Edified

by Marissa Sail Fike

  I shift to where I am sitting on my knees in my chair, placing the Bible gently in my lap. The one other time I said a prayer, I was laying down … sobbing … and it was only three words long. I feel like this time it should be more formal somehow, as kind of a peace offering for the last time, but I really don’t know what a formal prayer should sound like.

  I straighten my back and close my eyes, folding my hands lightly in my lap.

  The house is utterly silent and I feel silly, but I shake my head and try to get into some sort of prayerful state of mind.

  “Praise,” Kaya had said, “Always begin your prayers with acknowledging the Majesty of your Creator. Pray in recognition of who He is, who YOU are, and offer your thanks for His goodness.”

  I instantly recall the scripture in Psalm I read when first opening Grandma Jackie’s Bible, and having located a good starting point, I begin forming the words in my mind before I say them.

  “Lord,” I whisper, not wanting to use my full voice, “You are great and mighty in power. So much so that your understanding is infinite.”

  I smile because I feel like that was a good start. I think if my future daughter or son said that to me I’d probably start listening.

  “I just want to say that …”

  That what…?

  I pause, thinking for a moment. What am I trying to accomplish with this? What is it that I need to say? Moreover, what exactly do I need to hear?

  “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry the last time we talked was the first time ever, and that it was so brief, and possibly demanding of me.” Pause. “I just felt … hopeless.”

  I realize I’m not making myself sound too impressive and clear my throat.

  “Anyway, I hope that you will guide my reading right now — that you will guide me to exactly what it is that you want to tell me …”

  Pause.

  “In a merciful way.” I add before saying amen.

  Okay. Round two.

  I position the book on my lap and open up the front cover, smiling at the note from my great grandmother to Grandma Jackie. No divine force seems to be telling my fingers which page to flip to, so I close my eyes and flip to a random page toward the beginning. The title is called Deuteronomy, and there is one scripture in chapter 31 that Grandma Jackie has swirled around again and again with her pen so that it is mercilessly circled. In the margins next to it, she’s written, “You are not alone - Vs. 8.”

  At this, my breath catches slightly, and I go on to read it:

  The Lord Himself goes before you and will be with you. He will never leave nor forsake you. Do not be afraid. Do not be discouraged.

  After this scripture in small letters, Grandma Jackie wrote, “Joshua 1:9.”

  Joshua is another book of the Bible, isn’t it?

  I flip back to the front where the index is. Sure enough — Joshua is in the table of contents. I flip to the coordinating page number until I get to the right place. Also circled with Grandma’s pen, the scripture says,

  Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.

  I bite my lip, wondering if it was purely coincidental that the first thing I flipped to applied to my situation perfectly, and that I was then pointed in the direction of another scripture saying almost the exact same thing as the first one. It’s almost as if the repetitiveness were done intentionally — like the first time reading the words was to convey the message, but the second time was for emphasis.

  Maybe this is what You wanted me to hear?

  Then my heart falls a little bit. Not out of discouragement, but humility. I’ve been avoiding this book ever since I decided to keep it, all because I thought it would brutally tear me apart, decision by decision. But if my prayer was heard, and God really did guide my reading, He led me to a gentle scripture instead. One that didn’t condemn me, like I’d been afraid of, but one that simply said, “I am here for you. I am with you. Please don’t be discouraged.”

  I gently close the book and set it on the coffee table with care. Is it purely coincidental that I read that scripture in the midst of being at an all-time-low for loneliness? Is it by happenstance that I somehow feel worlds of comfort after reading it?

  ***

  Okay, so it hasn’t been the best day.

  I slip on my fuzzy, fingerless gloves and quickly stuff my hands into my coat pockets.

  But I know exactly what can make it better.

  Glancing up at the neon do not walk sign, I silently will it to change faster as the icy breeze carries the warmth of fresh baked pastries from across the street.

  My mouth waters as I imagine the steaming hot plate of cinnamon buns waiting for me inside Aroma Mocha Café — the one delicious baked good I know of that has day-altering capabilities. It is their signature dish, and makes all other cinnamon buns taste like a disgrace to the pastry family.

  My reason for needing such reinforcements?

  I’m a full day late now … and I don’t have anyone to talk to about it since Rae and I still aren’t talking. When I tried calling Aunt Kim, it went straight to voicemail. Then, like clockwork, a call from my mother lit up the phone screen in my hand. I still don’t know what her original intent had been for calling me … just that I was desperate and ended up spilling the beans. Her reaction had been what I should’ve guessed: She never liked that Jayden boy in the first place. I don’t know if she meant it for me to feel better, but I ended up feeling way worse.

  So, I resulted to braving the cold weather to do the very thing I should not be doing: stress eat.

  Just when I think the wintery cold air is going to freeze me into an ice block, the pedestrian light changes to green and I make a hasty procession across the street walk.

  I hurry over to the door and give it a tug, causing the little greeting bell to chime on the inside. I step into the warmth of the building and wipe the snow from my boots. The aroma of greasy baked goods fills my senses and triggers an involuntary smile on my face. Finally.

  I can melt away all the pain and cares from today with the taste of sugary goodness.

  The line is long, but I am content to wait. It gives me time to check up on all the notifications that’ve been blowing up my phone for the past two hours.

  I scroll mindlessly through hundreds of new emails, most of which are from online stores trying to coax me into buying some sort of merchandise. “Special deals, Just for YOU!”, they prod me with the same generic email they send out to every previous customer they can find in their records, “You’ve been chosen. Congratulations!”, “Sign up now for DISCOUNT.”

  I sigh quietly, snapping my phone shut, “No thank you.”

  The line has moved up significantly, leaving only two people ahead of me. Thank you, Aroma Mocha service.

  I eye the cinnamon buns longingly as they silently promise me a better day. There are six whole ones left in the display case, fresh from the oven like always and dripping with a thin layer of icing. I might have to spoil myself and order two this time.

  The person in the front of the line finishes prattling off their order and the man in front of me moves up to the counter. He is a spikey-haired brunette with a tall, athletic build.

  “I’ll just have a coffee … tall, black, and … hmm, let’s see.”

  His voice is deep and silky, but in a subtle sort of way. He carefully surveys the display case of decadent treats.

  “Ah, yes. Let’s have a few of those.” He says, his finger pointing to the cinnamon buns.

  “Good choice,” The red-lipped cashier says, unlocking the glass, “How many you need, hun?”

  The boy waves his hand dismissively, “Ah, just throw them all in there.”

  The cashier's eyebrows raise and she smiles, “Now there’s a man who knows how to order!”

  Her long red fingernails aid her in gripping the brown paper bag as she loads in every last one of my feel-better snacks. Every. La
st. One.

  I watch the entire exchange with parted lips and an incredulous expression. Did he really just order six cinnamon buns?

  “Is that for here or to go?” The cashier singsongs, batting her eyelashes profusely.

  “Let’s take it for here,” He says, paying no mind to her affections. Or perhaps he is just oblivious to them.

  “Alright, sir, your total is $23.85.” She says, handing him a plate to enjoy his pastries on.

  He slides his card across the desk and she scans it, giving him one last flirtatious smile before wishing him a good day.

  My lips are still parted with disbelief, and there’s a good chance my eyes are slightly narrowed when the cashier called for next in line.

  “What can I get for you?” She says to me, causing me to snap out of my disgust. I move up, but my eyes remain on the now empty plate of cinnamon buns. Only a few, sad crumbles remain. My mind goes so far as to consider purchasing them. Maybe if I bunch them all up together, they’ll equal a fourth of the size of an actual cinnamon bun.

  Who am I kidding? I obviously need a whole one for its magic to work. Hell, after this day I need two whole ones.

  “Can I help you, hun?” Red lip lady repeats, tapping her matching fingernails on the desk.

  “Is there any chance you’ll be making any more of those today?” I ask, pointing to the empty plate.

  “Oh, I’m afraid not, honey. We’re gonna be closing the shop early today because of the weather, so we’re just trying to sell out of what we’ve already made.”

  “Oh …” I say quietly.

  I feel my eyes brim with warmth. Am I really going to cry over some glorified cinnamon rolls? No, I need to get it together. I can’t let the events of today pile up and lead to a public embarrassment.

  I smile weakly, passing her my card, “I’ll just have an Americano. Short — with extra cream please.”

  “Alrighty, I’ll have that right out for you if you’d like to take a seat.” she says, gesturing towards the seating area.

  I move out of line, and the first thing I see is the joy-robbing pastry-thief, taking a seat at one of the high stools against the window and settling in with his bag of mouth-watering treats.

  Oh, hell no.

  I consider up and leaving, but I already paid for my coffee and had nothing to show for it yet. Sighing, I realize I’ll have to put on my big girl britches and endure the wait in the same room of the Grinch who stole my hope for a better day.

  I begrudgingly choose the farthest seat away from him, which unfortunately isn’t that far. The Café is ever bustling with hungry customers, hoping to escape the cold for awhile, forcing me to select a high table … also against the window … only a few tables down.

  I pretend to scroll through my phone, but secretly peek at him from beneath my lashes. He’s flipping through a newspaper, wearing a deceitful expression of innocence as he chews.

  It’s one thing to buy that many buns if you’re eating them with a group of friends, but he sits all by himself, taking a leisurely sip of coffee.

  “Here you go, doll.” The waitress girl says, setting my Americano on the table.

  I smile in thanks and wrap my fingers around the steaming cup. I’d originally intended to leave as soon as she brought it out, but instead I watch the spiky haired boy flip to the next page in his newspaper, an idea brewing in my mind.

  I’m not even that hungry, but my stomach rumbles out of pure lust for the piping hot cinnamon buns piled on his plate. Maybe I could just …

  No. I’m not seriously considering going up to him and offering to buy one from him … am I?

  Okay … so what if I am? Who needs six cinnamon buns for heaven's sake!

  I lift my coffee up to my face, leaning forward slightly on my elbows while I consider my options.

  His face really is beautifully sculpted … he has the classic square jawline that girls rave about, nicely shaped eyebrows, and those eyes … I squint to discern their color. Earlier they’d looked to be a dark hue of brown — almost ebony, but now, in the light, I can see that they’d become a brighter shade. More of a rich, chestnut brown.

  It’s at that moment his eyes flick up at me from the newspaper, causing me to panic and take a quick, involuntary sip of burning hot coffee. It scalds my throat all the way down and I stifle a choke.

  I whip out my phone and begin scrolling frantically in efforts to cover up the fact that I’d been staring. Maybe I’d reacted quick enough for him not to notice.

  That was my hope anyway, but — no such luck. When I steal another glance at him, his eyes are still set on me, but this time, he wears a side grin. He definitely saw.

  Shoot.

  I have to do it now … the cinnamon bun bartering. As much as I want to just hide my face and leave, I already made it awkward. I may as well get something out of it.

  I grip my coffee and take a deep breath.

  Come on, Grace, don’t be a wuss. Rae would do it …

  Thinking of my friend who is fearless when she wants to be, I scoot my stool back and march right up to the guy’s table. The only thing that stands between me and my precious pastries is him.

  He stares at me with the same bemused expression as he folds his newspaper and sets it down on the table in front of him.

  “Hi,” I say curtly.

  He takes a leisurely sip of his coffee, “May I help you?”

  His voice is not unwelcoming. If anything, it’s curious.

  Feeling victorious at his intrigue, I settle in on the seat across from him, surprising even myself.

  “Yes.” I say, “I …”

  At this moment, I hate being somewhat short. My legs don’t reach the bottom rung of the elevated stool, and I’m forced to either curl them up to the top rung or leave them swinging where they fall, which definitely ruins my badass vibe.

  “I was just gonna say …”

  He eyes me intently, clearing his throat a little, as if to say ‘yes?’

  I wish he would just quit looking at me so I could get my words out. His deep brown eyes bore into mine, making it impossible to continue.

  Just then, a young woman enters the Café and walks right up to our table, choking the words from my throat.

  She has long silken hair that fades from a rich ebony color into a caramel brown at the tips. She’s beautifully dressed in cute white skinnies and a colorful floral top. She wears beads upon beads of matching jewelry, and as she arrives at our table, she kisses the charming pastry-stealing man curtly on the cheek.

  “Liam, hey,” She says before turning to me, “Who’s this?”

  He smiles at her and shrugs, looking inquisitively at me.

  Oh my word. I have probably just caused this poor man a world of unnecessary strife with his girlfriend. I think of Jayden and Hadley, and all the questions I had for Jayden when I suspected the cheating. I instantly think to ease the situation for the man. For Liam.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say mostly to the girl as I stumble out of my seat, “I just came over here to buy one of his cinnamon rolls from him because they’re all I’ve wanted all day. But he got here before me and bought every last one of them, and I was so incredulous that someone would do something like that, because who seriously buys six cinnamon buns? So I …”

  I realize they’re staring at me and close my mouth.

  “Anyway, I’m sorry.” I gather my purse, my coffee, and my jacket from the seat and I push my glasses back into place before making a swift exit out of the building.

  12

  Rae - Monday

  I type, erase, and retype the text. I know I should say something … but what? Kaya never told me about the diagnosis herself, so maybe she wouldn’t even want me to know. At the same time, she is always there for everyone else … Maybe she needs someone to be there for her for a change.

  While I was avoiding A&B for five months, she made sure to text me multiple times to make sure I was okay and let me know she was thinking of me, unmoved by
the fact that I never replied once.

  To my knowledge, Kaya doesn’t have a soul mate who keeps her uplifted like I have with Adam, unless this ‘helper’ she referred to is a potential suitor — one that she’s keeping on the down low for whatever reason.

  These ideas are all the more reason to text her. If she doesn’t have a man, she deserves someone looking out for her. And if she does, who is the mystery figure that managed to capture Kaya’s heart after all these years?

  I finally decide on what to say and hit send before I can change my mind.

  Sent: 10/07/19

  Time: 3:04 pm

  “Kaya,

  I was so sorry to learn of your diagnoses this morning… words just aren’t enough. Is there anything I can do for you?

  Xoxo, Rae.”

  __________

  I feel slightly guilty seeing her three ignored messages against my one measly text. She honestly has every right to ignore my efforts the way I did hers … but just minutes later, my phone pings.

  From: Kaya (A&B)

  Sent: 10/07/19

  Time: 3:06 pm

  “Yes :) Come over! I am planting a garden today.”

  __________

  Oh.

  Okay then. That’s not what I was expecting. Especially since it’s been snowing for a good portion of the day. But at the same time, I find myself deeply appreciating that she gave me a real answer. She could have sent an impersonal, copy/pasted “Thank you for your concern, but I’m alright” type of message. The kind that is customary for people to send in her circumstances. But she didn’t do that. She took me up on my offer.

  I’m so grateful for her down-to-earth reply that I actually get in my car and drive over to 305 Rose Valley Boulevard.

  Despite the light patter of snow we’ve had, none of it stuck to the ground as originally predicted. The sun is even beginning to peek out from behind the frosty clouds. The grass glistens in the sunlight as it’s rays find small droplets of snow.

  “We might have an autumn in Vermont after all, huh?” Kaya says from the porch.