by Erynn Mangum
“You’re wearing a skirt,” I tell Preslee.
“Skirt, pants. Same diff.”
“Not to the Puritans,” I tell her.
She snorts.
Mom reaches over and pulls both of us into a hug, and tears pool in her eyes. “Oh, I love this,” she says quietly.
We both hug her back and nobody mentions why this didn’t happen for years. Sometimes it’s best to just move on.
The boys come back inside and Tyler grins at me. “So, your dad is getting chickens.”
I look up quickly. “Like live ones?” I try not to let the panic show in my voice.
“Sure,” Dad says. “I’ve been reading up on them. There’s very little maintenance, you don’t have to worry about them digging up the yard, and you get fresh eggs every morning. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“But is it really worth it?” I ask Dad. “I mean, you’d have to build the chicken coop, feed them every day, and gather all the eggs. And eggs aren’t really that expensive, Dad. A couple of dollars for a dozen isn’t that bad.”
“If your grandpa were here, he’d tell you about how they sold a dozen eggs for a quarter on the side of the road every day after school, and that’s how he bought his first bicycle,” Dad says.
“I mean, live chickens are just so . . . alive,” I say.
Tyler’s grinning so big that he’s making my cheeks hurt. “Got something against poultry, Paige?”
“No, I mean, if that’s what Dad wants to get, it’s fine.” I try to sound offhand about it.
“She hates birds,” Preslee says.
I glare at her.
“Can’t stand them,” Preslee continues. “There’s a Target here where for whatever reason there are always these huge flocks of birds that sit on the roof and fly over the parking lot and land on the lights around the parking lot, and Paige always refused to go. I finally figured out that she’s freaked out by birds.”
“Really? I didn’t know that about you, Paige,” Tyler says.
“Their beaks creep me out. Okay?”
Tyler nods. “I’ll try to remember not to buy you a parakeet.”
“And their beady little eyes. And the feathers. And the fact that they can poop while they’re flying over you and it might land in your hair.”
Preslee is laughing at me. “Hey, Paige, do you still refuse to go on an outdoor roller coaster?”
I’m immediately lasering her with a glare that could melt kryptonite. “Don’t. You. Dare.”
“What’s wrong with outdoor roller coasters?” Tyler asks innocently.
Preslee grins at me. “Sorry, sister. It’s better if he knows the real you.”
“Preslee!”
“She’s afraid a bird might hit her in the face.”
Everyone is quiet for a minute and then they all start laughing. I watch my family brushing away tears from the hilarity of my worst fear and shake my head. “This is a cold house today, folks.”
Preslee’s shower should have been billed as the time I would watch my sister try to open 1,325 presents in less than an hour. The girl’s fingers started bleeding she was unwrapping so much.
That and maybe because one of the bows was like a razor.
She got an entire kitchen, three times the amount of towels any person will ever need for a whole lifetime, cookbooks, movies, and two vacuum cleaners. As I was stuffing the last of the tissue paper in a huge black trash bag, I could suddenly see why everyone seemed to be rushing to the altar.
You make out with the presents when you get married.
“This is better than Christmas!” Preslee giggled after everyone had left.
Wes and Tyler were already muscling all of the presents out the door and trying to puzzle-fit them into my mom’s Tahoe.
The shower was really cute. Red bandanas were on all the tables, yellow daisies in boots were scattered all over the room, cowboy hats hung from every available ledge.
It was like all of the clichés about Texas were in one room.
Wes comes walking back in, looking exhausted. It was obvious during the couples’ shower today that Preslee was definitely the most outgoing of the two of them. Wes tended to stay back, talking a little bit but mostly letting her have the floor.
Which was funny because it was mostly his friends here.
“Is that everything?” he asks, backhanding his forehead. “And the correct answer to that question is yes, because I don’t think we’ll be able to fit another thing in that car.”
Preslee and my mom look around while I stuff even more ripped wrapping paper into the bulging trash bag.
If it were me opening these presents, I would have unwrapped them carefully so I could reuse all the paper. And I asked Preslee if she wanted to save the bags and tissue paper and she said, “Why?”
Oh, the differences between us.
Tyler comes in then, looking at his cell phone. “It’s almost four, Paige.”
I nod. “We’ll need to go in a few minutes,” I tell Mom and Preslee.
“What time does your mom get in town, Tyler?” Mom asks him.
“Around eight, I think.”
Mom nods. “You guys should probably head back. Don’t you know today would be the day where it would be bumper-to-bumper traffic the whole way.”
I’ve driven back and forth from Dallas to Austin a hundred times in the last couple of years, and I’ve never been in bumper-to-bumper traffic the entire way.
But I just nod, hand Wes the huge bag of trash and give Mom, Dad, and Preslee hugs. “I guess the next time I see you will be at your wedding.”
“Not at the wedding. I’m planning on getting into my dress with you around, and goodness knows I’m not doing that as part of the actual wedding.” Preslee grins.
“That would probably be best. I’m sure we’ll talk in the next couple of weeks.”
“I’m sure we will.” She looks at Tyler and smiles prettily at him. “I’m so glad you guys drove down for this.”
Tyler gives Mom and Preslee hugs again and shakes Wes’s and Dad’s hands. “Good to see you guys and meet some of you. Looking forward to the wedding.” He had been invited about eight times by this point.
We walk outside and climb into his truck, which is like an oven, especially since both of us are in jeans for the shower. He immediately cranks the air-conditioning and rolls the windows down, trying to blow the hot air out.
“What are you going to do with your mom tonight?”
I’m planning on joining them for lunch tomorrow. My stomach knots a little at the thought. I’ve been thinking about what Stef said about her mom since I talked to her on the phone that day at lunch.
To say I’m nervous is sort of an understatement.
“I’m not sure. I might see if she wants to go get dessert somewhere. Mom is a lot happier when we are out doing things. She’s not so good at sitting around my apartment.”
I immediately start worrying. What if Tyler is like his mom? What if he really doesn’t like just sitting around my apartment which, if I have to be honest, is one of my favorite things to do? I love nights where I get to change into my yoga pants and lie on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and HGTV.
“Do you . . . like to just sit around your apartment?” I ask slowly, trying not to sound like I’m fishing for answers even though I am.
He grins over at me behind his aviator glasses. The man looks like a Gap ad right now. “Have you seen my apartment? Definitely not. But I do like sitting around your apartment.”
That makes me feel better.
It’s not hard to convince Tyler to make my traditional stop at Dairy Queen in Waco. I get my Blizzard and Tyler gets a milk shake.
We finally pull into my apartment complex at almost seven thirty. I’m yawning. Days spent in the car always make me tired for some reason.
Tyler shifts the truck into Park in the space beside my car. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m going to try to talk her into going to church, so would you mind saving two seats just
in case? I’ll text you if we aren’t coming.”
I nod. “I can do that.” I smile over at him. “Thanks for coming today, Tyler. My family loved you.”
“I had fun.” He smiles over at me and then leans across the center console and kisses my cheek. “I’ll walk you to your door.”
“Don’t do that, you have to leave right away.”
“Come on now, let me be a gentleman.”
I roll my eyes, but I release my seat belt and let him follow me up the steps to my apartment.
It’s already starting to get dark which is always a welcome thing this time of year because it means cooler temperatures are coming. I jab my key in the door, unlock it, then turn to Tyler.
“Thanks for walking me the long, difficult walk to my door,” I say, slightly sarcastically.
He grins. “You’re welcome,” he repeats in the same tone of voice. He pulls me in for a hug but doesn’t let go when I loosen my grip.
Instead he hugs me tighter and then pushes me back slightly, searching my eyes. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something and then apparently changes his mind and closes his mouth, smiling slightly at me. “Well. Have a good night, Paige.”
It’s the most awkward thing he’s ever told me. Not in the words themselves, but in the way he says it.
I kind of nod. “Okay. Thanks, Tyler. You too.”
Then he’s gone, disappearing down my stairs, and I hear his truck’s engine as I close and lock my front door.
Weird.
So far dinner has been the Blizzard at Dairy Queen, so I find a bag of packaged salad in the fridge and rip open the top, drizzling the little bag of dressing over the lettuce and sprinkling on the little wrapped-up pack of sunflower seeds and dried cranberries. I grab a fork and start poking it into the bag, then carry it over to the couch.
I saw someone do this on a movie once, and I thought it was the saddest thing I’d ever seen since obviously they were so alone that they didn’t even use an actual plate. But then I realized the value of it.
No plate equals no dishes to clean.
Genius.
I settle on the couch but instead of reaching for the remote, I just sit there, thinking.
My family loved Tyler. It took my dad a little bit, but he really did warm up to him. Dad’s always been way more hesitant to bestow his approval on a boy that Preslee or I liked, while Mom, on the other hand, has always been rolling out the red carpet for every single one.
One guy I dated, she called up the boy’s mother and asked her for her son’s favorite dessert. And then she baked a rhubarb pie.
That was the end of that relationship. I can’t be with someone who enjoys rhubarb that much. The guy ate like the entire pie, which was good because no one else could stand the taste or texture of it.
I pull my cell phone out.
WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE DESSERT?
I might as well see if this relationship is going anywhere.
A couple of minutes later, I get a reply. CHOCOLATE-CHIP COOKIES. WHY?
Good answer. I fish another piece of dressing-drenched lettuce out of the bag and type back.
JUST CURIOUS. HAVE A GOOD TIME WITH YOUR MOM, TYLER.
THANKS! NIGHT, PAIGE.
I grab my Bible and bring it over to the couch then. It’s a little early, but one of my favorite shows doesn’t come on for another half hour, which gives me lots of time to read. Plus, maybe I’ll be more awake if I’m not lying in bed while reading it.
I’m flipping to Ecclesiastes when Psalm 103 catches my eye.
“He has not dealt with us according to our sins, nor rewarded us according to our iniquities. For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is His lovingkindness toward those who fear Him. As far as the east is from the west, so far has He removed our transgressions from us.”
I look at the words again. East from the west. It’s not like a state line, you know. The east and the west never meet. So God just never revisits the idea of someone’s sin again, I guess.
I bite the inside of my cheek, thinking. The salad is not sitting so well in my stomach all of a sudden.
How many times have I thought about Tyler’s past sin?
The answer? Often.
He’ll reach for my hand and I automatically wonder how many girls’ hands he’s held. He’ll send me a flirtatious smile, and I’ll wonder if the other girls thought he was as cute when he did that with them.
And then there were the other thoughts, the thoughts I tried my hardest to block out as soon as they started creeping up on me.
I remember a sermon Rick preached to the youth one time before I got hired as the intern. He was teaching through the Old Testament heroes and he was talking about Abraham when he slept with Hagar to try and have a son through her.
“You guys are going to be told so many lies in this life,” Rick said. “You’re going to hear that ‘everyone’s doing it’ or ‘it’s only natural’ or ‘just once can’t hurt.’ Friends, I’m here today to tell you they are wrong. Not everyone is doing it, it’s not natural, and just once can hurt. Whatever ‘it’ is for you. I’m not going to tell you that it isn’t going to feel good or make you look good or make you powerful for a moment. But know this: The moment will end. The day will come when we will see Abraham pay for his sin and you will one day too.”
Rick stopped then and looked seriously at the kids. “But let’s say that this is you. Let’s say that you and Abraham already have a lot more in common than you wish you had, including a lot of remorse. Flip over with me to 1 Corinthians 15. Paul has just spent the entire book talking to a church that was planted in the heart of the most immoral city on the earth at the time. Sounds like America, huh? Here’s where our hope is when we screw up.”
Rick cleared his throat and started reading. “‘But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore, my beloved brethren, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that your toil is not in vain in the Lord.’”
I stare at the words fuzzing in front of my eyes in my Bible.
Tyler messed up. He made mistakes.
But God forgave him. He took those mistakes and moved them as far away as the east is from the west. And then He gave Tyler the victory.
I worry about so much. I think about so much. But at the end of the day, Tyler belongs to Jesus now. And I can’t do anything to change his past, but he wouldn’t be where he is today and who he is today without it.
My head is hurting. I lean my head back on the couch and shut my eyes.
Lord.
It took me months to forgive Preslee enough to let her back into my life. Years to forgive Luke for the awful things he said to me, the terrible way he treated me at the end. When I’m looking at my track record, forgiveness is not really at the top of my list of qualities.
If I had been alive when Jesus was on the earth, I would have been the one asking the question, “How many times do I have to forgive that person, Jesus?”
Only it wasn’t the times that Jesus was concerned about. It was the words in the middle.
How many times do I have to forgive him?
There is no “have to” in forgiveness, I think.
I’m such a by-the-rules person. If someone who I consider an authority tells me not to do something, I don’t do it. I read every book I had to read for class. I follow every speed-limit sign, and when the light turns yellow, I slow down. I’m always on time.
Now I’m wondering, though, who I’m actually similar to. Jesus? Who was late for healings because He was busy discovering and comforting a woman who had been in pain for years? Who drew in the sand when an adulterous woman was thrown in front of Him, but instead of condemning her, He asked her accusers who of them hadn’t sinned themselves? Who knew that Judas was going to betray Him and yet He still ate His last meal with Judas sitting at the table with Him.
I look at the Bible, but instead of words I just see me. Sinful, prideful me
.
And I am nothing but ashamed.
In my quest to please God, somehow I missed a very important fact.
It’s not a lifetime trying to be sinless we should pursue. Only one Man was able to accomplish that one. No, maybe it was a lifetime of trying to show Jesus to others.
I close my eyes and stay like that a long time.
I save the two seats directly to my left and closest to the aisle for Tyler and his mom at church the next morning, since the odds are good that they will come in halfway through the music like Tyler always does. I made sure I was wearing something that was both fashionable without being showy and innocent without being too cute. It was completely the result of all of my clothes in my closet currently lying on my bed since I spent the whole morning nixing ideas.
Layla shows up right as I’m setting my Bible on the second seat. “Thanks for saving seats.” She hands me my Bible and plops down. “I’m so tired. Mom called last night and we were up talking until one trying to make sure we have everything done for the wedding.”
“You have got to start calling me for help, Layla. I’m starting to think you don’t like me anymore. And those seats are for Tyler and his mom.”
She raises both eyebrows and grins at me. “Well, well, well. Meeting the parent, huh? Is this to assume that you and Tyler have moved beyond ‘we’re casually dating’ mode?”
I shoo her out of the seat and shrug her answer away because I don’t want to mention his hypothetical question the other day and have her bust the windows in the church from her screaming.
Apparently she can tell from my face, though.
“Well. I’m so happy for you, Paige. He’s such a sweet guy. And Peter just adores him.” Layla gives me a hug.
I have a hard time picturing Peter adoring anyone, but I smile and hug her back. “Thanks, Layla.”
“Granted, I’m bummed that we won’t be sisters someday, but some things are just not meant to be, I guess.”
Praise God for that one.
Peter slides into our row, nods a slight smile at me, and then gives Layla a kiss. The more I’m around him, the more I like to think of him as like Mr. Darcy. Reserved and quiet to those around him, but open and accessible to the woman he loves.
