by S. M. Smith
“Is everything okay in here?” Dad asks from the doorway. His face says they can hear us in the dining room, so I back off, not wanting to drag Dad into the middle of our fight.
“Everything is just fine, Mr. St. James,” Stephen says as he sidesteps me and goes to leave the room. Dad steps out of his way, too, and comes to help me pour the leftovers into smaller bowls.
“Jessie. I know it’s not your fault, but I’m very disappointed that Caleb didn’t make it again tonight,” Dad says gently, but firmly.
“I am too, Dad.” The defeated sounding words come out before I can change my tone, and my dear old dad doesn’t miss it.
“Jessie, honey,” he starts, putting a hand over mine to stop me so that I will focus on him. “I know you’re frustrated with the situation with Caleb. Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” I say, almost anticipating what his question will be. I don’t know if or how to answer it though.
“Why are you in a relationship that is just frustrating you?” he asks softly.
I don’t know and I’m afraid to say that out loud. That fear tightens my throat and I feel the scream I’ve been struggling to hold back put on the pressure again. Dad removes my hands from the bowl I’m clutching onto and holds them in between us.
“Honey, you are worth so much more than the hurt you have now. You are too beautiful and too strong to be letting this pain hold you in place. You deserve someone who only wants to make you happy and make you smile.” Immediately I think of Daphne’s comment again, when she said that Stephen would do just about anything to get me to smile. But right now, he isn’t making me smile and that brings on a sadness I don’t expect.
Dad pulls me into a hug and I finally let some frustrated tears fall, but only a few. He holds me while I let off enough pressure to be able to face our company again. When I feel that I can do so, I let go.
“I love you, Daddy.” I give him one more squeeze.
“I love you too, kiddo,” he tells me before planting a gentle kiss on the top of my head.
“I just need a minute,” I tell him, wiping my eyes. “I’ll finish up putting the food away and be right in.” He nods and leaves me to collect myself.
I decide not to really think about anything other than getting the food put away. I do so pretty quickly and check my reflection in a window, checking to make sure my makeup isn’t too badly smeared. Deciding I look fine, I join the rest of the group in the living room.
Stephen is relaxed on the couch, watching the end of a basketball game. He looks so at ease and back to his normal self. That is until he sees I’ve rejoined them. His stiff posture and the rigid look on his face return. Then all of a sudden it makes sense.
Caleb really isn’t the problem, as I had predicted. I am.
Chapter Nineteen
It is a rare occasion that we have a guest speaker from some affiliate church to speak at our church, but I’m all too glad to have my dad sitting in between me and the Cahills today. I’m sure I could have found another friend to sit with during the sermon, but I feel a strength from just sitting by my dad that I won’t find with anyone else. His near presence helps me to focus.
Pastor John Malcolm, today’s guest speaker, is a good friend of my dad’s from back in seminary. His family runs a church out of Nebraska and once a year he makes the trip to give my dad a morning off. His message on having hope in the midst of a storm resonates well within my soul this morning. He speaks from the book of Mark, chapter four, where Jesus is awakened during a bad storm by the disciples who fear for their lives.
“When large swells threaten our lives,” John preaches, “we, too, sometimes lose perspective and don’t fully understand just who Jesus is. We run to Jesus, asking Him to fix things, but deep down we don’t really expect him to. No, we want Him to panic along with us, don’t we? But aren’t we thankful He doesn’t turn to us and say ‘You idiot, where is your faith?’”
I chuckle. I could probably use someone being so frank with me at this point.
“No, instead,” he continues, “He calms the storm, leaving us in just as much awe as he did the disciples that day. And we need to remember that. He WILL calm our storms. He is a mighty God who has power over the wind and the waves. Hasn’t He proven time and time again that He will show up? Can’t we be assured that, even in the midst of a raging sea of turmoil, our God will show up, again and again? Hasn’t He proven he doesn’t abandon us? Deuteronomy 31:6 tells us that God will never leave us or forsake us. So why…why are we still holding onto the railing, screaming at Him, asking Him if He cares if we drown?”
My heart starts pounding. It’s as if Jesus Himself is standing on that stage asking me why I don’t trust Him to take care of my mess. I look over at my dad and see him nod along with what John is saying. I stretch back just enough to catch Stephen’s face contort with confliction.
God, I miss my best friend. I know you can handle this. Will you calm my heart and help me to see clearly? I know you have a plan for me that will bring honor and glory to you. Please align my heart with yours and keep me from getting impatient with your timing.
Dad lays a hand between my shoulder blades as I lean forward, placing my head in my hands. I smile up at him, appreciatively, but see Stephen’s look of concern toward me. I try to give him a smile, but I only manage to give a half one instead. He stands for praise and worship, which I miss the cue for. I stand but can’t get myself to really sing.
Once we are excused from the service, I carry on with my normal duties of sending off the members. Stephen hasn’t spoken to me all morning, so I’m not sure if we are even still on for hitting the shooting range this afternoon. Our families sweep through the building, making sure we aren’t going to lock anyone in and meet at the door to put our coats on when he finally decides to speak to me.
“Are we still on for the range today?” he asks, not really looking at me as he pulls his navy coat on.
“Yes, please,” I say, a little surprised he is still up for it.
“Okay, I’ll pick you up around 2:30 then.”
“It’s a date.” It slips out before I realize what I’m saying. He stiffens up and walks out of the building before I can correct myself.
“What was that all about?” Dad asks, coming up behind me.
“You know, Dad, I’m not entirely sure.”
***
By the time Stephen knocks on the door, I’ve changed my clothes twice. I finally settle into my favorite jeans, a long sleeved t-shirt with a light scarf and pull my hair up and out of my face. Dad is on the edge of the couch watching the Saints as they start their run in the playoffs.
“Bad call, ref! He was not offside!” Dad yells at the TV just as the doorbell rings.
“Dad, you know he can’t hear you, right?” I ask from the foyer as I pull open the door.
“Come on, guys!” Dad yells again, cutting me off from greeting Stephen.
“Saints game?” he asks, nodding back toward the living room.
“How could you tell?” I say, moving aside to let him in. Dad starts clapping at some play on the TV as I grab my gun in its pretty case and the box of ammo.
“No rifle today?” Stephen asks, a bit surprised.
“No, I’m excited to take this baby for a spin,” I say a little too excitedly while pulling my coat on.
“Think he’d get mad if I yelled ‘Go Niners’?” he whispers as we start for the door.
“You might not be allowed in our house ever again if you did,” I say very seriously, but Stephen just chuckles.
“Bye, Mr. St. James!” he yells instead.
“Bye, Dad. Call me if you need anything.” I follow.
“Bye, kids. Have fun!” Dad yells to us.
We climb in the truck after securing the weapons and ammo correctly and head to the range in near silence. Stephen isn’t as rigid as he was last night, but he still looks uncomfortable. I’m trying to find something to say that won’t cause us to fight when my phone rings. The caller ID s
hows it’s Caleb, and since I am not quite ready to talk to him yet, I just send his call to voicemail.
“Aren’t you going to take that?” Stephen asks, clearly curious as to who it is.
“No. I don’t think I want to talk to him right now,” I say, watching the electric poles fly by. I hear him huff a little, but I don’t turn toward him. He shifts in his seat, evidently eager to ask a question I know will cause us to start arguing. Or worse, cause him to stop talking to me once he hears my answer.
“So, are you going to forgive him again?” he finally asks.
“Stephen, I don’t think we should have this conversation.”
“So you will,” he says like it’s a fact.
“I don’t want to-“
“It’s fine. I know you will and-“
“I don’t know yet!” I practically yell at him, effectively causing him to stop talking. I try my hardest to let his harshness roll off, but his rigidness and bad temper are pretty infectious.
We get to the range and get out of the car acting like we came alone, picking up our own guns, shooting gear and ammunition and stalking toward the building as if we drove separately. He opens the door and walks through it before holding it open for me, but then doesn’t wait for me before signing in and heading toward a stall. I take the stall beside him, setting everything up by myself. Normally we help each other and make it somewhat of a competition, making it fun. But not today.
He starts shooting back-to-back rounds, not really checking his aim. He’s tense and isn’t shooting nearly as well as I’ve seen him shoot before. I haven’t shot off a single round yet before he pulls his gun down to reload it.
“Okay,” I say, pulling off my ear muffs. He follows suit putting his gun down. “You have five minutes, get it out. All of it. Say your peace because after this I don’t want us to fight any more. You’re my best friend and I miss you.” I feel like I might cry, but we’re at a shooting range. I’m pretty sure crying isn't allowed.
He steps back and turns away from me, running his fingers through his luscious golden hair. He turns back to me with a pained look that I’ve never seen on him before.
“You don’t get it. He’s totally wrong for you. When are you going to stop picking the wrong men?” He looks at me pleadingly. “I watched Jake make the wrong choices over and over again while you turned a blind eye and now with Caleb…I just can’t watch you do this all over again.”
“I am not turning a blind eye.”
“But aren’t you? You say you want someone who takes family as seriously as you do, but Caleb has made up every possible excuse to avoid spending important time with you. Not to mention he’s yet to actually meet your dad. Then you pride yourself in being a down to earth kind of person, but he’s slowly trying to change you, with his posh parties and lavish gifts and his complete disregard for even half the standards you set for yourself. He is toxic to everything you stand for, and yet you want to defend him to anyone who tries to challenge you. Well, you can’t defend him to me; he’s totally wrong for you and I cannot watch you go through this. I won’t.”
I feel like I’m starting to lose my best friend in the world and I’m not sure how I can get him back. Frustrated tears start sliding down my cheek. So much for not crying at the shooting range. He’s saying all the things out loud that I have been debating on the inside and I’m so tired of fighting, with him or myself.
I wipe a tear from my cheek and ask, “You said I keep picking the wrong men, so who do you feel is the right man, Stephen? If Caleb is so toxic for me, who is so right for me?”
His shoulders sink as if the answer has been right in front of me all along and I’ve missed it yet again. But I need him to say it. I need to hear him admit what I can’t be sure of. He looks down and shakes his head. He regains his composure and straightens his posture before looking back up and straight into my eyes. “I am.”
And there it is. My fears are shot down and what I suspected of that kiss is confirmed. And yet, I still feel like I’m in between a rock and a hard place. Why can’t I just tell Caleb goodbye and run into Stephen’s awaiting arms?
Chapter Twenty
I can’t focus. I stare at my laptop through the entire Monday meeting, not really hearing what anyone says or what I agree to. And apparently my lack of focus really irritates Daphne.
She excuses everyone to start their day, but she corners me in the conference room.
“What in the name of all things holy is wrong with you this mornin’?” she asks, her hands flailing around her.
“Where do I begin?” I respond, laying my head in my hands.
“Oh, honey.” She comes over and puts her hand on my shoulder. “What is it, darlin’? Did something go wrong at dinner yesterday?”
“You could say that.”
“He didn’t show, did he?” she asks softly. I lift my head back up and lean back in my seat as far as I can.
“No, he didn’t.”
“What did your daddy say?” she asks with a slightly amused tone.
“It wasn’t what he said that’s bothering me.” She eyeballs me. I can’t stop fidgeting so I get up and start pacing the room.
I see his eyes again, telling me that he wants me to choose him and my insides start to flop and twist and do all sorts of nauseating things. Vast parts of me want to pick him, but then there are these tiny parts of me that say I’m not being fair to Caleb.
“Oh, will you just spit it out already!” Daphne says, clearly getting impatient.
“You were right.”
“Well, I typically am about most things, but I need you to remind me of my geniousness please.” She gives me this matter-of-fact look.
“Stephen. You were right about Stephen.”
“Oh,” she says, uncertain at first. “Oh!” she says again. “Well that’s good news, isn’t it?”
“Yes, well no.”
“I’m so totally lost.” She throws her hands up in the air a little too dramatically.
“We kissed. At your Christmas party.” I see her jaw drop in my peripheral view, but I keep going. My thoughts are finally coming out rapidly, albeit incompletely, but I feel a little relief as I get most of this off my mind. “And Caleb doesn’t know. But I told myself that I’d give him a chance. And he was doing so well until he canceled. Did I tell you he took me ice skating? And he actually owns a pair of jeans. Several, actually. Granted they are designer and probably cost more than they should, but he has them.”
“Whoa, so hold on. Let me get this straight. You kissed Stephen at my Christmas party, and didn’t tell me. Then you decide to give Caleb a chance, after all the draggin’ you in and out of situations that make you uncomfortable and leavin’ you hangin’? So what if he took you ice skatin’ and he owns a pair of jeans that probably make his already incredible butt look that much better?”
That stops me dead in my tracks. Why has she been checking out my boyfriend’s butt?
“What?! As your best friend, I reserve all rights to look at any guy you’re dating to ensure you are getting the full package. By the way, did you know Stephen has the butt and the arms?” she tells me so intently, I want to walk out on her for not taking my situation seriously.
“You are not really helping, you know.”
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. Back to what I was sayin’. I know who I’m rooting for, but let me ask you this. Being with Caleb, do you feel like you can truly be you? And when you’re with Stephen, do you feel like he’s pushing you to be better or to stretch yourself? Because both are highly important.”
I stop to think about that. She has a point. I’m comfortable with Stephen, but is he too comfortable? We’ve known each other for so long, that I feel that if he were to knock on my door while I was still in my jammies with greasy hair and smeared makeup that makes me look like the Joker, I wouldn’t care. Or at least that used to be the case. He seems safe and I don’t know that I want that.
But on the other hand, Caleb has barely put for
th the effort to make things that are important to me a priority for him. He does make me feel like a princess, when he takes me out to his fancy dinners and social events, but what good is feeling like a princess when the so-called prince leaves you hanging at the ball to fend for yourself.
“So what do I do? If I choose Caleb, I’m destined to feeling left behind all the time. If I choose Stephen, I’m setting myself up for a life of the same ol’, same ol’. “
“You don’t know that for sure. You haven’t tried to date Stephen yet. He could surprise you.”
“But what happens if I leave Caleb, and Stephen and I can’t get along being more than friends? I’m left to start all over again. I’m turning 29 next week. I don’t have time to pick the wrong person.”
“Honey, you have plenty of time. You can’t really rush love.”
I feel the wind rush out of my chest as she says the “L” word. Can I say I love either of them? Stephen, yes but not in the ready-to-walk-down-the-aisle kind of way. Caleb…..not at all. But she brings up a valid point; why am I so concerned with who I will end up with when I don’t even think I’m falling in love with either of them?
I feel like I’m about to scream when Shelby knocks on the door.
“Jessie, you have a phone call,” she says, popping her head in. “It’s your father.”
“Tell him I’ll be right with him,” I manage to say without screaming.
“Jess,” Daphne says after Shelby closes the door behind her, “I just have one more thing, and I think you’ll agree it’s the most important. Who is at the center of your relationships? Is it Caleb or Stephen, or is it God? Because you and I both know that if God isn’t at the center of any relationship, it may not be a healthy one. And it most certainly isn’t going to be what you want down the road.”
As obnoxious as Daphne can be sometimes, every once in a while, she pulls some nugget of awesomeness out, like just now. And all you can do is stand in amazement at her incredible wisdom. She’s right, as long as I let Caleb or Stephen be the center of our relationships, I won’t have the life I really want to lead.
