“I rest my case!” He throws up his hands.
We continue walking down the strip, trying one item from each food stand. So far, the ice cream is my favorite, but Liam likes the maple nuts. You’d think having so much maple at one time would make us feel sick of the flavor, but Mr. Cane’s homemade syrup is not the same as the store-bought kind. It’s rich and fresh and never gets old. When we get our maple coffees, we decide to find a sunny picnic table to sit for awhile. At this moment, my heart feels so happy and carefree.
“So,” Liam says, sipping his coffee, “I’m curious, what made you want to come with me today?”
“Well,” I say, “I figured since we keep randomly showing up in each other's lives, we may as well pause to say hello. Get to know each other a little bit.”
“Fair enough,” He smiles, “Though you definitely know more about me than I know about you.”
I grip my warm cup, “How do you figure?”
He shrugs, “You’ve met my family already. I don’t even know your mom’s name. Plus, you do this thing where you like to ask more questions than you answer.”
I smile, staring down into my coffee.
“See?” He says, “Look at you. You even know you’re doing it.”
“I just like listening. I’d rather learn about someone else’s heart than hear my own for the millionth time that day — you know?”
He nods, “I do.”
“Plus, I just like figuring people out. Getting to know their quirks and passions and fears. I’d rather have one conversation that skips to the deep stuff than three conversations about the surface-level stuff.”
“‘What are you going to school for’,” Liam says in a posh accent.
“Exactly!” I say, “Like, you don’t really learn anything about anyone that way.”
His brown eyes stare into mine, “I think you just like to figure people out before they figure you out.”
I hold his gaze for a moment and then quickly look away. I don’t know what to say to that besides maybe ‘and what have you figured out?’, but that would be far too intimate of a question. And I don’t quite think I’m ready for the answer.
I clear my throat, “Her name is Corrine, by the way.”
“Who?” He says.
“My mom. You said you don’t know her name.”
“Oh,” He laughs, “I got you.”
A few yards away from us, a child erupts into tears as his Jenga tower topples to the ground, pulling our attention from the conversation. As his mother comes to console him, I use the opportune distraction to swallow down the feelings Liam stirred up inside me.
Crisis averted.
When the child is consoled, Liam gets up and goes over to him, smiling.
“What happened, buddy?” He says, stooping down to help rebuild the Jenga pieces, “Did your tower fall down?”
The boy, who can’t be more than three, nods with big, teary eyes.
“Well you know what the good part is?” Liam says, “No matter how many times this thing falls down, you can always build it back up again — and I bet next time, you’ll get it even higher than before.”
The child smiles and wipes his nose on his sleeve. He bends to pick up a piece and helps Liam reassemble the tower.
I can’t help but smile myself, watching the two of them. So Liam is good with kids.
The child’s mother mouths a ‘Thank-you’ to Liam as he begins to play the game with the boy.
As I watch them, I consider what kind of a mother I’ll be in a short while. A good one, no doubt … but no mother can play the role of mom and dad efficiently. A good father would add so much to the baby’s life, and I want to give it what I never had.
I think of what Rae said the other day about possibly putting my baby up for adoption, and I realize the opportunity I have in front of me. Liam was adopted. I can just ask him, an actual adoptee, how the whole process made him feel. But I’d have to word it just right. I don’t want it to be too personal of a question.
When he comes back from his Jenga game, I give him a smile.
“That was really sweet of you,” I say.
His smile lines crease as he shrugs, “I love little kids. Life is so simple for them.”
“It is …” I nod, “Beautifully simple.”
A few beats pass between us as we watch the child walk away hand in hand with his mother.
“So …” I start, “I have a really deep question for you.”
He chuckles, “Hit me with it.”
“Okay. How do I say it … I guess I’m wondering, how did you feel about your adoptive situation? Like, more specifically, toward your birth mom?”
He stares at me for a second, “Are you writing a book or something?”
I laugh, “No, I'm way more of a reader than a writer. Sorry if that’s too personal — you don’t have to answer.”
“I mean, no, it’s not,” He says, “Just oddly specific.”
I blush.
“That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” He grins at me, “Honestly, I don’t think much about my birth mom. Dhara’s been my mother for as long as I can remember.”
“So you were adopted pretty young then?” I say.
“Not as young as Sakura. She was adopted as a newborn from a family in Japan who knew they couldn’t keep her. So mom and dad were actually in correspondence with that family while they were pregnant. My birth mom took a little more time to decide if she wanted to keep me, so she put me up for adoption when I was a year and a half. And I didn’t get adopted till I was almost four.”
“Oh …” I frown.
“Given, if she’d decided to do what Sakura’s parents did when they were pregnant, I probably would’ve gotten adopted a lot faster. You know, since the demand for newborns is greater than the demand for kids. But I’m not mad that it happened the way it did. I hardly remember the children’s home I was in, and if my mom had chosen a family ahead of time to adopt me at birth, it wouldn’t have been my current family.”
“So you don’t know much about your mom then …” I say, thinking of the little bean inside me, “Do you ever … wonder about her?”
“Not really any more. I sort of romanticized the idea of meeting her when I was thirteen or so. I thought maybe it’d reveal some new and magical thing about myself if I knew her. But then my parents told me what they knew of her personally, and that was enough for me.”
I rub my arms to keep warm, “How did they know her?”
Liam looks off into the grassy area, “I guess she confided in my caregiver at the children's home when she was putting me up for adoption. Said that I was the result of a terribly abusive situation, and as much as she’s tried to figure out a way to keep me, ‘I deserved a life far better than she could give me’. My caregiver passed that bit along to my parents.”
My heart sinks, “It sounds like she wanted to keep you. She tried for a little while, right?”
“Probably just an excuse,” He says, “I bet that I looked too much like my father for her liking. I can’t see an ounce of myself in the pictures I’ve seen of her.”
I frown, my heart feeling heavy, “You know what she looks like?”
“My parents showed me the headline of her arrest. She was strung out on drugs. Tried to rob someplace.”
“No …”
“Yep. A real winner. She’s pale and blonde — nothing like me.”
“Wow,” I shake my head, “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be,” He shrugs, “I pretty much lost interest in my blood relatives after learning that.”
“I can imagine. I mean, your real family is so wonderful — why even focus on the others?”
He smiles, “My ‘real family’ is right. Everyone always insists my blood relatives are my ‘real family’, but I’m nothing like them.”
“You’re not,” I agree, feeling defensive of him, “You’re talented and friendly, and like your dad emphasizes, you’re your own person. Just imagine if
Dhara and Brent hadn’t been your parents. Who knows if you would have discovered your passion for making jewelry or teaching different languages without their influence? Your life would probably be completely different from the way it is now.”
He laughs at this, “Well thank you for that vote of confidence. And you’re right. It would be.”
I smile.
We get up and throw our coffee cups away, making the unspoken decision to walk through some of the gardens.
“So now you know all about my family,” Liam says, “Let’s hear about yours.
“Ah,” I say, “There isn’t much to tell.”
“Don’t do that to me,” He pokes me, “Not after I told you all that.”
I laugh, “Well, I mean it though. I’m not just being difficult. My mom and I don’t get along too well. My dad is MIA. I feel like that’s a common theme among the young women in my life. Your birth mom … my mom …” I almost add myself into the mix before I think better of it.
“Why don’t you and your mom get along?” He says frowning.
I shrug, “I dunno, we just never see eye to eye. For one thing, our beliefs about medicinal practices couldn’t be more different, as you so intuitively pointed out in our taxicab ride.”
“That’s too bad.” He says quietly.
“I mean, not really,” I frown, “I get along fine.”
“Yeah, but … she’s like, the only family you have.”
“That’s not true,” my brows pinch, “I have my Aunt Kim, and we’re super close.”
“Sorry,” He says, “I just feel like … medicinal beliefs are a totally surmountable issue.”
I stop walking. “You don’t really know the whole story though. What you have with Dhara is way more than what I had growing up.”
He throws up his hands, “You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to press.”
“My mother and I hardly ever saw each other…” I add, “We still hardly see each other.”
He shrugs, “Maybe you should change that.”
“Me? Why should I be the one to —”
“Because you’re different from her.” He says, smiling slightly at me, “Don’t give back to people what they give you themselves. Show them who you are.”
I stare at him for a few seconds, “I feel like you’re doing some sort of reverse psychology on me.”
He smiles, “No. I’m just telling you what I see. You’re someone who doles out love without ever worrying if it’ll be reciprocated. That’s you.”
I blush. But how could he see that? Given our interactions, I would think he’d see a girl with her walls put up … a spirited girl, at best, because of the bold voicemail I left him.
Just then, my phone notifies me that something has triggered my nanny cam. I pocket my phone with a groan. How do I keep forgetting to close that door?
I turn to Liam, “So that was my nanny cam I set up for my cat. The last time it went off, she destroyed my house and my best friend’s arms.”
He chuckles, “Wait, what?”
I shake my head, “Long story. Basically, I probably need to go check out the situation.”
He frowns, “Your nanny cam doesn’t send the image to your phone?”
“That part of the cam broke,” I say, pulling out my phone, “It can see motion and record and everything, which alerts my phone, but I can’t pull up what the camera is seeing.”
He raises a brow.
I laugh, “I’m not lying. Here, look.”
I show him the phone screen, which says:
Something has triggered your NannyCam2.0!
(Security Detection Setting: Motion Sensing)
Error Code 404: No Picture Available.
“I feel like that’s totally fixable,” He says, examining the message, “Maybe I can take a look at it sometime.”
I pocket my phone, “That’d be great, honestly. So I don’t keep having to run around after this crazy cat.”
“Why don’t you bring it by the house tomorrow around five? The cam, I mean. I bet mom would make dinner again if you want.”
I think of Dhara’s delicious dumpling recipe and my mouth waters. But then I hesitate. He is, in a subtle way, asking me out a second time. It’d be almost cruel of me to continue this charade of appearing perfectly available, when I am a walking package deal.
“I don’t know,” I say, “As lovely as that sounds, I wouldn’t want to inconvenience your parents.”
He smirks, “Are you kidding? Between you doing yoga and knowing what it’s called to study names, my parents love you. Having your own business in the natural medicine industry was just the icing on the cake for them.”
I smile involuntarily, “Are you sure?”
“Oh yeah …” He says, “You hit the nail on the head.”
I look down, “Wow, they barely even know me.”
He shrugs, “They don’t need to. It doesn’t take a genius to recognize a quality girl.”
I smile, wrapping my arms around myself. The air is suddenly shivery again.
“Thank you, Liam, I’ll definitely think about it. And thank you for today, too. This was lovely.”
We exchange formal goodbyes, and I proceed to my car — except for the fact that I didn’t drive here. We carpooled.
I turn around, holding my arms out, “Well, guess I can’t leave without a car.”
He chuckles, “I guess not. Let’s get you home then.”
As we walk, I can’t help but smile. Sure, if you last-minute invite yourself to go somewhere, it probably doesn’t count as a date. But he’d been a perfect gentleman. He’d done just about everything but send me home with his jacket.
34
Rae - Monday
When I get home from work, I review the one trig lesson that I do understand so that it’s fresh in my mind for the test: Trigonometric identities.
“Identity” … That reminds me.
I set my homework page aside and carefully unfold Kaya’s paper from my pocket. As I scan it over, I realize that this test I’m stressing over is something I can pray about. After all, one of the main reasons I began this spiritual journey to begin with was so I could enjoy having a ‘helper’.
But then I frown.
I haven’t done well on this ‘spiritual journey’. Just four days ago, I messed up. I undid all my hard work in striving for abstinence. Would God even help me if I asked now? Perhaps Claire is so busy all of the sudden because of how I messed up. She seemed to appear out of the blue when I’d suggested abstaining to Adam, and then when I gave in, she altogether disappeared.
These things that God says about my identity through Christ … These things are for people who are giving their all to loving God and obeying his commandments. How could I be ‘giving my all’ if I was so quick to give in?
That’s not true, I hear Kaya’s voice saying, God is looking for people who are genuinely doing their best. His promises are for them.
A memory scripture comes to mind from when I was a little girl. I remember I had lied to my dad about a Hershey’s bar I swiped from the store. At the end of the day, he asked me if there was anything I wanted to tell him. Now, in my adulthood, it’s clear that he knew the whole time what I’d done — but I’d already eaten the candy, so I shook my head. Ten minutes later, eaten up by guilt, I came forward and told him what I did. He just shook his head and asked me if that was the right thing to do. I shook my head again, and said I was sorry.
He asked me how I was gonna make it right, since stealing is a sin. I asked him if he would drive me back to the store so that I could pay for it. He agreed, but he also said that I needed to apologize to God. The scripture he gave me was 1st John 1:9, which says,
If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.
“If you do that, Lacey Lue,” He said, using his special nickname for me, “You can start all over like it never happened. Just remember to do better next t
ime.”
God probably liked me a lot better when I was little. My heart was so pure. But the memory reminds me of what I need to do now. Then I can start trying my best again, and He’ll come when I need him. My identity in Christ will be true.
I set down the paper and sit on my knees.
Lord, you know what happened. You saw.
I bow my head.
I don’t want to be someone you’re disappointed in. I’m sorry for what happened. I need your strength to keep this up for seven more months. To you, that’s just a blip in time, but for me, it feels like forever. I’ve become reliant on and attached to a sin. I’m asking you to cleanse me from it — purify me — so that I may start my efforts again. Give me the words to talk to Adam about it, so that we both might make you proud.
Just then, I remember something Kaya read in A&B last week. It was in James … but where in James? Chapter 4, maybe? I locate my Bible and turn there. I scan the page for what I’m looking for, and my lips part as I find it in verses 6-8:
He gives us more grace. That is why scripture says: “God opposes the proud but shows favor to the humble. Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. Come near to God and he will come near to you. Wash your hands, you sinners, and purify your hearts, you double-minded.
Then in verse ten, it says,
Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up.
I place a hand on my heart, which is beating fast.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
God just replied to me. He literally just spoke words into my life. Hopeful ones … approving ones.
I jump when the door opens, snapping me out of my Jesus moment. Adam appears.
“Hey, lovely,” He says, eyeing the Bible in my lap, “What’re you doing?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly, “I mean, that’s not true. Studying. What are you doing here?”
He looks puzzled, “Coming to see you? It’s been four whole days. I’ve missed you.”
“Oh, right,” I say, combing a hand through my hair.
He laughs, “‘Oh right’? Did you not miss me?”
“Of course I did,” I go over and wrap my arms around his torso, “Sorry,”
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