Edified

by Marissa Sail Fike

  He pulls me back to look at him, and shakes his head with a handsome smile, “It’s like you think I don’t know you. What’s wrong, Lacey Rae?”

  I look up at him and take a deep breath. It’s time for the ‘make it right’ part …

  “Adam, I want to talk about what happened …”

  He looks past me and at the Bible I left on the table, “I thought you might.”

  “I’m not blaming you,” I say quickly, “What happened was mostly my fault. I’m just trying to hold myself accountable … get back on track, you know?”

  He sighs, pulling out a chair at the table, “Yes, Rae. I know.”

  Why do I feel like he’s getting sick of this conversation?

  “What’s wrong?” I say.

  “Nothing,” He says, sitting. “This is just … interesting to me. I support it, I guess. I just … I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t expect this from you. You caught me completely off guard with this.”

  Oh no … please be willing, Adam.

  “What do you mean, ‘you didn’t expect this from me’?”

  “Well,” He says, “When I met you, you weren’t all into this stuff. The prayer and Bible reading. You … well … you’d been with a couple other people. I knew I wasn’t marrying a straightlaced Sue.”

  I’m taken aback. I’ve only ever been with two other guys. Samuel, and although I’m not proud of it, someone I met at a club. It was a one-night stand during my nineteenth year, which I regretted. But I never thought when I told Adam about it he’d throw it back in my face later.

  “Well, Adam, that’s really unfair of you to say, and quite frankly, pretty hurtful.”

  “I didn’t mean it to be hurtful,” He says.

  “Well how’d you mean it then?”

  He backtracks, “I don’t know … I just … I don’t …”

  I wait while he tries to find his words.

  He doesn’t.

  I think back to the conversation I had with Kaya.

  If Adam isn’t willing to do this with you, something that clearly means a lot to you. Is he someone you’re willing to give up?

  Am I willing to listen to God’s leadership over my life, or am I making something else more important?

  I sigh, “Look, Adam. I don’t know how to tell you this. I don’t want to tell you this.”

  A tear trickles down my face, “But if you can’t be okay with doing this for my sake … if you place that much value on sex, that my feelings on it are overridden, then I don’t see how we can … well … I don’t think we should —”

  His expression falls, “Don’t, Rae. Please don’t.”

  Another tear falls, “You’re giving me no choice, Adam.”

  He stands, taking my face in his hands, “Listen to me, okay? Nothing, and I mean nothing is worth us fighting like this. We never have before, and we shouldn’t start now.”

  At first I think he’s talking about God. That He is not worth investing in if He’s coming between us like this, but then, as an answer to my prayer, he clarifies:

  “If it means that much to you, we will try to do it again. I just … want you to be happy.”

  I shake my head, feeling such relief, “Adam … don’t mistake me … you do make me happy. And the things we do … God knows I miss them. It’s just that … I’ve become reliant on them. I pretty much depend on you for my security. I’m trying to rewire my brain to not need it to that extent. I’m also not just doing this for religious reasons, but also because it’ll take a load of pressure off of you — to constantly be reassuring me in that way.”

  He sighs, “Well I assure you, I don’t mind.”

  This makes me chuckle. “I know you don’t mind … but Adam, damn it, I’m really trying to do things right with you.” My smile drops, “I’ve made so many mistakes in the past … as you so acutely pointed out. But I let myself make them because I didn’t really care about those people or how we turned out. Not in the way I care about you. I want my forever partner to be someone God is rooting for me to have too. So that we can have the most successful marriage possible. It’s because I love you … so much.”

  He frowns, “I’m sorry I said those things earlier. About your past. I didn’t mean for it to sound the way it did.”

  I give him a half smile, “I forgive you. I just … don’t think you understand how hard it is for me too. I’m not just trying to take something from you or change who I am on you last minute. I think the truth is that this is who I’ve been the whole time. I’ve just been lost in the chaos of everything, and recently rediscovered myself.”

  He’s still frowning as he plays with a lock of my hair, twisting it between his index and thumb.

  “Is that … something that you can accept?” I say, praying with each word, “Going forward, knowing that this is me?”

  He is silent for two agonizing minutes, searching my face and considering. I know he won’t speak unless he really means it, because that’s who he is.

  “Rae… I love you,” He starts slowly.

  My heart beats loudly, preparing to be hurt.

  “I think it’d be ignorant of me to assume that you’ll never make changes in your life, especially ones that you feel will be edifying. Because the one thing about you that has never changed — one of your core principles -—is that you’re constantly striving to be a better version of yourself.”

  He closes the space between us, “And I love that about you. You will achieve greatness in this life, and I want to be a part of that. Forever.”

  Fresh tears pour down my cheeks, and my face crumples into his chest. I stay there for a few minutes, ugly crying while he holds me. I’d been holding them in — pent up emotions in preparation for whatever he might say. Now that I have my answer, the barrier that’d been holding everything back breaks.

  He strokes my hair while I shudder into his chest, breathing in his comforting spiced scent. I feel so loved and accepted.

  “Thank you, Adam,” I say, steadying my breath as we pull away, “I don’t think it’ll be easy for either of us … but I do feel like we can do it, especially if we’re both striving for it.”

  Adam exhales through his nose, “All I can promise you is trying my best. This religion thing — I support you in it … but it’s just not something I’m ready to delve back into right now. I respect your wishes for us and your goals, and I will try to give you everything I can … but it’s more about that for me than it is religion right now.”

  I nod, understanding that it’s fair. I can’t expect Adam to experience conviction at the same time I do, since it’s such a personal thing. As Adam pointed out, life is full of seasons — we make many changes throughout life. He may not stay in this season of unfaith forever, but I can’t rush his process. His willingness to respect and cherish me is more than enough right now.

  “Adam,” I say, my voice strong and my heart full of love, “All I ever want from you is your best.”

  Maybe someday, we’ll talk about how that’s all God ever wants from him too. I’ll get to share with him what I’ve learned and watch him grow.

  He kisses my cheek, sweetly, “I love you, Lacey Rae.”

  I smile, “I love you, Adam Compton.”

  ***

  After our conversation, I wanted nothing more than to snuggle up in a pile of blankets and watch a movie with him. Something mindless that I don’t have to think much about. But I realize, with a frown, that I need to spend every spare minute studying … gaining some understanding for this upcoming test.

  I also don’t want to tell Adam to just go home after all that, and deep down, I know he can help me with the homework, But I feel a strong need to hide my math struggles from him. He’s going to think I’m so inept.

  “Something’s still wrong?” He says at the expression on my face.

  I look up at him, thinking of the scriptures I read earlier on pride. At that moment, they’d been reassuring me that God was pleased that I humbled myself before him and confe
ssed my sin. It was Him saying He’d lift me up for it … but could he really be pleased at my humility if I was being prideful about something right now? Maybe Adam is the answer to my prayer for help, and I just have to swallow my pride to see it.

  “I … well, I’m really stressing out about a test I have coming up in two days.”

  “Yeah?” He says, “What subject?”

  I hesitate. I could get out of this right now - say some subject I’m great at. But I don’t. That’s not what this is about.

  “Trigonometry,” I say.

  His face lights up, “Oh, trig is fun!”

  “No it is not,” I whine, “Trig is the devil.”

  He laughs, “Good grief, Rae, it’s not that bad. Go get your stuff and I’ll help you.”

  I sigh, bringing Adam my red-inked stack of papers. I don’t want to show him, but I have to.

  “I just … have no passion for this subject.” I say, defensive already, “It has nothing to do with my degree.”

  He considers this for a moment as he looks over the papers. If he’s shocked at my inability, he gives nothing away.

  “Really though, you don’t have to be passionate about this specific subject,” He says, “You just have to want the end goal badly enough. Your passion for that should drive you to make it through the shitty parts of the process.”

  I smile at that. He’s not wrong.

  He continues to look over the papers, and just knowing his mathematical eyes are instantly finding every error I’ve made is intimidating.

  “Look,” I say, “I’m gonna be real with you. I didn’t want to show you this … I don’t want you thinking I’m … I don’t know … incompetent.”

  His eyes find mine, and they are smiling, “Incompetent? Rae … come on. I know there are plenty of things you’re good at. Math just … isn’t one of them. And that’s okay.”

  I laugh genuinely, “My skills are meant to complement yours, right? Not compete with them.”

  “Exactly,” He smiles, reviewing the paper one last time.

  I already feel better about showing him. If he can accept my strange new goals, why wouldn’t he accept my struggle with math?

  After he gets an idea of what we’re learning in class, we sit down and work slowly, page by page, until I start to understand a little.

  Adam doesn’t look at me like he loves me any less than before. Instead he goes full-on teacher mode, explaining multiple different ways of solving things and letting me in on little tricks. The whole time, he’s so enthusiastic. Enthralled in his favorite subject, and I can’t help but smile. I’m out of my element, but he’s totally in his, and I don’t regret asking for his help. I find myself amazed that he could teach me in three hours what my professor couldn’t teach me in two months.

  35

  Grace - Tuesday

  Okay, I’m settling this once and for all.

  I go over to my bookshelf and pull out a notebook.

  I lay it flat on my desk and poise my pen.

  Let’s see … I went up to him in the beginning with the cinnamon buns. That was my effort. Then he invited me to dinner. So that was his effort.

  But neither of those things really count, do they? Because neither of those efforts were made out of genuine interest for each other. I just wanted some cinnamon buns, and he just wanted to clear his name.

  I scribble those two out on my page.

  Okay, after that … I made the decision to actually go to dinner at his parents house, so that counts as my effort. Then, he made the decision to show up at yoga, just to find me, so that definitely was his effort. After that, I decided to extend our day together and invited myself along to the maple festival (maybe a little too much effort on my part). But then, he invited me back to his house to potentially fix my nanny cam — so where does that leave us? I hold up my list and squint at it:

  My Effort His Effort

  Cinnamon Buns Dinner Invite

  Dinner Acceptance Yoga

  Maple Festival Nanny Cam

  I groan. We are dead even.

  I’ve been trying to weigh this all afternoon, determined to figure out if Liam likes me or not. It certainly seems that way, but I could just be overthinking it.

  For as long as I can remember, making comparison lists has been my way of having order. Seeing my thoughts put into charts on paper usually helps me make sense of things, but this comparison list is just frustrating. How is it that our efforts have been completely equal? Does that mean we’re both giving off vibes that we’re interested?

  Like clockwork, my alarm goes off at 4:30 with the description: “Liam’s House?”

  I sigh. If I go, that’ll be one more ‘effort’ to write down on my side of the columns. But if I don’t, we’re both still stuck in this awful “equal” cycle.

  I go into the art room, grab my nanny cam from its place, then my keys from their hook by the door.

  Just this one last effort on my part — I decide. After this, if he invites me to do something else with him, that’ll settle it. He likes me. From there, I’ll decide what to do.

  ***

  I feel a mild sense of déjà vu as the gravel crunches beneath my tires. Liam’s car is not parked in front of his house, so I pull out my phone and shoot him a text.

  Sent: 10/15/19

  Time: 5:01 pm

  “Sooo… you comin’? I’m here. Nanny cam in-hand.”

  __________

  I wait a few minutes, but no reply, so I unbuckle my seatbelt and head up his parents’ porch. I knock, and in just moments Dhara opens the door. Her face lights up when she sees me.

  “Hey, Dhara,”

  “Grace!” She says in her gentle way, “What a lovely surprise!”

  “Oh no, Liam didn’t tell you I was coming? I hope I’m not intruding.”

  “Nonsense!” She steps aside, “Come in.”

  I do, and am instantly greeted by a delicious smell — something savory cooking in the kitchen.

  “What are you making? It smells delicious,”

  “Thank you,” She says, “It’s called Rajma. Perfect for a cold night like this.”

  She opens the lid of the pot for me to see. From what I can tell, it’s mostly beans swirling in a thick gravy of some kind, and she’s got a pot of rice on the stove as well — the ultimate Indian comfort food.

  “It’s not quite ready yet, but how about a cup of tea while we wait?” She says, “You do like tea, don’t you?”

  “I love tea,” I brighten, following her to the pantry, “Sometimes I make blends of different kinds for my clients …”

  I stop short when I see a wall of apothecary jars that’d put my tea collection to shame. Each jar is sealed with cork and has been meticulously labeled.

  “Oh my …” I say, lips parted.

  Dhara laughs, “My husband tells me it’s a bit much, so I’m glad someone appreciates it.”

  “Are you kidding?” I say, brushing my fingers over several jars, “This is exactly enough — one of everything!”

  “Not quite,” She smiles, “But I’m getting there. What would you like?”

  I feel like a kid in a candy store.

  “I’m a sucker for Tulsi tea, but I hardly ever have any. Do you think that’d be good with rosehips and hibiscus?”

  “I think that’d be a lovely combination,” Dhara says, selecting the jars, “In fact, I think I’ll have a cup of the same thing. Sounds quite tranquil.”

  As she combines and expertly steeps the tea, the front door opens and Brent appears.

  “Mmm, something smells good in here!” He inhales deeply.

  Dhara spins around at his voice and runs over to embrace him. He kisses her sweetly, massaging his fingers down her spine. Their love for each other is so evident, but I’m not used to seeing that … from like, anyone, really. I blush and check my phone, which has a text from Liam.

  Sent: 10/15/19

  Time: 5:31 pm

  “Way to let a man know lol. Last I knew you
were ‘thinking’ about it. On my way over now — sorry.”

  __________

  Oh. I guess that is what I left him with.

  “Is that Grace I see?” Brent says, smiling widely.

  “Hey,” I smile back.

  He opens his arms for a hug like we’re old friends. I find the gesture endearing, but I’m positive my body is stiff when I receive the hug. How strange it is to be hugged by a man who is twice my age who has no intentions towards me … just genuine, fatherly-friendship.

  “We were just about to have a cup of tea while we wait on dinner,” Dhara says to her husband, “Would you like a cup?”

  “None for me, Shahad, but you two go right ahead.”

  She smiles profusely at the word he had called her — I suppose it’s a Hindi term of endearment.

  The tea is steeped perfectly now, and Dhara goes over to pour us a cup.

  “You guys make such a great couple,” I say after Brent leaves, “I’m so happy for you two.”

  Dhara smiles, handing me a cup, “Brent has always been very good to me. I’m so lucky to have found him. Well, he found me really.”

  “Liam was telling me about that,” I say, blowing the steam from my tea. “Brent was in the Peace Corps?”

  “Yes,” she says, taking a seat, “Brent was working closely with my family. My Pita, or ‘father’ as we say here in America, had just passed away. So my Ma, myself, and my two sisters were trying to make life work on our own. Each one of us are artisans and crafters. We would work together to make jewelry, pots, and clothing, and then sell them in the marketplace. But when Brent came along, he gave us the opportunity to learn how to be teachers. My two sisters loved learning, but I never found my passion for teaching the way they did. I wanted to keep creating art. Ma and I could tell that Brent took a special interest in me for some reason. He would teach me different things and tell me about America in a way he didn’t with the other two. Long story short, after spending a year together, we fell in love and agreed to be married. He loved my art and told me that I would be free to keep creating it with him in America. From there, it was just a matter of legal formalities. My sisters stayed and taught at the new school that was built in my town, but my Ma wanted to leave too. Staying there reminded her too much of our Pita.”