Shelter Me

by Mina Bennett

  She giggled again. "Well, that's good to know. I've just been thinking lately, I can't figure out why we don't spend more time together. You've always made me laugh, you know. You're a cool guy."

  "Thanks," I said.

  Okay, so I was flattered. As out-of-the-blue as this seemed to be, it was nice to know that someone was taking...well, some sort of an interest in me. We chatted for a while about nothing in particular, with her doing most of the talking - she loved to share her opinions, but didn't seem particularly interested in any of mine. But that was fine. I was happy to just listen.

  She congratulated me on getting a job, and promised to come visit, though her parents "didn't like shopping at that kind of store." I wasn't going to ask, but she expounded on it anyway, telling me about how her dad didn't believe in supporting stores run by "predatory unions" or buying products made in China. After about five minutes I felt like I should be apologizing for working there, but finally she changed the subject to her college search.

  I never minded hearing about Brandon's, but for some reason, hers in particular served as a harsh reminder of my lack of options in that department. She had a "short list" of options, all of which cost more for a year's tuition than my parents' house. She started running down the list of options and drawbacks for each one, not even pausing long enough for an "oh really?" or an "I see."

  Finally, she paused long enough to take a breath. "I hope I'm not keeping you too long."

  "Oh, no," I heard myself reply. "I've got unlimited minutes."

  "Good!" she said. "Although, I should probably get going. I have another essay to write, for Biola. Their application is crazy. It's like forty pages long, I swear."

  "That's too bad," I said. "But you're right, you should get to work on that."

  "I'll see you soon, I hope."

  "Yeah," I said. "See you soon."

  So this was it. This was the sort of calm, steady, grown-up relationship that I needed. Calm, steady, and...boring.

  No, that was unfair. It was well past time for me to give up the high drama of my grade-school crush, and trade it in for someone who could actually be there for me. And evidently, that was Lily.

  My head was on board, one hundred percent. Now I just had to convince my heart.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Marissa

  Mark had invited me to his house for dinner again. This seemed to be our new recurring pattern; we never went out anymore, and I never asked him why. He seemed to enjoy cooking, and it made him happy, so why not? I never felt fully comfortable in his house, knowing that the two of us were completely alone...but really, if my parents trusted him, shouldn't I?

  I rang the doorbell, hearing my mom's engine rev only when the door swung open and I walked inside. I didn't meet his eyes, at first, but when I did, I was surprised by what I saw. His expression was tender and thoughtful - right now, he was "church Mark."

  "Hello, Mari," he said softly. I stood very still as he came up and planted a kiss on my forehead. "Come in, dinner's almost ready."

  I followed him into the dining room, which was decked out like he was expecting someone important. There was a long runner with tassels going down the middle of the table, a massive centerpiece of flowers, and tall candles burning in elegant crystal holders. Was all this for me?

  I pulled out a chair and looked down at my plate. These weren't his usual dishes, either.

  He came out of the kitchen with a bottle, which I expected, but this one let out a loud pop when he pulled out the cork. Belatedly, I noticed that instead of a wine glass, my table setting had a tall, slender champagne flute. Mark poured me a glass, then poured one for himself. He was watching at me, and smiling the whole time. But it wasn't a smile that gave me goosebumps. It seemed warm, genuine, the way he looked when he was counseling someone on Sunday after service.

  Despite his earlier statement about dinner, he then sat down across from me and interlaced his fingers, looking at me searchingly. I swallowed hard, and managed to hold his gaze.

  "You know, Marissa," he said. "I've been courting you for just about six weeks now. Did you know that?"

  I didn't, but I nodded anyway. It seemed crass to not notice. People in brand new relationships were supposed to be counting the days, weren't they? Celebrating one-week anniversaries? I'd simply let the time slip by, unnoticed, and I would have believed any timeline he told me.

  My life often didn't feel real to me. Sometimes I wondered if I was always half-asleep. But Mark - Mark was clearly awake.

  He was still smiling at me.

  "It's been wonderful," he said. "I've been having a lovely time getting to you know, and I hope you feel the same way. When I first came to Eternal Grace, I saw something in you that was precious. It's something that I think people have overlooked and ignored. You're beautiful, obviously, on the outside. But you have beauty on the inside too, even if sometimes you make it hard for people to see it."

  I bit my lip. I never meant to make it hard for people to see, but he was right. Mark had seen through whatever mask I put on for the world, without even realizing it, and had seen me as worthwhile. Maybe that was why I sometimes felt so uncomfortable around him. I wasn't used to someone really seeing me. I wasn't used to trusting anyone to understand.

  "I don't mean to boast," he was saying. "But I've always been good at seeing people's true natures. When I was little, my dad used to say I was 'blessed with the gift of discernment.' I see the things about people that they try to hide. Oftentimes, it's ugly. But with you, it was such a surprise. You have a depth of feeling that I don't often see in people. I understand why you might want to hide it - you feel like it makes you vulnerable. And I understand. But you never have to be afraid around me. I won't ever take advantage of your good nature. No good person would dare. It's too beautiful. Too precious."

  I blinked, slowly. I was starting to feel like I was sitting church, listening to a sermon.

  Mark cleared his throat. "Anyway," he said. "All that's a very long-winded way of saying...when I first met you, Mari, I was captivated by what I saw. From the moment we met, I was planning our wedding. But I knew I had to take things slow. I knew I'd have to gain your trust. But I feel like I've done that, and I hope you feel the same way. I don't want to wait any longer."

  He reached into his pocket, and I felt a stab of panic in my chest. I blinked again, very, very slowly.

  When I opened my eyes, there was a small velvet box sitting on the table between us. This wasn't real life, was it? It couldn't be. I kept my jaw clenched, willing my arm to lift up, telling my hand to pick up the box and open it. But every part of my body felt as heavy as lead.

  "Here," said Mark. He reached over and flipped the box open, but I couldn't bring myself to look at what was inside. "Don't be scared," he said. "This is for you, Mari. It's all for you. This is what you deserve."

  There was a tiny, translucent little spider creeping across one of the chrysanthemums in the centerpiece arrangement. I stared at him as he made his epic journey across the petals. I imagined myself as tiny as him, trying to scale the sides of the bowl like it was a massive rock wall, finally reaching a stem, struggling to get to the top of the flower. I remembered doing this when I was very young, huddled in my room, listening to my parents scream and shriek at each other. Listening to my dad calling Mary a whore and a tramp and a slut, throwing a glass against the wall. Hardly hearing the shattering noise, because I was so absorbed in my fantasy of being only a centimeter tall, climbing up the baseboards, so small that they wouldn't even notice me - so tiny, so insignificant, that their fighting didn't affect my life at all.

  I forced myself to look at the ring.

  The setting was delicate gold, with two small diamonds nested against each other in an off-center design.

  "It was my grandmother's," Mark said, plucking it out of the box and holding it out to me. "A long time ago, my mother gave it to me, so I would be ready when I found the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. And t
hat's you, Mari. It's always been you."

  I let him slide it onto my finger, feeling the strangeness of the metal band resting on my skin. I knew that, in time, wearing it would become second nature to me. It would feel strange to not have a ring on my finger.

  "So," he said, smiling warmly. "Is that a 'yes?'"

  I found my voice. "Yes," I managed to say. "Of course."

  His face relaxed into a grin, and he laughed a little. "Mari, I'm so happy. I was worried - I mean, I didn't really think you'd say no, but of course I was worried that you might. Let's pray together."

  I closed my eyes, and he took both of my hands in his.

  "Dear Lord Jesus, thank You so much for this wonderful blessing You've brought into my life. I know that You see Marissa as a precious treasure, just like I do, and it's such an honor to be able to catch even a small glimpse of how You must see all Your children. I know that You've called on me to love her like You love Your church, and I promise to try. I know that since You've called me here, and placed her in my path, this union is blessed by You, and that is the most beautiful thing I can imagine. Thank You, merciful Lord, because I know she will bring me more happiness than I deserve. Amen."

  "Now," he said, when I'd opened my eyes again. "Let's eat."

  As he took my plate and disappeared into the kitchen, I looked back to the flowers. But the spider was gone.

  ***

  When Mom came to pick me up, I kept my hands shoved into my pockets for the ride home, giving perfunctory answers to all of her questions. But I didn't realize something was different until I got home, and saw that Martha and my dad were sitting in the living room, waiting for me. Martha looked excited, and my dad looked slightly worried.

  "So!" Martha burst out, jumping a little in her seat as I walked in the door. "Is there anything you want to tell us about tonight?"

  I pulled my hand out of my pocket and just let it hang next to my hip.

  Martha squealed, running over to grab my hand and lift it up on display. "Oh my gosh! It's so cute! Mom, look at it!"

  "Congratulations, honey." My mom was smiling hesitantly. "Your dad - well, I guess Mark called him first, to make sure it was okay to ask you. So we've sort of been expecting it."

  Of course he did.

  "Well, I had no idea," I said. "It doesn't feel like it's been that long."

  "That's what I thought," my dad said. "But, you know, if you feel like you're ready..." There was an unspoken you're not ready in his eyes, or maybe I just imagined it.

  "Of course she's ready," my mom snapped, waving a dismissive hand in my dad's direction. "Don't be ridiculous, you know how fast these girls of yours grow up."

  "They didn't get it from me," Dad muttered, but everyone just ignored him.

  "Mari was never boy-crazy like Mary was, though," said Martha, still captivated by the stones. She tilted my hand to catch the light better. "But whatever, eighteen's not young to get married."

  "It is in the real world," said my dad. "But, all that matters is that Marissa is happy."

  I didn't quite believe him, but I was suddenly struck with a wave of euphoria. In spite of everything, in spite of Mark having to ask my father's permission, this was something that was all mine. This was something that I was doing on my own, as an adult woman, and the rest of my family could only stand by and watch. And that felt wonderful. They couldn't dismiss me as a lost little girl anymore.

  "You must be thrilled," said Martha, in a tone of voice that implied I wasn't showing the appropriate amount of glee.

  I smiled. "I'm very happy," I said, my voice sounding stronger than it had in a long time. "I can't wait to be Mark's wife."

  Martha squealed again, finally letting my hand drop and engulfing me in a hug. Mom hugged me after that, then Dad finally got up from his easy chair and came to pat me on the shoulder, awkwardly. Mom and Martha were already chattering amongst themselves about venues and bakeries, so he said softly, in my ear:

  "Honey, I'm really going to miss you."

  It was the first time he'd said anything like that to me in...years. Maybe ever. I felt tears welling up in my eyes, but I wasn't going to give in.

  "Well," I said. "I'm not going anywhere yet."

  That, at least, was true.

  ***

  The next day, I heard the doorbell ring. I nearly jumped out of my skin. Nobody ever used the doorbell. George jumped off my lap, scurrying under the radiator and poking his head out with wide, terrified eyes.

  "It's okay, buddy," I said, getting to my feet and peeking out the window. I couldn't quite see the front porch because of the way the eaves jutted out, but that never stopped me from trying. The driveway, however, told the story - it was Mark's car, a sleek black sedan that I'd recognize anywhere.

  Why was he coming over here? And without calling first?

  "Mari!" my mom called up the stairs. "You have a visitor!"

  "I'll come up," I heard Mark say, galloping up the stairs.

  As he approached, I quickly smoothed my hair and sat down at my desk, trying to look as composed as possible.

  "Hi," he said, as she walked in without knocking.

  "Hi," I replied. "I didn't expect to see you."

  "Well, I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I'd drop by." He was smiling, but there was no warmth behind it. He was obviously in a bad mood, but I couldn't figure out why he would have come here if so.

  "Okay," I said. There was no doubt in my mind that my discomfort was obvious, and I was waiting for him to say something that would explain his sudden visit other than "I was in the neighborhood." Wasn't he always?

  He sat down on the edge of the bed. George crawled out from under the radiator, halfway, staring.

  "I've been doing a lot of thinking about our life together," Mark said, finally. He was frowning a little. "I could hardly sleep last night."

  "I'm sorry," I said, shifting in my chair. I had no idea what I was supposed to say.

  "I'm not asking you to apologize, Mari!" he said, looking even more irritated than before. "I just want to share a conversation with you about our future. You have to be able to hear my concerns if we're going to be married."

  "All right," I said. I had the insane urge to apologize for apologizing, but I managed to bite my tongue.

  "We have to figure out how we're going to live together," he said. "For instance, all this stuff -" he gestured around the room "- is that coming with you?"

  "Uh..." I looked at my bookshelves. "It doesn't have to."

  "I don't want to tell you what to do," he said. "But you've seen my house, you know what it's like. The kind of lifestyle I have there. I want to accommodate you, but I also want to make sure we don't lose the aesthetic. You know what I mean? I need things to stay organized and attractive. I like to keep a nice home."

  "I know," I said. A little bit of defensiveness was creeping into my tone - I couldn't help it. He seemed to be preemptively accusing me of ruining his oh-so-precious space. Sure, I'd assumed I would move my stuff in after we were married. Wasn't that what people usually did? But if he didn't want all my books and mementos, he just had to say something.

  He sighed, resting his head in his hands, his fingers raking through his hair. "I'm sorry, Marissa. I know I'm being difficult. It's just - a lot to take in, all at once. You know?"

  "I do," I said. It was confusing, although I did understand it. Didn't he say he'd been planning out wedding since the day we met? Well, the fantasy clashing with the reality was probably difficult to handle.

  "You can bring whatever you need to feel comfortable in your new home," he said, finally, his face relaxing into a smile. "I don't want you to think you can't - I just want things to stay tidy. That's all. Clutter is incredibly stressful, and I'm trying to manage school, and all these church outreaches. I just want us to bring nothing but joy into each other's lives. That's all."

  My parents were having a quiet conversation in the kitchen; I could hear the tail ends of words but couldn't quite disce
rn the meaning. At least that meant they weren't eavesdropping, and I knew Martha was out with her friends.

  "Okay," I said. I didn't think his desire was particularly realistic, but I wasn't going to pick a fight.

  "Good," he said. "I'm glad we're on the same page with that, at least."

  His eyes drifted down to the radiator, where George was still crouched, staring.

  "You're not going to bring that cat, are you?"

  I actually, physically bit my tongue.

  "Well," I said, my voice trembling a little, "I was going to."

  Immediately, I felt humiliated. I'd been making a huge assumption all along - that of course, my cat would come with me when I got married - and he'd just shot it down with a single sentence. How could I have been so stupid? I should have asked. I should have...

  "Oh, Marissa, no, please. Don't cry." His whole demeanor changed in an instant. He hurried over to me, kneeling down beside my chair and grabbing both of my hands in his. It was only after he'd said something that I realized, yes, my eyes were brimming with tears. I crumpled a little in my seat, leaning forward and burying my face in my hands. This was too much. It was just, it was just all too much to handle.

  "I'm sorry, sweetheart, please. There's no need to cry. You're making me feel like a monster. I just assumed she was the family cat, I didn't think you'd want to take her away and make her settle in a new house. Especially with her...you know, getting along in years. That's not a very good idea, is it? I mean, you want to do what's best for her, right?"

  I sniffled. "Him," I said, my voice muffled slightly through my hands. "His name is George."

  "I'm sorry," he said again. "You can probably tell, I'm not - I'm not really a cat person."

  "It's okay," I said, although it wasn't. "I just never thought about it before. I never thought about leaving him."

  "Of course you didn't, sweetie," he said, his voice as smooth and soothing as a cup of warm tea. "I shouldn't have brought it up right now. We don't have to talk about it until you're ready."

  My head was swimming. Maybe he was right, about it being too much stress for a cat Georgie's age. But people moved all the time with their cats, didn't they? It was just up the road. I wouldn't have to put him in a carrier, even.