In the Details

by H. Claire Taylor

  Evan went first, looking at Meg. “Mr. Whittaker, only sending the women to a dumbass leadership retreat looks like you possess a bias that women are less inclined toward leadership than men, which isn’t supported by science. Because we found the leadership retreat so incredibly helpful, I believe it makes sense for Bradley to attend one as well. I enjoy working here, and I would hate to file a complaint against the company for workplace sexism. Let me know if you would like help looking up appropriate men’s retreats that aren’t, you know, just for gay swingers.” She cocked her head to the side, and Meg nodded her approval.

  “I think that will go over swimmingly. Why don’t you give it a try, Jessica?”

  She considered who she needed to have a hard conversation with and immediately came up with an obvious choice. But even just rehearsing a conversation like that with Mrs. Thomas would be Hard Conversations 301, and Jessica wasn’t there yet.

  She took a deep breath before diving in. “Jimmy, your obsession with making a buck off of me is causing me undue stress and distracting me from my bakery. I think you’re a superb con man, and I want to see you succeed at that in another state if not continent. Please let me know what I can do to help relocate you.”

  Evan, who’d been Jimmy’s stand-in, bowed her head. “Well done. I can tell it was really hard for you to call him a con man. You’re so brave.”

  Meg, though, wasn’t sharing in the amusement. “My turn,” she said quickly, facing Jessica. “Jessica, I’ve wanted to say this to you all week. Your reluctance to be the female role model my eight-year-old daughter could really use has lasted too long. I know you don’t want to lean into it, but that’s a selfish decision, and you need to get over it and start thinking about all the little girls who need to see you crush Jimmy Dean’s ass into the ground with the heel of your boot. And all the grown-up women who need to see that too. I know you’re capable of it because I’ve been internet stalking you for years. Sorry I didn’t mention that sooner. Let me know what I can do to help you stop running from this and own it.”

  Jessica’s eyes were dry from not blinking, and heat infused her cheeks.

  That was … not a role play.

  “Oh. Okay.” Caren hadn’t explained the proper way to receive a hard conversation, and Jessica wasn’t sure what to say. “Thanks.” That would do.

  Meg relaxed her spine. “I mean it. You seem cool, and it’s great that you’re here and all, but who gives a shit about a bakery? You’re God’s daughter, right?”

  “Yeah. And you believe it?”

  “Not really. I just think you’re a cool chick. I’m Jewish.”

  “That’s awesome! I love Jews!”

  Meg shook her head minutely. “Don’t say that. It’s weird. My point is that so long as you think you’re God’s daughter and all these other women and men think the same, you have a responsibility to act like it.”

  “Don’t I have a say in what I do with my life?”

  “Clearly. You’re running a bakery and at a bullshit women’s retreat in the desert. You have all the say. Doesn’t mean any decision you make is the right one.”

  “So, I’m not supposed to consider what I want to do?” She sounded petulant and hated it, but she couldn’t stop.

  “I suspect that’s all you’re considering,” Meg said. “And here you are. So tell me: are you living your dreams, Jess?”

  Of course she wasn’t! Who the hell actually got to do that? “Would you rather I give up everything I have and go get crucified instead? Women mature quicker than men, after all. Why should I have to wait until I’m thirty-three to get publicly murdered?”

  “Talk about climbing up that cross …” Evan mumbled.

  Jessica snapped her head toward her. “You agree with her?”

  “I think everyone with half a brain does, Jessica,” said Evan. “Except, you know, Jimmy Dean. I’m sure it makes him extremely happy that Lady Jesus spends all her time baking in the kitchen rather than calling him out on his lies and burning the patriarchy to the ground.”

  “I have no obligation to burn the patriarchy to the ground. I’m not even entirely sure it’s flammable. And I’ve tried to take on Jimmy’s lies before. He just doubles down and lies harder and everyone assumes, ‘no one would make such an outrageous statement if there wasn’t a little truth to it!’ and then I end up being yelled at by my publicist.”

  If she was hoping for pity from the others, which she was, she was disappointed. Evan looked at her apologetically, but more in a “sorry you’re so incredibly wrong,” way. And Meg continued staring with her arms folded across her chest, her eyebrows floating skeptically mid forehead.

  “Yeah,” said Meg, “doing the right thing is hard. I’ll give you that.”

  “You don’t know,” Jessica said, spinning away to face the front.

  She thought they would take the hint that the conversation was over, but they didn’t. “I like you, Jessica,” said Meg. “I know I’ve only known you a few days, but in that time—and the years of cyberstalking—I can tell that if anyone can do this, it’s you. I want to hear your story. And not from Jimmy, but from you. I’m just so sick of our stories coming from the mouths of men, I think I’ll tear my hair out if I hear another one.”

  “I understand,” Jessica said, trying her best to sound convincing.

  Neither said anything else right away, and that was just fine, because being close to Meg and Evan had become excruciating. She needed space.

  She got to her feet suddenly, saying, “I’m gonna go do a little digestive yoga on my own.” And then she left the sanctuary.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Of the sacrifices Jessica had made in her life, skipping ovarian acupuncture the previous night to sulk in her dome ranked toward the bottom. It was day five of the retreat, and that meant a farewell breakfast, digestive yoga, and then her departure from the commune to rejoin real life. Was she excited? Was she ready for this experiment in self to come to a conclusion?

  “Jessica,” called a voice as she made her way toward the sanctuary.

  She spotted Caren gliding over in no hurry at all.

  “Good morning,” Jessica said.

  When they met where her walkway intersected the main path, Caren rested a gentle hand between Jessica’s shoulder blades, guiding her in the opposite direction of the sanctuary. “I saw you leave early from Hard Conversations 101 yesterday and I was informed you missed ovarian acupuncture later that night. Did the episode yesterday rattle you? I spoke with Harmony and she has been properly censured.”

  “No, it wasn’t that. I was just tired and thought I would take some sleep where I could. I don’t get much when I’m back home.”

  “Oh, Jessica,” Caren said breathlessly, “you really must make time for sleep. It’s crucial to keeping your chi flowing.”

  Super helpful. Obviously all Jessica needed to conjure up more hours for sleep was someone to tell her she needed it!

  PERHAPS YOU SHOULD HAVE ATTENDED OVARIAN ACUPUNCTURE. YOU SEEM A LITTLE HORMONAL.

  Not now.

  But He was right and she knew it. Not right that she needed a bunch of needles stuck in and above her bush, but that she was a little hormonal. Not thunderstorms-and-electrocuted-pedophiles hormonal, but a week shy of it.

  “Can I help you unburden your mind?” Caren asked. “Anything you’d like to talk about?”

  “No.” She paused. “Yeah, okay. One of the women accused me of using the bakery as a way to avoid doing something bigger, and, you know, maybe she has a point. Or maybe I’m playing too small with just running one bakery. Maybe I ought to be thinking bigger in general. I don’t know. I feel so overwhelmed just doing this one thing, and to be told it’s not enough …”

  “I can see why that would be difficult to hear. Do you mind my asking what this woman thinks you should be doing instead?”

  Would this all get back to Mrs. Thomas? She was friends with Caren, after all. If Mrs. Thomas heard Jessica was considering anything the
than running the bakery forever, would she call in the loan? No. Mrs. Thomas would never do something drastic like that, but she would probably be incredibly disappointed. She was the only one who’d remained consistent in her belief that Jessica was in no way obligated to be acting daughter of God. Sure, Destinee supported the bakery now, but Jess knew her mom would drop it in a heartbeat to help her pursue something bigger, more connected to her literally God-given line of work and with a fervor Jessica had only ever witnessed when Destinee was talking about sex.

  “She thinks, or rather, both of them think that I should be stepping into my role as … um, a female role model.”

  “You’re a business owner, Jessica! You’re already a wonderful role model for young girls. Would I be correct in assuming the thing you’re dancing around is your proclaimed lineage as the daughter of God?”

  Nothing about Caren’s tone gave an indication whether she believed that to be true, so Jessica proceeded cautiously. “Yeah, that’s what they meant.”

  “And is that something that one can make a living from? I ask because I have no experience in that arena.”

  Was she being sarcastic? As a new-age guru, Caren was closer to a female messiah by profession than Jessica was. And judging by the luxury of this place and the cost to attend, Jessica assumed Caren knew exactly how to make a buck off it.

  “I don’t know. I mean, Jimmy Dean makes money off of me. He didn’t for a while, but now he does.”

  “Indeed, the Reverend came from humble beginnings like yours and has now built quite an impressive empire for himself.”

  The crunch of gravel underneath her feet fell away as Jessica homed in on something that sounded remarkably like admiration in Caren’s tone. “Right. And with any luck, it’ll come crumbling down soon. You’ve read about the scandal, I assume.”

  A tiny smirk tugged at the corners of her lips. “I’ve read about it, but I’d hardly call it a scandal.”

  “What would you call it?”

  The woman shrugged serenely, her hands clasped behind her back as they walked. “Oh, just a media frenzy. Trust me, I’ve seen my fair share of men using their power to sexually abuse women, but I think it’s crucial to our cause not to shout fire every time we see a candle burning.”

  “But he rounded up a bunch of underage girls into a barn and told them the end of the world was coming.” Maybe Caren hadn’t heard the details.

  “Yes, I know. He believed he was saving their souls, taking them with him to heaven. It may seem misguided to you and me, but his intentions were good.”

  She disagreed so strongly, she worried her retinas might detach, but she didn’t say anything. Caren was wiser than she was, so she forced herself to listen with an open heart or whatever the fuck they’d said half a dozen times over the week.

  “There’s no one in this world that you’ll agree with one hundred percent of the time,” Caren continued. “Think about a disagreement you’ve had with someone you love. Did you accuse them of evil, of perversion, of ignorance, or were you able to allow them to continue coexisting with you while holding a belief you didn’t share because you’d seen their soul and given them the benefit of the doubt?”

  “Well, sure, but that’s only with people I trust.”

  “Love does not have to be complicated, Jessica. We become our best selves when we can extend the love we reserve for a select few to all beings who walk the earth alongside us.”

  There was an allure to that, something that resonated with her, or at least felt really good to imagine, but … “Seems like a quick way to let people screw you over.”

  Finally, Caren seemed to agree when she rocked her head forward slowly. “Yes. But you can’t control what others choose to do. All you can control are your own thoughts and actions. Those who wish to do you ill will likely do so whether you show them love or not. If anything, a small offering of compassion and understanding at just the right moment will dissuade them from committing the unfavorable act they had planned.”

  The unusual November heat had left the night before, and now the air around them was crisp. No longer shielded by the densest cluster of domes, the wind swirled around them and found its way up Jessica’s baggy sleeve, sending a chill down her spine. She shivered it off before saying, “I’m willing to consider that on the drive home, but I don’t quite buy it yet.”

  Caren laughed, and it sounded like a dove taking flight. “I’m pleased with that.”

  “I can’t promise I’ll ever not want to put a boot up Jimmy’s ass, though.”

  “You may be surprised what mercy and compassion your heart allows when you simply loosen the cords of anger that bind it.”

  The path they’d taken formed a U, and as they walked the bend and headed back toward the sanctuary, Caren said, “In my family, cooking has always been a way to show love. Running a bakery that not only provides food as delicious as yours, but caters to those who are often underserved due to dietary constraints, can be an act of love worthy of your time if you make it one. If you keep believing you should be doing some mysterious, grander thing, and you lose sight of what you have around you, you’ll never find happiness. Misery is simply the difference between what we have and what we wish we had. Close that gap, and you’ll find an inner peace, no matter what you’re doing.”

  “Hmm …” That sounded a lot like lowering expectations. But it also meant she was off the hook for being some sort of wise public figure like Evan and Meg (and so many more) thought she should be. So, she’d take it.

  “That makes a lot of sense. Thanks.”

  “We can lead in many ways. It doesn’t mean we must be the best of our profession, the top dog. It simply means that we treat those who choose to follow us in a way that doesn’t cast them aside.” They reached the entrance of the sanctuary, and she placed her hand on the door before leaning close and adding, “For what it’s worth, you make one hell of a lemon poppy seed muffin. Almost as if you were put on this earth to do it.” She winked, and Jessica laughed. The notion that God had gone to all the trouble of having another kid just so she could make a specific kind of muffin was one of the dumbest things Jessica had ever heard.

  But it still made her feel better.

  When they entered the sanctuary, many of the tables were already full of breakfasters, and Caren parted ways with her to make final rounds among the fat-campers with the lower-ranking galrus.

  Jessica’s eyes found Meg’s face in the crowd, and a wave of embarrassment crashed over her for the way she’d acted the day before. So childish. She couldn’t even handle that sort of basic criticism? She’d heard so much worse.

  She looked away and kept her head down through the smoothie line.

  When she looked back up, though, Meg waved her over, grinning. So Jessica set her jaw, returned the smile, and decided to try bravery on for size.

  “You feeling better?” Evan asked once Jessica had a seat next to her.

  “Yes. Thanks.”

  “Hey,” said Meg, “sorry about coming down on you so hard yesterday. I guess I needed ovarian acupuncture more than I realized.”

  The three of them laughed, and the tension disappeared. “Don’t worry about it. I was oversensitive. And you were just being honest.”

  “And I was right.”

  “Eh, I don’t know about that. But I tell you what: I’ll add it to the list of things to consider on my drive home later.”

  It was quite a long list now, but she had hours and hours to do nothing but think.

  She settled into a comfortable conversation with the women, mostly about how sad they were to go back to bras (but regardless, they all would).

  Her head was swimming by the time she said her final goodbyes just past the arch, now in her jeans and a light blue It is Risen T-shirt.

  As she loaded up the car, a moment of panic washed over her: I’ve learned nothing.

  But a few yoga breaths calmed her enough to change that thought to: I can’t wait to discover what I’ve learned.r />
  She started her car, caring a lot less that it was the dumpiest in the lot, and assured herself that she would be wiser by the time she arrived in Austin. She had to have learned something.

  Things will click into place when the dust settles. I just need a little alone time and a lot of distance. That gave me a lot to think about.

  FIVE DAYS AND FOUR NIGHTS IN THE DESERT IS AN EXTRAORDINARY FEAT. YOU MUST BE SO MORALLY EXHAUSTED.

  What … in the hell are you going on about?

  She pulled out her phone, which she’d shut off to conserve battery, from her purse, and powered it up before pulling out of the lot and onto the road into town.

  NOTHING. JUST, YOU KNOW, YOUR BROTHER SPENT FORTY DAYS FASTING IN THE DESERT WHILE BEING TEMPTED BY THE DEVIL.

  He did? She wondered how many times he’d called the Devil a meanie.

  YES. HE HASN’T MENTIONED THIS?

  Nope. I guess he didn’t want to use it against me as much as you do.

  ALL THE LORD IS SAYING IS THAT IF WOMEN WANT TO BE TREATED EQUAL TO MEN, THEY SHOULD BE PREPARED TO GO THROUGH THE SAME TRIALS.

  Where did she even start? Ah, she had a place.

  How long is the average female menstrual cycle?

  TWENTY-EIGHT DAYS, FIVE HOURS, TWENTY MINUTES, FORTY-NINE SECONDS, AND THREE HUMMINGBIRD HEARTBEATS.

  More specific than I was looking for, but okay. Now riddle me this, Mr. All That. Did Jesus have his period while he was in the desert?

  WELL, NO, BUT THAT’S BECAUSE—

  Until you level the playing field by giving men the blood-loss equivalent of a period, I don’t want to hear your bullshit. Also, he lived two thousand years ago. In the Middle East. Before sewage systems. Going out into the desert where he didn’t have to smell the unfiltered shit of the city was probably a step up.

  IT WAS, BUT DON’T TELL ANYBODY. SORT OF RUINS THE STORY. ALSO, DURING THAT FORTY DAYS, A SERIOUS STOMACH BUG SWEPT THROUGH HIS NEIGHBORHOOD AND KILLED, LIKE, EVERYONE.