Leah
Happy birthday to me.
If this weekend is any indication of what my thirties have in store, I may have spent entirely too much time dreading them.
Yesterday disappeared somewhere between sleeping in late, room service courtesy of Chef Nick Crawford, and spending an impressive amount of time naked with a man in bed.
And on a couch.
And a kitchen table.
Sunday morning finds me quietly getting dressed for church. My abdomen is tender and bloated, a familiar endo ache pulling low in my pelvis every time I bend or twist, but it’s manageable. Considering how thoroughly Nick and I enjoyed our weekend, I’ll happily take the consequences.
Nick is still asleep, facedown with one arm thrown over my abandoned pillow. Angus is snuggled into his side, the two of them keeping each other warm.
I fasten my earrings before swiping on a nude lipgloss.
“Where’re you going?”
I spin around to face the bed. One moss-green eye peers up at me. “Church.”
He lifts his head. “Church?”
I close my makeup bag and toss it back into my carry-on. “Yes.”
“Why?”
I lift a shoulder because, honestly, some days I wonder why as well. “It’s just … what I do. I need to do it.”
He chuckles. “Darlin’, after this weekend, I’m pretty sure church can’t help you.”
I clamp a hand over my mouth, but the laugh escapes anyway. “Nick.”
“What?” With a devilish grin, he nuzzles into his pillow and yawns. “Just making an observation.”
I pad across the room in my stockings and lean down to kiss his shoulder. “Go back to sleep, Cowboy. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
His hand catches mine. “How are you even getting there? I picked you up.”
I give him a sheepish look. “My rideshare is five minutes away.”
He grumbles. “I could’ve taken you.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“So you’re gonna roll up to your father’s church, where everybody knows you … in a rideshare?”
“No.” I give him a look. “The rideshare is taking me to my apartment so I can get my car.”
“Oh.” He drops his face back into the pillow. “No walk of shame for you.”
“Well, no. I feel like there's a lot of shame in my walk. I'm like a baby giraffe this morning.”
He turns over, relaxing an arm above his head. The bedsheet barely keeps him covered. “See?” He takes my hand. “You should stay here with me.”
“And need a walker by tomorrow?” I tease, quickly stealing another kiss.
“Do you want to go?”
I pause, my eyes bouncing back and forth in his gaze. “I-I better go.”
His fingers stay tangled with mine as I step away, his arm stretching after me until distance finally pulls us apart.
***
“There's my birthday girl.” My dad catches me before I make it three steps into the church's foyer. He wraps me in one of his big hugs, kissing the top of my head
“Thanks, Dad.”
“You need to stop getting so old. It's making me old.”
“Ha ha.” I roll my eyes.
My dad is exactly what people picture when someone mentions a Southern minister.
He’s a bigger guy with a large belly who wouldn’t dream of stepping behind a pulpit without a suit and tie.
Every Saturday night, he still has my mom polish his shoes for Sunday worship, and there’s rarely a time when he doesn’t have a Bible within reach.
His sandy-colored hair has gone almost completely silver, although we tell him they’re just highlights.
He’s warm and friendly, but he’s dedicated to saving souls from hell. He believes the Bible is the inerrant word of God, and there’s very little room in his faith for interpretation or compromise.
Including divorce.
We don't talk about that anymore.
“Well, I better get ready for service—oh! Here's your mother.”
“Happy birthday, sweetie.” My mom joins us, she reaches for me, but instead of hugging me, she starts to smooth the front of my dress.
“Did you iron this?” Another parishioner walks by and she brightens.
“Morning, Susan!” She turns back to me. “This is a bit too snug on you. I can see—” she mouths your belly.
My hand flies to my abdomen. “I like this dress.”
“Okay …” She raises her eyebrows, giving me a once over. “I guess this is what the younger generations find appropriate for church.”
One would think I’m still a child. My mom is very particular about how I dress for church since it’s a time of worship and we should dress accordingly—apparently God cares about that.
No pants or jeans, no cleavage, no bare shoulders, and nothing fitted enough to advertise the scandalous fact that her thirty-something daughter is, indeed, a woman.
“Marsha! Good to see you!” Mom calls, waving as another family makes their way toward the sanctuary. She waits until they’re out of earshot before leaning closer to me. “So … did you enjoy your birthday weekend with that older man?”
I stare at her, uncertain what to say.
Her mouth tightens. “Don’t look at me like that. You know your sins will find you out.”
“Mom—”
“I’m only saying.” She straightens my cross necklace before smiling at another couple passing by.
The second they’re gone, her voice drops again.
“Rachel has enough going on right now trying to adjust to motherhood, and between you and me, she’s not doing a very good job of it.
That house is a wreck, and every time I see that poor baby, she’s being passed off to somebody else. ”
“She just had a baby.”
“So did millions of women before her, Leah.” She waves to another family.
“My point is we are a family. I was a little disappointed that you weren't able to help her this weekend, and then to find out it's because you're with that man at his house.” Her lips purse. “I hope you’re at least being smart about all this. The last thing your father needs is his divorced daughter turning up pregnant by some non-Christian. You know how people talk.”
Kinda like you, Mom.
I bite the inside of my cheek.
The conversation fades into a dull hum while Mom continues greeting everyone who passes. Music crescendos in the sanctuary, notifying the congregation that service will begin in five minutes.
I’m considering slipping into the sanctuary alone when a tall form in my periphery catches my attention.
Camel-colored cowboy hat. Tailored navy blazer. Crisp, dark denim jeans.
Well, hello, sin in a Stetson.
My jaw drops before a smile takes over my entire face. “Nick?”
His eyes find mine, and his expression melts into a slow, knowing grin.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
He glances around. “Going to church?”
“You know what I mean.” I laugh as he slips an arm around my waist for a quick hug. “I thought you were sleeping.”
“I was. Then I woke up.”
Before I can question him further, Mom’s voice floats over my shoulder.
“And who do we have here?”
Oh, boy.
Nick releases me and immediately removes his hat, offering his hand. “Nick Crawford, ma’am.”
“Likewise.” Mom’s smile remains perfectly pleasant. “Is this your first time joining us?”
“Here? Yes, ma’am.”
“And, um … where do you normally go to church?”
“No where. My weekends are usually tied up with work or family.”
Her eyes flick briefly toward me. “That’s right. You’ve taken responsibility for that little boy.”
Nick doesn’t so much as flinch. “Yes ma'am, I have a pretty great kid.”
“And his mother?”
“Mom,” I murmur.
Her eyebrows lift innocently. “What? I’m making conversation.”
Nick slides his hat beneath his arm. “We share custody.”
Mom gives a slow nod. “Well, perhaps having a child to raise will bring you closer to the Lord. Children have a way of reminding us what’s important.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She pats his arm. “I hope you enjoy the service.”
I reach for Nick and lace our fingers together. “We’re gonna go find a seat.”
My mother’s smug smile tightens, her eyes dropping pointedly to our joined hands.
His grip tightens as we head toward the sanctuary.
I'm sure I'll hear all about this later.