Beyond I Do

by Jennifer Slattery

  Ainsley huffed. “You may as well tell me to join the circus. No, that’s not a good analogy. Circus performers get paid. More accurately, you’re telling me to jump on one of my mom’s rapidly changing bandwagons.” She smiled. “Now that would be comical, her and I. You know she’d be all over it too. For about ten minutes, before launching into another endeavor like jewelry making or fudge-factory ownership.”

  “So, because your mom’s . . . ,” Gina’s forehead wrinkled, “because your mom lacks follow-through, you can’t pursue your dream?”

  Ainsley lowered her gaze and chewed on her bottom lip as dreams long since forgotten nibbled at her heart.

  Planting her feet on the ground, she grabbed the brochure and flipped it over, pointing to the black lettering printed on the back.

  “‘According to the Department of Labor, employment opportunities for licensed pharmacists are expected to increase by 17 percent. As the median age of Americans continue to increase, the demand for pharmacists will increase as well.’” She dropped the brochure onto the table. “The best recession-proof job around!”

  “Uh-huh, so you’re playing it safe.”

  “Since when is that a bad thing? I’m making wise choices and choosing level paths for my feet.”

  “And fighting against that dream God placed in your heart years ago, before fear drowned it out. Is any decision wiser than following God’s plan, regardless of how irrational it appears to be?”

  Chapter 20

  hris leaned against a bowling ball rack and fumbled with his car keys. Gina sat beside him in faded jeans and a lavender shirt. A few strands of auburn hair escaped from her silver barrettes, framing her face in soft wisps.

  “So . . .” He shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels.

  “So . . .”

  “You wanna go first?”

  “Yeah, OK.”

  Great conversation starter. Next he could ask her shoe size. Twirling his straw in his soda cup, he watched her glide across the floor. The girl was cute, in a take-your-sister- to-lunch sort of way, but he didn’t feel a spark. Not even a flicker. Although the fact that his thoughts kept drifting to Ainsley and her delicate smile didn’t help.

  Only problem—Ainsley wore a giant rock on her finger, making his attraction to her almost creepy. Further complicating the matter, here he was dating her best friend. Way to create a soap opera, Mr. Casanova. Almost made him feel like a cocky frat boy cruising the college campus for unsuspecting prey. Yep, Jerk with a capital J. A regular live-like-Jesus moment. Truth was, he wasn’t even interested in dating. He had enough to worry about keeping his coffee shop afloat and his mother cared for.

  What now? Wear a cheesy smile on his face and play gentleman until his emotions matched or politely excuse himself before inflicting real damage?

  A group of men dressed in flannel shirts and sweat-stained cowboy hats bellowed in the lanes beside them, curse words flinging like popcorn kernels from an iron kettle. Gina jumped when a man with a ruddy complexion and a belly bigger than an overinflated tire slammed his fist on the counter. Foul language exploded from his bearded face.

  Chris turned toward her. “You wanna leave?”

  “No, it’s fine. You’re up.”

  They bowled a full game, their conversation progressing from, “Do you think it will snow?” to “What’s your favorite television show?” After an hour, their date resembled a formal interview—and a failing one at that.

  He fought the urge to check his watch and shifted in his seat. “So, where do you work?”

  “B&R Accounting, downtown.”

  He nodded. Another great discussion launcher. But at least it beat awkward silence—minus the crashing pins, hollered swear words, and occasional he-man battle calls echoing all around him. “I suppose you like numbers then.”

  “I don’t know about that. But I do enjoy receiving a steady paycheck. You know what they say, there are two guarantees in life, death and taxes.”

  “And illness.” Genius addition. A Shakespeare duplicate.

  “Your turn.”

  He sprang to his feet, walking to the ball return slowly as his mind searched for something a bit more interesting to say. Employment, childhood residence, and major weather trends in the state of Missouri and California sufficiently covered, he sifted through the remaining icebreakers he used to hear at suit-and-tie functions.

  Had it really been that long since he’d gone on a date? So many years of dollar chasing he had forgotten how to relate to beautiful women?

  Or perhaps she wasn’t “the one.” The thought unsettled him, as if indicating the one waited in the wings. Which was far from the truth. He had enough to deal with watching out for Mom and keeping Matilda, with her constant threat of court proceedings, at bay.

  Then why was he here? Now that was the question of the decade.

  Ainsley pulled into her driveway and studied the houses on either side of her. The windows were dark minus the occasional flash of a television set. The motion sensor lights above her garage came on, accentuating the dark shadows encasing her front door. She’d never been a fan of the dark. Everyone said it’d get easier after she’d been on her own for a while. It hadn’t.

  Once inside, she locked her door and turned on a fair number of lights. Tea beckoned. Moving to the kitchen, she brewed hot water then rummaged through her fridge for edible leftovers. Ten minutes later, hot drink and fruit plate in hand, she ambled to the living room to spend the evening buried in work. Not the most exciting way to spend a Friday night, but it wasn’t like she had anything else to do.

  With her engagement officially terminated, her frequent joke of turning into an old lady surrounded by cats seemed unnervingly plausible. She thought of Chris and Gina, laughing and having a grand time down at the bowling alley. They’d probably fall in love, get married, move into a two-story house with a white picket fence, have 2.5 kids.

  While Ainsley spent the rest of her life with her most faithful companion—Ben and Jerry’s chocolate chunk ice cream.

  She grabbed the remote and flicked through the channels. Friday night television stunk, probably because producers knew most people had better things to do than watch TV. Besides, what she needed most was a bit of praise music to counter the gloom settling in her heart—all self-inflicted.

  She exchanged television noise with praise music. Closing her eyes, she leaned against the couch cushions as “Silent Night” poured from her speakers. At the end of the song, the broadcaster cut in.

  “I love that song, not just because it speaks of God Incarnate coming to earth as a helpless babe, but because it reminds me of my grandmother who passed away two years ago. This was her favorite song, and every year in preparation for Thanksgiving and Christmas, she and I baked dozens—and I mean dozens—of cookies, most of which were supposed to go to family and friends, but unfortunately, well . . . you know.” The broadcaster giggled. “There are so many things I love about the holidays, but the family memories most warm my heart.”

  Tears stung Ainsley’s eyes as a similar memory shared between her and her mom surfaced. How could recalling the past warm and break her heart at the same time? She pulled her phone from her back pocket and flipped through her contacts until she got to her mother’s number. Her finger hovered over the Dial button.

  Likely her mom was out with her latest guy friend, spending money they didn’t have, whispering soon-to-be broken promises to one another. Because that’s what her mom did—made and broke promises, leaving a trail of broken relationships in her wake.

  A message spoken by her pastor the week before came to mind. “Love is patient, taking people as they are. Love is kind, filled with tenderness and concern for others, yes, even the unlovable. But most of all, love is initiating, taking the first step to reach out, with no strings attached, expecting nothing in return.”

  She sighed and grabbed her cell phone again. “Fine. I’ll try it. I’ll stick my neck out one more time, but if Mom bails
on me again, I’m done. Do you hear me, God? Done!”

  OK, maybe giving God ultimatums wasn’t a wise course of action. After offering a heartfelt prayer of apology, she dialed her mom’s number then waited, gnawing a cleft into her bottom lip.

  “Ainsley, hello.” The tension in her mother’s voice was palpable.

  “Listen, I’m sorry for the little spat we had the other day.”

  Her mother didn’t respond right away, and when she did, her voice sounded tight. Reserved. “I appreciate that.”

  Another extended silence followed. Ainsley closed her eyes and rubbed them. Then, taking a deep breath, she plunged forward. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m about to head to bed. Why? is everything all right?”

  “Yeah, everything’s fine. I just . . .” Why bother? As far as it depends on you. Love initiates, reaches out, even to the unlovable. “I was going to invite you to a movie, but maybe next time.”

  “What a lovely idea. I haven’t been to the theater in so long. And I certainly don’t need to fall asleep so early. I’m much too young for that. Or at least, that’s what I tell my neighbors.”

  Her giggle made Ainsley smile, reminding her of a time when the two of them used to snuggle in her mother’s bed, pillows propped behind them and a large bowl of candy between them.

  “Great. I’ll pick you up in a few.” She hung up and dropped her phone onto the seat cushion beside her. She didn’t know whether to laugh or call back to cancel. Her conflicting emotions didn’t make sense. For years she mourned over her mother’s inaccessibility, and now, she had the opportunity to connect with her one-on-one and her stomach knotted. Why?

  Because once she allowed hope to blossom, it would hurt all the more when her mother let her down.

  Lord, this one’s on You. Either radically change Mom or barricade my heart, because I’m going out of obedience here. And I really can’t handle another letdown right now.

  Twenty minutes later she pulled into her mother’s apartment complex and jumped out. A smile tickled her lips as she hastened up the sidewalk and to the stairs, taking them two at a time. Her mom met her at the door wearing a fluffy pink sweater and a jean skirt. A circle of rouge dotted each cheek.

  “Oh, my sweet muffin, this will be so much fun.” She grabbed Ainsley’s hands and squeezed. “I can’t remember the last time you and I had a night out, just the girls.”

  Not counting parent-teacher conferences or the occasional let’s-make-Dad-jealous, outing? But things would never get better between them if Ainsley didn’t release her bitterness.

  Lord, help me forgive her. Let us start fresh tonight.

  They arrived at the movie theater to find a packed parking lot.

  Ainsley checked the time on the dash—8:20. “Do you want me to drop you off at the door? Because I’m thinking I’ll have to park across the way at Mickey D’s.”

  Her mom shook her head, her auburn hair dancing across her forehead. “I’ll go with you.”

  Not finding anything closer, Ainsley parked near an overflowing dumpster behind McDonald’s. Her mom chattered like a sugar-saturated child. By the time they reached the entrance, her enthusiasm rubbed off on Ainsley, provoking more than a few giggles. A gust of warm, popcorn-scented air swept over them as they stepped inside.

  “A week before Thanksgiving and already they’ve got their Christmas tree up.” Her mom pointed to a small display sitting in the far corner, partially hidden by a ten-foot movie billboard. “Take a look at those decorations.” She looped her arm through Ainsley’s and pulled her toward it. Handmade ornaments draped from the thick branches, surrounded by gold and silver tassels. The sign below read: Donated and decorated by Veritas Academy.

  Her mother fingered a paper angel. “Do you remember when we used to make ornaments from salt dough?”

  “Absolutely, and the time I tried to eat one, thinking it’d taste like a soft pretzel.”

  “The look on your face.” Her mother laughed. “Your lips about disappeared, they puckered so much. You know, I still have a few of those ornaments in a box somewhere.”

  “You do?”

  “Mmm, hmm. One you gave me when you were five, shaped like a heart, painted in a rainbow of colors.”

  Ainsley giggled. “I remember. It was quite . . . interesting.”

  “It was beautiful.” Her mother grabbed her in a sideways hug. “You know, we really ought to do that again, for old time’s sake.”

  “Do what? Eat salt dough or pretend to be drugged-out hippie artists?” She offered her mom a lopsided grin. It felt good to joke with her like this, to laugh together. When had they last done that? When had they last enjoyed one another’s company period?

  “Make bakeable ornaments. What do you say?”

  “I say I’m twenty-nine and a little too old for arts and crafts.”

  “Oh, come on. Humor me. It’ll be fun.”

  Ainsley smiled. “You’re right. It would be.”

  Chris and Gina gathered on the curb, a brisk wind stirring their hair and sending a chill up his spine.

  She turned up her collar, shifting from one foot to the next. “This was . . . nice. Thanks for inviting me.”

  “Thanks for coming.” Standing at a respectable distance, he shoved his hands in his pockets.

  Now what? Offer to call her? Was that what he wanted? No, unfortunately, as beautiful as she was, he felt nothing. Nada.

  She sighed, scrunching her neck deeper into her collar. “This isn’t working, is it?”

  Chris exhaled, his tense muscles relaxing. “I don’t think so. I mean, it’s been fun and all.”

  “Yeah, I get it.” She laughed. “Guess I’ll see you around?”

  “For sure. At the shelter, right?”

  “Definitely.”

  He offered her a polite, sideways hug then returned to his car. By the time he reached it, Gina had already slipped inside her house. Such a beautiful girl. A Christian. One who appeared to have a servant’s heart. By all accounts, a woman any man would be pleased to call his own. Apparently, any man other than him. But at least they figured that out before things became complicated.

  Chapter 21

  t work monday Morning, Ainsley massaged the back of her neck. The day felt like it was dragging on, and she’d made little progress on the ever-growing mound of files in front of her. This job had turned from a frequent headache to an all-out migraine. And for what? A company car and a steady paycheck? Granted, two very necessary things, but still. On days like this she envied her mom’s carefree, job-hopping, attitude. Not counting the collateral damage it caused for Ainsley, to which her mother appeared oblivious.

  Would that change, now that she and her mom had started getting along?

  She scoffed. They went to one movie, and yet, it was a start. Right? But what would happen when another debt collector came calling and bitterness swallowed any positive feelings their little outing had created? Sighing, she fished through her desk until she found her mother’s last credit card statement. Fifteen dollars over the maximum. A statement she wouldn’t have seen if not for the collection notices streaming into her mailbox.

  But at least her mom hadn’t asked her to cosign for a while, which likely meant things were going well with her and her latest guy pal Stephen. Miracle of miracles.

  And aren’t I the perfect example of a Christian daughter? So much for honoring her mother and father. Not that she felt it necessary to bail Mom out. But eventually she needed to be able to think about the woman without going into fight-or-flight mode.

  At some point she needed to give her mother the opportunity to change.

  Maybe their Christmas ornament making would help.

  An old Sunday School verse trailed her thoughts. “For yet while we were still sinners Christ died for us.”

  Uncomfortable with the feelings of guilt the verse aroused, she flipped through the abstracts on her desk in search of a diversion. Halfway through a document on the benefits of serotonin r
euptake inhibitors her office phone buzzed; the button for her boss’s extension flashing.

  She answered. “Good morning, Mr. Holloway. What can I do for you?”

  “Come to my office.”

  “Certainly.” Closing her partially read files, she stood. She paused to smooth wrinkles from her blouse and skirt. Then, squaring her shoulders, she exited and proceeded down the hall. A growing uneasiness settled in her gut as she peered through Mr. Holloway’s office window. He sat hunched over his desk, thick eyebrows pulled in a rather ominous scowl.

  He glanced up when Ainsley entered and jerked a hand toward the empty seat in front of him. “Sit.”

  She perched on the end of her chair, hands cupped over her knees. “Is everything all right, sir?”

  He shoved a manila folder toward her. “Your results are less than impressive, Miss Meadows.”

  Ainsley swallowed. “Yes, I know, sir. I’ve been reviewing the latest literature, including the double-blind study conducted by Dolson University of Health Sciences. I also reviewed the ten steps to effective presentations you sent via email and plan to implement them immediately. Next week, I have three very promising meetings lined up—”

  He held up his hand and shook his head. “I’m sure you understand, we can’t afford to maintain liabilities.”

  She blinked. Liabilities? Is that how he saw her? “I understand, sir, and I certainly do not wish to cause harm.” How did that work anyway? As if her lack of sales in some mysterious way damaged the company? Failed to help, maybe, but damage? Hardly.

  “You’re fired.”

  Seriously? No “I’m sorry to inform you” or “I wish you the best. Call me if you need a recommendation”?