Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father(56)

“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, after 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.