swallowing over the phone.
“Betz…”
“Yeah?”
“Well, I just figured you’d be doing something with the guy from last night.”
“With James?”
“Yeah. You two looked pretty tight.”
“Oh.”
“Listen, I assumed you’d be tied up, so I went ahead and made other plans.”
“Other plans.”
“Yeah.”
My stomach feels as if someone punched me in the solar plexus. I can tell from David’s tone of voice that these plans involve a female.
“That’s cool. We can do Radnor another time.” I hate the slight catch in my voice because I know David will hear it. He knows me too well not to.
“Look, Betsy, about last night…”
“Yeah?”
“About what I said…”
“What you said?” Babies in the church nursery couldn’t look as innocent as I sound. As if every word he’d uttered wasn’t burned on my brain.
“About … you know … about your outfit and stuff.”
Where is he going with this? Is he apologizing, or is he going to tell me again that I looked ridiculous?
“I didn’t mean it to sound like it did.”
“Did it sound like something?”
I’m doing it again. Ducking for cover. Emotionally cutting and running. Here’s a chance to get real with David, and I’m lying throughmy teeth to avoid it. It makes my prayer seem as false as it felt. Grant me faith , indeed!
“I was afraid I’d insulted you.”
My laughs as empty as the chalice at the communion table on Sunday morning. The presiding minister always lifts up the silver cup as he says the Words of Institution, but the truth is, in our tradition that cup is flat empty. All the juice is in the trays of shot glasses the deacons pass through the pews.
“David, I never expect you to find me attractive. We’ve been friends too long.”
That lie cuts my tongue like a shard of glass. Why can’t I be honest? This is the time. I know it. It’s never going to get any easier than it is right now. And I can’t do it.
“Oh, well, good. That’s good then.” He hesitates for a long moment. “Look, Blessing, I’d better go. I have to pick up my date in twenty minutes.”
“Oh, sure. Have a good time. And don’t wear that Dave Matthews Band T-shirt. Wear a real shirt, with a collar.”
David sighs. “I don’t ever go anywhere without a collar, one way or another.” He sounds as tired and as empty as I feel.
“Bye, David.”
“Bye, Betz.”
I hit the Off button on the portable phone and toss it onto the coffee table. It lands with a clunk next to the remote and the Pizza Hut coupon I clipped from the Sunday paper. I’m glad I have caller ID because LaRonda will call before the evening is out for a full report, and I can’t bring myself to tell her that despite her excellent coaching, I’ve failed at Asking-Out-Your-Best-Friend 101.
The phone rings five minutes later. To my relief it isn’t LaRonda. It’s Ed Newman, chair of the personnel committee at the church and twin brother of my nemesis, Edna Tompkins. Weird, because I never think of older people as being twins.
“Betsy? It’s Ed.”
“Hi, Ed. What can I do for you?”
“We need to talk.”
That’s odd, because I haven’t hinted to anyone about my plans to leave the ministry. And Tricia’s “Holy to Hottie” piece hasn’t aired yet. After last night’s fiasco, I banished the leather, hair gel, and heavy cosmetics to the back of my closet. At church this morning I was my usual average Jane.
Our conversation doesn’t take long. Turns out that any notions I had of a dramatic exit next August have been upstaged. Dr. Black has just announced his immediate retirement, and Ed’s calling to tell me I’ve been appointed interim senior minister.
“It won’t be any more money, of course, and you’ll still need to see that all your Christian education programs keep running. But we have faith in you, Betsy. We know you can do it.”
Faith? A slow flush creeps up my neck and heats my cheeks. This isn’t about faith. It’s about being
“Betz…”
“Yeah?”
“Well, I just figured you’d be doing something with the guy from last night.”
“With James?”
“Yeah. You two looked pretty tight.”
“Oh.”
“Listen, I assumed you’d be tied up, so I went ahead and made other plans.”
“Other plans.”
“Yeah.”
My stomach feels as if someone punched me in the solar plexus. I can tell from David’s tone of voice that these plans involve a female.
“That’s cool. We can do Radnor another time.” I hate the slight catch in my voice because I know David will hear it. He knows me too well not to.
“Look, Betsy, about last night…”
“Yeah?”
“About what I said…”
“What you said?” Babies in the church nursery couldn’t look as innocent as I sound. As if every word he’d uttered wasn’t burned on my brain.
“About … you know … about your outfit and stuff.”
Where is he going with this? Is he apologizing, or is he going to tell me again that I looked ridiculous?
“I didn’t mean it to sound like it did.”
“Did it sound like something?”
I’m doing it again. Ducking for cover. Emotionally cutting and running. Here’s a chance to get real with David, and I’m lying throughmy teeth to avoid it. It makes my prayer seem as false as it felt. Grant me faith , indeed!
“I was afraid I’d insulted you.”
My laughs as empty as the chalice at the communion table on Sunday morning. The presiding minister always lifts up the silver cup as he says the Words of Institution, but the truth is, in our tradition that cup is flat empty. All the juice is in the trays of shot glasses the deacons pass through the pews.
“David, I never expect you to find me attractive. We’ve been friends too long.”
That lie cuts my tongue like a shard of glass. Why can’t I be honest? This is the time. I know it. It’s never going to get any easier than it is right now. And I can’t do it.
“Oh, well, good. That’s good then.” He hesitates for a long moment. “Look, Blessing, I’d better go. I have to pick up my date in twenty minutes.”
“Oh, sure. Have a good time. And don’t wear that Dave Matthews Band T-shirt. Wear a real shirt, with a collar.”
David sighs. “I don’t ever go anywhere without a collar, one way or another.” He sounds as tired and as empty as I feel.
“Bye, David.”
“Bye, Betz.”
I hit the Off button on the portable phone and toss it onto the coffee table. It lands with a clunk next to the remote and the Pizza Hut coupon I clipped from the Sunday paper. I’m glad I have caller ID because LaRonda will call before the evening is out for a full report, and I can’t bring myself to tell her that despite her excellent coaching, I’ve failed at Asking-Out-Your-Best-Friend 101.
The phone rings five minutes later. To my relief it isn’t LaRonda. It’s Ed Newman, chair of the personnel committee at the church and twin brother of my nemesis, Edna Tompkins. Weird, because I never think of older people as being twins.
“Betsy? It’s Ed.”
“Hi, Ed. What can I do for you?”
“We need to talk.”
That’s odd, because I haven’t hinted to anyone about my plans to leave the ministry. And Tricia’s “Holy to Hottie” piece hasn’t aired yet. After last night’s fiasco, I banished the leather, hair gel, and heavy cosmetics to the back of my closet. At church this morning I was my usual average Jane.
Our conversation doesn’t take long. Turns out that any notions I had of a dramatic exit next August have been upstaged. Dr. Black has just announced his immediate retirement, and Ed’s calling to tell me I’ve been appointed interim senior minister.
“It won’t be any more money, of course, and you’ll still need to see that all your Christian education programs keep running. But we have faith in you, Betsy. We know you can do it.”
Faith? A slow flush creeps up my neck and heats my cheeks. This isn’t about faith. It’s about being
Similar Books
