“Seems so.” She shrugs and sits back, crossing her arms. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks quietly.
I note that she hasn’t responded to my question of whether she’s mad at me. I move seats so I’m sitting next to her in the corner bench. Resting my head on her shoulder, I sigh. “I was embarrassed. Confused. Angry, hurt, nervous…”
“You and your expectations…” Mollie trails off.
“What?” I lift my head, eyeing her pointedly.
“You didn’t tell me about him because you were afraid that whatever scenario you have painted in your head wouldn’t turn out the way you painted it and that, somehow, you’d be wrong. You were too worried that you’d have to be vulnerable for five seconds in front of me. You’ve always done that, Kennedy. You’ve always stuffed your expectations down to avoid getting disappointed. Or being disappointed in front of someone.”
“Are you taking psych?” I mumble.
She laughs, her bony shoulder rocking my head slightly. “Yes, but you know I’m right. Admitting the freaking hugeness of this situation puts you in a really vulnerable place, doesn’t it?”
I shrug. “I guess.”
“You like him,” she states matter-of-factly.
“Roland?” I sit up.
She nods.
“I guess.”
“Stop guessing,” she commands.
“Yeah.” I sigh. “I like him. I want to learn from him. Not just about God stuff, but about family stuff. My biological family. He has parents and a brother and sister who each have kids. There’s this whole life I could be a part of. If he wanted me to. If I wanted to. I don’t know.”
Mollie wraps an arm around my shoulders. “This is big, you know.”
“I know.”
“Everyone at home thought you had a mental breakdown to choose CU over Cornell or Yale.”
“I know,” I groan, remembering the looks of shock and horror on the guidance counselors faces when I told them where I was going.
Mollie gets a twinkle in her eye. “Your mom must be losing her mind.”
I smile. “I think she’s got duct tape superglued to her head, honestly. She is being great about everything. As supportive as she can be, I guess.”
“What about that letter on your birthday, huh?” Mollie shakes her head at The Fifth Birthday Story, as I’ve come to call it in my head.
“Right? Seems cold for my mom, doesn’t it? She’d be more the type to knock on his door with me swaddled to her chest, breastfeeding or something, wouldn’t she?”
Mollie laughs so hard she starts choking on her drink. “Nailed it.”
We high five, but I’m compelled to ask her again, “Do you hate me?”
“Hate? No. I’m hurt, yeah. But you know what? That was way too much drama for my high school brain to handle, anyway. You really did me a service by not telling me.”
It seems half a semester of college has brought our friendship to a new level. One I’m grateful for, because I need Mollie more than I let myself realize.
“Jonah, too,” Mollie says as if we were talking about my friends at all just now.
“Jonah, too, what?” I ask, reaching for my drink.
“You like him, too. I don’t care what sorcery you used to get him and Eden together.”
I laugh at her turn of phrase, but turn serious quickly. “No sorcery. And I don’t like him like that. He’s just a really good guy. Too good, maybe.”
“You think you’re not good enough for him.” Mollie lifts her eyebrows in challenge.
I lift mine back. “Excuse me?”
“Because of all this freaking Jesus stuff, you think you’re not good for him. Or anyone else at this school. Ignore all that. Hell, even if Jonah doesn’t turn out to be the guy for you, someone else here might be. But you’ll never know if you think that, somehow, you’re not good enough for them. Screw that shit, Kennedy. You’re the smartest girl I know. Tough, fair, fierce, loving, funny. Even though you like to keep massive secrets sometimes…” Mollie turns her face away slightly, but arches her eyebrow and grins, showing me she’s teasing.
I hug her tightly. “I miss you. I’m going to try to come visit you, but I need to figure out the rules there.”
“I think your winter break starts a week before mine,” she replies almost sinisterly.
I squeeze her harder. “I’m so there.
My parents return and I take my mom up to the counter, introducing her to Chelsea before she orders her drink.
“She’s fun,” Mom remarks as Chelsea dances through the drink-making process.
“She is,” I agree, but my tone is short.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“Are we going to talk about Roland at all?” I blurt out. Mollie was right, after all. I keep my expectations and vulnerabilities hidden so I don’t have to be embarrassed by the ones that fail. No, I don’t want Roland to hurt me, but I realize that if he does, I’m going to need to have my mom to go to—and she needs some context.
Mom takes a leisurely blink before drumming up a smile. “We can talk about whatever you want, honey. You know that.”
For some reason, I look over my shoulder. And in that moment, I’m struck breathless and speechless as Roland walks unsuspectingly into the coffee shop. Of course he would. It’s Saturday and he always goes over his sermon notes here. It doesn’t matter that I’m not working tonight, thanks to a gracious night off courtesy of Asher so I can have dinner with my parents. And Mollie.
“Um,” I clear my throat, “don’t turn around, k? But he just walked in.”
Mom freezes, then lifts her chin. “What do you want to do?” she asks.
Turning around again, Roland finally spots me. His eyes dart to Mom’s back and he stops in his tracks. These two have had very little communication over the last eighteen years and even when they did talk in my presence, it was all logistics. I know they’ve shared some form of communication since I arrived on campus, but I haven’t asked either one what that entailed.
Roland’s eyes find their way to mine and he tilts his head slightly and motions to the door, seeming to ask if he should go.
I look back to Mom and whisper, “Not tonight.”
She exhales audibly and returns to her seat without so much as looking in Roland’s direction.
When she’s back in the corner, Roland comes up to the counter.
“Sorry,” I offer. “I wasn’t planning…that.”
“It’s okay. How are they?” he asks as if they’re not twenty feet away. His eyes are trained forward, not even looking at me.
“Good. That’s my best friend with them. Mollie.”
He nods. A small smile pulls at his lips as his eyes finally meet mine. “Ah. I see. I’d like to meet her someday.”
Turning to him, I put my hand on his arm and start speaking quickly. “Someday. I promise. But…not tonight, okay? Is that okay?”
Roland puts his hand over mine. “It’s perfectly fine, Kennedy. When you’re ready.”
My chin quivers, so I lift it. “Thank you,” I whisper before walking away.
“You’re welcome,” he calls back without turning around.
I’m able to enjoy the rest of my evening with my parents and Mollie. We go to a five-star restaurant and Dan makes a gracious showing of ordering for the whole table. He doesn’t ask about Roland, and Mom doesn’t mention it again. For once, I’m grateful for their unwillingness to discuss the uncomfortable.
Mollie sends me a text during the meal.
Mollie: He’s hotter in person ;)
Me: I hate you.
Mollie: I love you. :)
Looking up from my phone, I smile at her and mouth, I love you, too.
I briefly consider offering up a prayer for some easy answers to this situation, but I have a feeling things will get a lot more complicated before the unraveling can even begin.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Learning to be the Light
My parents and Mollie left Sunday afternoon, a
fter attending university church services with me. I opted to just take them straight to the UC for services, rather than shove more Roland in their faces. Mom and Mollie were teary as they bid their farewells to me, and I promised Mollie we’d talk every day, either voice or text. And I started a countdown on my desk for the days left until I get to visit her at Yale.
Honestly, I didn’t like the UC service. It was as dry as the communion wafers we’re given once a month. I was so thankful Mom agreed to come with me, I didn’t even ask her how she liked it. While Pastor Falls didn’t directly preach out against homosexuality in his sermon, he referenced the moral fiber of America being under attack in Congress—even as we sat in the seats, he emphatically pointed out. Mom shifted in her seat and I just ignored it, grateful the CU/Real-Life filter I’m developing has kept me unaware of such developments in “the outside world.”
Is it a filter or am I just numb to it? The latter is significantly more detrimental than the former, so I resolve it really is time to attend the Bible study group with my floormates and the guys. It will be a good way, I figure, to talk “Bible stuff” in a small group setting that doesn’t affect my grades. I can ask questions of God, myself, and those around me, and hopefully engage in good discussion.
In theory.
As I fill my lunch plate with salad the Friday before the next Bible study, I spot a potential ally mindlessly stuffing a cheeseburger and French fries in his mouth. He’s sitting by himself, so I swoop in and sit across from him.
“You’re Matt Wells,” I say with a cheeky grin.
His huge brown eyes scan my face and he grins from behind his cheeseburger while he chews. “And you’re Kennedy Sawyer.” My last name sounds more like “saw” and less like “soy” coming from his decidedly delicious accent. He doesn’t sound like the stereotypical Southerner, though I’m learning that stereotypes are more personal than communal.
“Well. Seems our reputations have preceded us.” I’m fighting to ignore the heat in my cheeks. I don’t know how he knows my name. I’m certain we’re not in any of the same classes. And, even if we were, I keep a low profile in classes, not raising my hand much.
He shrugs. “I guess so.” He sets the burger down and leans back in his chair. “What’s up?”
Eyeing him, I’m relieved to see that, up close, he looks like every guy I went to high school with. Well, every jock guy I went to high school with. I’m sure his broad shoulders serve well whatever position he plays in football, and thick forearms make him look kind of like a giant in this dining hall. His hair is cut high and tight, like a Marine’s almost. Most notably, he doesn’t have the fresh faced, tender-footed look of most of the other guys around here. He looks like the kind of guy who swears, probably drinks, and has most definitely had sex. The problem, though, is my friends all think the same thing about him. And view it as kind of a liability. As if he’s some lost cause.
“I’d like you to come to Bible study with me tomorrow night.” When the words settle in his brain, Matt lets out a bellowing laugh that turns almost every head in our direction.
“Shh!” I chuckle. “It’s not funny.”
“Yes it is,” he says through laughter, wiping under his eyes. “I heard you were kind of out there, but this seals the deal.”
“I beg your pardon? Out there?” I’m instantly offended. “Who told you I was out there?”
Matt waves his hand and dives into his burger again, making sure not to speak until his mouth is brimming with food. “Look…” he swallows and continues, “if I don’t go to the Bible study with the team, I’m certainly not going to go with anyone else.”
I pull in my eyebrows and lean forward. “Who told you I was out there?”
“Strike a nerve?” He arches a thick eyebrow and grins.
“If it was Joy, I don’t care. But if it was someone else, tell me. Come on, we’re on the same team.” I pull out a mild sports analogy.
“What team is that?” he asks smugly.
“The normal people,” I whisper, less because I believe it, but I need him to believe me.
“Why are you here?” He takes a deep breath and leans forward.
“Here?”
“Carter.”
I’ve made it this far in the school year without anyone asking me directly why I’m here. If Matt really is on Team Normal, he won’t let me gloss this over.
I offer a mischievous grin. “I was tired of expectations. Valedictorians are supposed to go to Harvard, not Bible U.” As true as this statement might be, it doesn’t apply to me, though if Matt buys it, I’ll have to start using it.”
“Silas.” Matt blurts out after a few seconds of consideration. “He said he thinks you’re kind of liberal.”
I laugh. My cheeks hurt and I’m doubled over. Of course it was Silas. Poor, sweet Silas. I’m not mad at all. I mean, come on, I tried to get his sister to get her nose pierced. It probably scarred poor Silas for life.
“I’m guessing you’re not offended,” Matt asks wryly.
I shake my head. “Not at all.”
“What’s up Joy’s ass, anyway?”
“Matt!” My laugh is replaced by a high-pitched squeal.
He waves his hand again. “Look around, we’re the only ones for miles.”
I do as he asks, and realize that not only are we the only ones at this table, but we’re being watched with relative scrutiny by those nearby.
“Maybe they think we’re together,” Matt says.
I roll my eyes. “We better hurry up, then, before the chaperone police come after us.” It feels good to joke without fear of judgment. “Will you come with me on Saturday or not?”
“Why?” His voice is challenging, but his face seems humored.
I shrug. “Maybe you can learn something. Maybe you can keep yourself from getting kicked out of school. Maybe you can keep playing college football.”
“They won’t kick me out of here, Kennedy. They practically begged me to come.”
I stand, grabbing my tray. “And you don’t think there aren’t a thousand other Matt Wells’ out there who are missing out on their glory days and would give anything to play college ball?” I shrug and turn for the trashcan.
As the remainder of my salad hits the trashcan, I hear Matt’s fist pound the table we were sitting at.
Bingo.
If there’s one thing I know about “normal” guys, is that their ego precedes them and is as fragile as a newborn. Poke a hole in it and they’re all yours. They rest all their confidence in themselves and their abilities. Sure, it may have been cruel of me to play on his weakness, but it’s not my fault he’s not putting God first.
Would you listen to yourself?
I don’t turn around, because I can hear him walking up behind me.
“I’ll come,” he says, tossing his empty plate into the bin. “Just once.”
“Three times,” I counter. “You don’t know if you like something unless you do it more than twice.”
His eyebrow twitches and a dark grin forms on his mouth.
It takes me a minute, since sexual innuendo is largely absent here, but I catch on in time to smack him in the shoulder. “Oh, you know what I mean. Don’t be gross.”
“Fine. Three times. But only because I kind of want to watch the show.”
“What show?” I place my hands on my hips.
“You,” he nods toward me, “trying to be one of them.”
He turns on his heels and walks away. “I’d like to see that lip ring on you someday, Kennedy,” he calls over his shoulder.
Suddenly, in the middle of the dining hall, wearing more clothes than I’ve worn in my life, I feel stark naked. And I hope I haven’t made a huge mistake in inviting Matt. Where does he get off thinking I’m trying to be “one of them”? I wonder to myself as I navigate the path to the New Life campus with my head down. I want to talk this all over with Roland before my shift at Word.
Knocking on Roland’s door, I realize neither Matt nor
I are right about me. I don’t know what it is I’m trying to be. All I’ve been doing so far this year is conducting a fact-finding mission about myself and my history. I need to spend a lot more time with Roland and with the kids around me. Rather than pure observation, I need to try on this evangelical skin to see how it feels. I can’t make a decision about next year or any year after if I don’t really try. I’ve been mulling over the idea of wanting to be flooded for quite some time, but it’s not really enough to simply sit back and want something.
“Hey, Kennedy,” Roland says when he opens the door. “This is a surprise.”
“I need to spend more time with you. I’m sorry for all the weird rules and stuff, and I still don’t want people to know I’m your daughter, but I need to spend more time in this life.”
“Well,” he looks startled but seems to be trying to hold it together, “I’m going out for a run. Want to come?”
I look down at my clothes and hold out my hands. “The dress code doesn’t really give me the option to just drop everything and run. Must be by design,” I joke.
Roland laughs. “I usually go on the trails downtown. I can swing you by your room so you can change your clothes.”
“Okay,” I agree, somewhat nervously.
A half-hour later, Roland and I are jogging through gorgeous trails at the base of some small mountain. The weather is cooling off slightly, but it’s still warmer than I suspect it is in Connecticut right now.
“Are your parents alive?” I start.
“Yes. They’re in their late sixties.”
“And they know about me?”
He nods and points left at a fork in the trail.
“Do they know I’m here this year?”
He nods again.
“And…”
“They’re dying to meet you.” He coughs and starts running a little faster.
I ignore the small lump in my throat. The desire for more family. “Are they Christians, too? Christian like you, I mean.”
Roland laughs. “That. That right there is why I’m up there on TV every Sunday. This Christian franchise nonsense has to end sometime. The Message is watered down in branding and rules…” He shakes his head and wipes sweat from his forehead. “But they’re kind of like me, yeah. Though they think I’m liberal.”
Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father Page 17
