Yeah.” He sighs. “I don’t know how or why you bring that out of me.” He shakes his arm free of mine and puts his hand back in his pocket.
“Oh… sorry,” I say without really knowing what it is I’m sorry for, especially since I’m the one who feels suddenly abandoned without his thick arm around mine.
He shakes his head as we enter the trail. “It’s not you,” he tries to sound reassuring.
I don’t say anything for a minute or two as we navigate the roots and loose rocks of the trail. Just ahead is the large boulder we’ve sat on before. Tucked just off the main trail, I nod in its direction and climb up, motioning for him to do the same.
“If it’s not me, then what is it? I just want to know how to make things easier for you, Matt. If you’re going to let me be your friend again—”
“Let you?” he cuts me off. “Geez, Kennedy. I’m so sorry I screwed us up so bad. I’m grateful you even let me talk to you.”
I’m taken back and confused by his honestly, and I say so. “What? You were the one mad at me. I was never mad at you, Matt. God, you could have walked up to me a year from now and I’d have still let you sit with me. I’ll always save you a seat, okay?”
“I was a jerk. Your forgiveness is incredible.” He shrugs and looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “But, we shouldn’t sit here for too long. Rules…” he says regarding alone time of mixed-gender couples in CU.
“It’s summer,” I remind him, sliding off the rock. He follows and falls in step with me.
He shrugs. “My rules though, too.”
I stop. “What? What are you talking about?”
“Can we keep walking?” he asks. “It’ll be easier for me to get through this if we’re not staring at each other.”
Without a word, I turn and continue north on the trail.
“I got into a rea
lly bad place over the last year,” he starts. “I was so angry and resentful at my father, yet I found comfort in the same things that nearly broke up our entire family. I mean… it started out as just wanting to see what all the fuss was about—what was so great to risk your family for. But I just… loved it,” he admits through a strained voice. “And I’m so ashamed about that.”
“I get it, I think,” I say. “It’s like with Roland being a recovering alcoholic. I’ve always known that about him, even before I met him. My mom always cautioned me about alcohol because addiction is a disease and it can run in families…”
“Have you ever been drunk?” Matt asks.
I shake my head. “I’ve never had anything to drink,” I admit. “At parties and stuff someone will hand me a cup and mostly I just walk around with it or pretend to drink from it. I just don’t want to go down that road, I guess.”
“How come you never told me that?” He stops and leans against a tree.
I shrug. “It’s never come up. I mean, there aren’t many parties around here where you’d have a chance to see me work my fake-drinking magic.” I chuckle and so does he.
“How do you stay away from it?” He looks down and I sense the basis of his questioning.
Walking over to him, I speak softly. “From a very early age I had a healthy respect for what addiction could do to a person. It took my dad away before he had a chance to do the kind of damage your dad did. It’s always been a part of my story. For you it came out of nowhere. And… you’re a guy. Sexual experimentation is kind of part of the drill, isn’t it? It’s not like you knew if your dad was a sex addict or if you’d become one.”
Matt’s gaze shoots to mine. “I didn’t call myself a sex addict,” he snaps.
“Sorry,” I say, taking a step forward to continue our walk. “I didn’t mean—”
“No,” he says, catching up with me. “I mean, you’re right. But I didn’t say that. How’d you know?”
“I know addiction,” I reiterate.
He stops me in the middle of the trail and puts his hands on my shoulders. “Kennedy, I haven’t had sex, though. It’s just the general term. I guess I’m more of a porn addict, but the strip club stuff and the inappropriate fantasies…”
The Broken Ones (Jesus Freaks #3) Page 6