by L. G. McCary
“Did he go to Northern, too?”
“No, State. And it was all up in the air until he graduated. He wasn’t sure where he’d work, and he ‘didn’t want to string me along,’ he said.” She rolls her eyes. “Then he got the job at RHL and proposed with a ball of string.”
“What?” I’m confused, but she’s grinning.
“He said, ‘I decided to return all that string,’ and handed me this massive ball of yarn.” She laughs and holds her hands out as if she’s holding a basketball. “And then he said, ‘open it.’ Girl, I had to unwind that stuff for almost half an hour.”
“Oh no!” I laugh. It sounds like Greg has a goofy sense of humor.
“He put little notes on it that I had to read in order as I unwound it. Then in the middle was the ring box.”
“That’s so cute.”
“Except when I opened the box, the ring was another loop of string,” she says, laughing again. “He had the ring in his pocket the whole time. Just wanted to make me unwind all that yarn,” she says, looking down at the marquise-cut diamond ring on her hand. “I kept it, too. I figured I could do something cute with it someday. So what about you?”
“We moved here for David’s job, and we loved Larry and Grace’s class at Fellowship so much that we stayed.”
“So, how did you meet?”
I tell her about meeting David in the cafeteria and our nerdy argument. I lean my head on my hand, unable to keep from grinning at the memory.
Tori looks up into the playground. “She’s so funny. Have I mentioned she’s my favorite?”
“Your favorite?”
“In the nursery. Rylie is my favorite to watch.”
“You’re sweet to say that.”
“I’m never bored if she’s there. She has so much energy.”
“That gets her into trouble,” I say. “I’m sorry she’s such a handful. I feel like I’m not doing a very good job.”
“Okay, stop it.”
“I’m sorry?”
Tori drills me with her perfectly lined brown eyes, and her words are crisp. “Stop beating yourself up. You’re a good mom.”
The words sting. I should leave. I start to reach for my purse, but Tori’s voice stops me.
“Look at her. That young lady in there is the cutest thing on two feet, and you get to be her mom.”
“I don’t...I’m not...” Words choke in my throat, and I look through the window at Rylie, a blur of purple on the playground.
“I’m sorry if that came out a little snippy, but I don’t like it when gals talk bad about themselves. You are a good mom.”
Tori sure seems perfect. She’s beautiful and funny.
Tears sneak out of the corners of my eyes, and I fumble in my purse for a tissue. “Thank you,” I whisper.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to make you cry.” She bites her lip.
“No, I needed to hear that.”
Tori smiles until it crinkles the corners of her eyes. “Good.”
“I thought having kids would be so much different.” The words are catching in my throat, but I’m determined not to cry. I take a bite of my lunch and wipe my eyes. “Rylie wears me out.”
“She needs gymnastics. Or ballet!” Tori says with a big grin. “There’s a dance studio next to where I work. I wonder if she’s old enough?”
“You sound like my mother-in-law,” I say, rolling my eyes. “She gave us this ballerina lamp for Rylie. It totally doesn’t go with the room. Every week Nana says something about putting her in dance. But Rylie would have to obey a teacher for that to work.”
“I’ll check that studio for you,” Tori says. “But don’t feel obligated!” She points at the top of the play place. “She’s in the airplane again.”
Her phone buzzes. She nods and points without looking at it. “That’s Greg. I’d better head home.”
She packs to leave and hugs Rylie goodbye.
“I’ll see you next Sunday. Or maybe earlier in the week?” she asks.
My stomach drops as I realize she’s talking about seeing Darren. I fumble a noncommittal answer, and she hugs me. She smells like some kind of floral perfume. I imagine it’s expensive.
“I’m glad we got to talk,” she whispers.
How did I end up friends with Tori? I would never have thought she would want to talk to me, much less invite me to lunch. Is she worried I’ll tell people I saw her at Darren’s office? Maybe she was just spending time with me to gauge if I’ll gossip about her.
My mom would tell me to stop overanalyzing things and just be glad for a new friend. But if I’m so uncomfortable knowing that someone else has seen me at the counselor’s office, I can’t imagine how nervous perfect Tori Butler must feel.
Ten
I’m sitting in my car in the parking lot of the church, but I’m not sure if I want to be here. Rylie is pretending to read a book in her car seat behind me. The Bible study starts in ten minutes, but I haven’t turned off the car. I don’t know if I belong here.
I jump at a knock on my window. Tori waves at me through the glass and waits for me to roll down the window.
“Sorry I scared you! I forgot something in my car and saw you. I’m so glad you came! Come on. We can sit together.”
I gather my Bible and Rylie’s backpack and follow her into the church. Rylie dashes into the nursery before I can even say goodbye. I hand the teacher her backpack.
“I have my phone with me if she gets upset,” I falter.
Rylie doesn’t give me a second glance as she searches for toys. The nursery worker’s fluffy gray hair doesn’t move a millimeter as she nods and shoos me out. Tori beckons me down the hall.
“I am so glad you came. I told my boss that having Tuesday mornings off is non-negotiable. I never miss!”
“Where do you work?”
“I’m the assistant manager at Pepper’s. You know it?”
“No.” I shrug.
“It’s home goods. Fancy vintage stuff I can’t afford,” she laughs. “But I get to make it look pretty and sell it to other people. We don’t open shop on Sundays, so I get to go to church.”
I follow her meekly into the large room the youth group uses on Sunday mornings. A large wooden cross stands on the side of the short stage, and the walls are covered with bad fake graffiti that makes me cringe. They need a better color scheme.
I imagine everyone’s eyes on me as Tori leads me to a seat close to the front next to the middle aisle next to Morgan, who is busy on her phone. I sit between them and watch Tori gather her Bible and study book. Her long blonde hair flows over her shoulders in perfect waves. Her jeans and gray blouse are casual with the effortlessly cool vibe I have never been able to master. Even her nails are painted a soft gray to match. I wonder more than ever why she would ever be in Darren’s office.
“Renee is running late.” So Renee comes, too. I stare at the floor. Renee is right. I’ve been a hermit. No wonder David has been worried about me.
I don’t hear much of the announcements. I have no idea how they do things here, and the lack of familiarity has me on edge. Grace asks us to get into groups of five or six to share prayer requests and get to know each other. We flip our chairs around into a group. I recognize Debbie, an older woman who teaches in the youth group.
“I’m the old lady here,” she says with a laugh. “Nice to meet you, Charlotte. Aren’t you Rylie’s mama?”
“Yes, she’s my ball of energy.”
“Y’all, Missile is going to be the death of me,” Renee sputters as she flips another chair around and dumps her purse on the floor. “I could not make her get clothes on this morning. What did I miss?”
“You’re up for snacks next week,” Tori tells her.
“Of course, I am,” she answers and sticks her tongue out.
“Just bring goldfish,” I say, raising an eyebrow.
Renee hides her head in her hands. “That was for the children’s museum,” she says. “I forgot to take it out of my bag.”
<
br /> “Likely story,” Morgan says, teasing.
“We met at the park a few weeks ago,” I say, “and she pulls this massive bag of goldfish out of the diaper bag. It was as big as my head!” I rarely have a reason to tease Renee, and it feels good.
“It was for a big group!” Renee protests. “Plus, I keep snacks around for emergencies.”
“Hoarder,” Morgan says in a sing-song voice.
“That’s called being a mama,” Debbie laughs. “I was the same with Cheerios way back when. Always had a bag or three.”
“Ok, let’s do prayer requests. Renee’s hoarding is already on the list,” Tori says, still giggling. Her laughter makes me feel a little more at ease.
“You wait until it’s you, woman,” Renee says to Tori, wrinkling her nose.
“My son is taking an MCAT practice test this weekend, so pray that he does well and that it helps him get ready for the real thing,” Debbie says. She turns to me, “He’s going to be a doctor like his daddy, but he has to get into med school. Oh, and my sister’s friend has been diagnosed with some thyroid disorder.”
She continues with more details, and I’m tempted to look up the symptoms on the internet and figure out what disorder she is talking about. I hear David’s voice in my head, saying, “Don’t do it, wife. Don’t ask the internet if you’re dying again.”
Renee sarcastically raises her hand and sighs a dramatic sigh. “Pray for me to find something to occupy the Missile. Liana is wearing me out, and I need some kind of physical activity for her.”
“That reminds me!” Tori says. “There’s a dance studio near where I work, and I saw they have beginner ballet classes. I was talking to Charlotte about it the other day. I checked, Charlotte. Rylie is old enough for them! They let you do one trial class for free. “
“Charlotte, we should sign our girls up!” Renee says, almost too enthusiastically. “They’d get to do something together.”
“I don’t know.”
“Come on! It will be fun. It’s free, right?”
I try to smile. I hate when Renee puts me on the spot. “I guess a trial class could be fun. I’m not sure if Rylie will follow instructions.”
“That’s why we take them together,” Renee laughs. “That way they’ll be troublemakers together!”
I end up agreeing to the trial class. It’s probably a bad idea, but at least I don’t have to go alone. I thought I wanted to be alone, but sitting in this circle, I realize that’s the last thing I want. I’ve always been jumpy, but church used to be my safe place. My friends were safe. I didn’t realize how much I had been holding them at arm’s length. I’ve missed them.
“You’re going to keep coming, aren’t you?” Tori asks as we gather our things.
“Of course she is!” Renee says as if she’s giving orders. Tori follows me to the nursery and then to my car with Rylie.
“Did you have fun?” she asks as I buckle Rylie into her car seat. “I really hope you’ll come back.”
“I think I will,” I say.
“Wonderful! I knew asking you to come was a Holy Spirit nudge. I’ll see you next week then.” She gives me a light hug as I shut the car door. “Or maybe tomorrow if you’ll be at the church again.” She says the phrase slowly, and I know she is asking if I’ll be going to see Darren.
I smile weakly. “Probably.”
“If you want to go to lunch or something after, we probably could.”
“David’s mom watches Rylie for me, so I’d hate to leave her too long,” I say. David is coming with me tomorrow, too, but I don’t want to admit that. Not yet.
“Let me know if you change your mind.”
“Of course.” I want to ask her why she is seeing Darren. Maybe she’ll tell me without me asking.
“Come by Pepper’s any time! I’ll sell you all kinds of things you don’t need.” She laughs.
“David will love that!” I say, the sarcasm a little thicker than I meant. Her blonde waves bounce behind her as she walks to her car and waves goodbye.
I look down at my bare nails and boring blue T-shirt. Do I really belong here? Rylie demands lunch from the back seat, and I breathe in slowly. I hope getting more involved isn’t a mistake.
Eleven
“Are you excited, Rylie?” David says next to me. Rain is coming down in sheets as we drive to the studio. I hope we can get into the building without getting too wet.
“I dance, Daddy!”
“I can’t wait to watch you,” he says. “So, how long will this be?” he asks me.
“Not long. It’s two songs. Then she’ll have them do their skill practice.”
Rylie has been in the ballet class almost two months now, and I am amazed at how much she has learned. Her teacher, Miss Colleen, was right that she is a natural dancer. I’m still trying to get used to her dancing around the house and yelling ballet terms in French. She wanted to wear her leotard to Mother’s Day Out a few days ago.
“Think she’ll behave?” David asks.
“I’m sure she will.” Rylie picks at the velcro on her shoe, her leg bent and foot stretched up almost up to her face. I snap a picture with my phone, and she frowns.
“What are your songs, Rylie? Tell Daddy about them.”
“No.”
When she takes that tone, it’s better to back off. I don’t need a tantrum right before a parent showcase. David drops us off by the door, and I cover Rylie’s head with an extra jacket from the back seat so I can carry her inside while he parks the car. His coat is completely soaked by the time he makes it into the studio.
“Is this Rylie’s daddy?” Miss Colleen asks, extending him a hand. “I’m so glad to meet you. Rylie has progressed so quickly.”
I’m always mesmerized by how elegantly Colleen moves. She’s tall and thin with deep brown skin and wide dark eyes. She loves glitter, too. Her black hair always has rhinestones stuck in it somewhere. Tonight her cheeks and collarbone are dusted with a subtle shimmer, and her leotard sparkles blue and green. Rylie says she’s a fairy princess, and I almost believe her.
“Nice to meet you,” David answers. He glances around the room. “I appear to be one of the only dads who could make it.”
“I know Rylie is excited to show you her routines.”
It’s not a large audience since Rylie’s class has only five kids. She sits on her mat at the side of the room, rocking back and forth with nervous energy. I wave at her, but she frowns and looks at the floor. I try to tell myself she will be fine, but my stomach is tying in knots. Will she throw a tantrum? Will she cry?
“Good evening, parents! And a few grandparents,” Miss Colleen says. “I’m so glad you braved the bad weather tonight so that our baby ballet class can show you what they have learned this semester! We’re going to show you two songs. The first one is our warm-up dance that we start with every class. The second is called ‘Pretty Ballerina’ and lets them show off their skills. Okay, ladies, up!” She claps her hands twice, and the girls hop up from their mats at the side of the room.
Except for Rylie. She frowns at her pink shoes and hugs herself. The other girls line up on the pink tape in the middle of the room. David elbows me in the arm and gives me a look. I want to run up and make her obey, but I can’t.
“I’m not supposed to do anything,” I whisper. “I’ll get in trouble. We’re supposed to let Miss Colleen handle everything during classes. She’ll get up.”
David frowns. “I don’t think she’s going to, Charlie.”
I take a deep breath to calm my wildly beating heart and press my still-icy hands against my cheeks to cool them. Rylie is definitely not moving.
“Miss Rylie, time to start,” Miss Colleen says firmly. Rylie shakes her head and pulls her knees to her chest, hiding her face. It’s a standoff. I’m stuck. I can’t intervene because of the rules, but she’s holding up the whole showcase.
“Rylie, are you going to follow instructions, or are we going to dance without you?”
“No!”
Rylie yells and dives behind the pile of mats behind her, hands over her eyes.
Miss Colleen looks at me, and I mouth, “I’m sorry.” She shakes her head at me, her face calm and in control. She nods to the other teacher, and music fills the room. The other little girls stretch, twirl, bounce, and crawl around the room behind the teachers. One little girl with black hair giggles loudly the whole time, and the audience can’t help but laugh with her. Everyone except us. David stares at the wall behind the dancers, his face deadly serious. I don’t know if he’s angry, upset, or annoyed at having wasted his time. I fidget in my seat, willing Rylie to stand up and join the group. The song ends, and the audience applauds politely.
“No clapping!” Rylie yells from her hiding place behind the mats. She stomps her foot and dives down again.
I have walked into Sunday school with baby vomit in my hair. I have been humiliated by grumpy old ladies in the grocery store. I have dragged a screaming Rylie out of church while our music minister tried not to make it worse by laughing. I have had to bandage a screaming Missile’s bloody knees from Rylie shoving her on our concrete porch.
This is still the most embarrassed I have ever been.
“Miss Rylie, are you going to follow instructions and dance?” Miss Colleen says. When she runs a class, it is so easy to forget she is barely out of college. I’m amazed at how calm she is while Rylie kicks her feet against the mats. I grip the chair to keep myself from getting up and carrying my child out of the room.
The next song plays, and the girls begin their adorable routine. I don’t watch a moment. All I can see is Rylie, or rather Rylie’s tutu sticking up from behind the practice mats. David glares at me. I raise my hands helplessly, and he rolls his eyes.
The pretty ballerinas dance back to their mats and bow.
“Thank you so much for coming!” Miss Colleen says. “I hope you had fun tonight.” She continues a short speech about learning skills and trying new things, but all I can see is Rylie hiding behind the mats.
