Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father(46)

Thankfully, the evening crowd doesn’t order too many fancy drinks, but cappuccinos with varying degrees of foam requirements can render a barista unavailable for quite some time, so we team up to get through the rush. Just as the crowd dies down and I have a minute to catch my breath, I spot Jonah standing awkwardly at the end of the counter.

“What’s up?” I wipe my hands on my apron and tuck my hair behind my ears.

Jonah shrugs. “Can I talk to you for a second?” He’s having some difficulty making eye contact, which is rare.

“Um, sure…hold on.” I whisk back to the large refrigerator and gather cream and milk so I can take them to the coffee station and talk with Jonah. He follows me and starts talking before I ask him what’s up.

“I’m really embarrassed and I want to apologize.” His shaking voice underscores his nerves.

“Embarrassed? For what?” I make eye contact, setting down the half and half.

Jonah shrugs again and winces as he returns the eye contact. “What you saw Matt doing before. It was disrespectful and crude and—”

“Jonah,” I stop him and put my hand on his shoulder, “calm down. It’s okay. And, it wasn’t you, anyway.” I remove my hand from his shoulder and wipe down the tabletop, pushing straw wrappers into the trash.

“I know, but, that doesn’t mean I can’t apologize. I didn’t ask him not to behave that way.”

“Behave what way?” I chuckle. “I figured you guys were just being guys.”

Jonah shakes his head. “I don’t want to be just a guy, Kennedy. I want to be better than that. Anyway, again, I’m sorry.” He offers a soft smile and meets his friends out on the sidewalk before disappearing out of my line of sight.

“Kennedy,” Asher calls from behind the counter.

Crap. I turn around, expecting to be in trouble for fraternizing with the customers while on the clock, but he’s smiling and leaning against the counter.

“Why don’t you go ahead and take your break now. The cinema has a special showing of Casablanca in an hour, so it’s going to get busy again soon.”

I look to the back of the coffee shop and see Roland skimming over some papers and clicking on an open MacBook. “Okay,” I say when I look back at Asher.

I weave through the crowd and plunk myself down in the chair across from Roland, handing him a fresh cup of coffee.

Slightly startled, he jumps a little and closes his laptop. He folds his hands across it, giving me his full attention. “Hey, thank you. You on break?”

I nod, and without further delay, I launch into what I consider to be my perfectly weird interaction with Jonah a few minutes ago. When I finish, Roland is staring at me with an amused expression.

“So,” I say while shrugging and trying to look as confused as possible.

Roland grins. “He’s good.”

“That’s it?”

He laughs. “It’s well within the cultural norms. Both for his friend to have done that and for Jonah to apologize.”

I sigh and run my hand over my face. “Where’s my travel guide for this place?” I think back to the Paris one Mom and Dan bought for me last year before my French class trip to the romantic city. I could really use one for Carter University…or just this whole Jesus culture in general.

“I thought you’ve been settling in?” Roland sips his coffee, keeping his hands around the mug when he sets it down.

“I am. I just…it feels kind of like being an American and traveling to Australia or the UK. We all speak the same language, but only kind of. You know? I’m trying, I really am.”

He arches his eyebrow. “Have you tried letting go?”

I arch mine back. “I’m trying.”

“You know, Kennedy,” he says with a sigh as he leans back, “everything I’ve ever let go of has had claw marks all over it.”

My mouth slowly creeps open. “What?”

“My sponsor said that to me on day one of my sobriety.”

“Oh.” No longer trying to detangle the parable, I’m focused on his apparent admission of his adherence to the twelve steps. I’ve only heard the terms “sponsor” and “sobriety” used together in that context. “AA?” I ask, not wanting to dole out any more assumptions for a while.

Roland nods but doesn’t appear prepared to offer anything else. I make a mental note to research the steps. Then I cancel the thought. I’ve learned enough about Roland from Wikipedia.

“How long have you been in…it?”

“I’ve been sober thirteen years in March.” He looks at me pointedly while I easily connect the dots. He sobered up on the kitchen floor of his parents’ house the month I turned five—and has stayed dry ever since.

“Wow.” A brief silence falls over our table. “You didn’t call Mom till I was eight,” I remark.

He swallows hard. “I wanted to be sure I had enough time away from the alcohol to make sense. The first year I was so determined and I was flying on enthusiasm and adrenaline. Year two, it turned out, was…man, it was brutal.” He shakes his head and looks away as if he’s a soldier recounting stories from the trenches. “Anyway,” he continues after a deep breath, “once I had three years in, I was really finding my way. Dried out and flooded with Jesus.”