Chapter Twenty-two #2
My apology, my regret at causing his discomfort, is sincere. But inside, I squirm around the argument that pits my heart against my spirit. “But my parents are passing judgment on you, Noah! That’s wrong, too, isn’t it? They don’t even know you. They won’t even give you a chance.”
“You’re right.” Noah looks out across the night-blackened water. “That’s where I get conflicted, too.”
He lets go of my hand, stands, and sticks both hands in the front pocket of his sweatshirt.
“I’m not used to being cast as the villain, but ever since your mother slammed that door in my face and then grounded you because of it, well, it feels like I’m the bad guy.
” He rocks back on his heels. “But I feel like I’m a victim, too. And I hate that feeling even more.”
“I’m sorry.” How many times will I say that tonight? And every time, it’s truer than the time before. “You don’t deserve this.”
“It’s not your fault.” Noah sits back down on the bench.
“It’s a moral dilemma and a spiritual dilemma, and I don’t know the right answer.
Sometimes I’m not even sure what the question is.
” His next sound is more of a growl. “Why would God bring us together—and, just so we’re clear, I do believe he brought us together—and then let your parents rip us apart based on .
. . well, nothing? Nothing that can be substantiated by fact, anyway.
I’ve prayed and prayed. I’ve sought wise counsel. I want . . .”
Noah trails off with a sigh.
“Maybe that’s the whole issue,” he says, finally. “Maybe I’m blinded from the right answer by what I want.”
“I’ve been praying, too. I’ve been scouring my little pink Bible every night.
” I bite my lip. “This is going to sound weird, okay? But every time I go to God, looking for answers, I feel this . . . this expectation. It’s almost like God is telling me to just hold on.
Like, everything is going to be okay . . . but not yet.”
“Not yet?”
“Maybe I’m reading into it. I don’t know.
It’s just a . . . a feeling. I know I haven’t been reading the Bible or praying, not seriously at least, as long as you have, but I don’t know how else to describe it.
I just feel like God is saying, ‘hold on.’ But I’m not even sure what that means. It could go either way.”
“I see what you’re saying.” He nods. “Do we ‘hold on’ by doing as your parents wish, not seeing each other until they give us the thumbs up? Or do we ‘hold on’ and keep doing what we’re doing, going against them, trusting that God will show them the truth about me—about us—in the meantime?”
“Exactly! And I have no idea which one it is.”
“Me neither.” He puts his hands on his thighs and rubs them to his knees and back a few times, hard. “Sometimes I wonder if maybe I’m telling God what I want him to do more than I’m asking him what I should do. But the one thing I do know is that I—”
Noah’s voice chokes up. He clears his throat, and his hand finds mine again.
“I know I love you, Madeleine Faith. I love you. And I love knowing that you love me, too.” He takes a breath and squeezes my hand. “I love us. If God is telling you—no, telling us—to hold on, well, that’s something worth holding on to, isn’t it? Even if we don’t exactly know what it means.”
I can’t speak, but I don’t need to. When I scoot to Noah’s side, he puts his arm around me and pulls me even closer than before. The posture feels right. Good.
We fit together. We make sense when nothing else does.
Why can’t Mom just give us a chance?
“But at the same time, I question it.”
What?
Noah takes a deep breath in through his nose and exhales just as slowly. “These last few months, I’ve spent a lot more time thinking about you than thinking about God.”
“That’s a little ironic.” I expel a tiny snort.
“Before I met you, I barely gave God any thought at all. Now I actually listen to the words of the hymns at church. I pay attention to the sermon instead of doodling all over the program. Well, most of the time, anyway. I’m even in a Bible study now, thanks to you, and I’ve learned so much from it.
Well, I was in a Bible study.” I let a little growl-sound escape.
“But since Mom doesn’t want me hanging out with people from your church anymore, I guess that’s over. At least for—”
“About that,” Noah interrupts. “Sorry. I kind of saw that one coming. I hope you don’t mind, but I did a little digging for you, and it turns out that the youth group at First Church of Kanton sponsors a girls’ Bible study on Saturday mornings.
About three girls go, I guess, so it’s not as big as what you’re used to, but it’s something. ”
“Really?” I’ve never heard anything about it. Then again, when your family only attends church on religious holidays, you kind of fall out of the loop. “Maybe I’ll check it out.”
I can’t see how Mom could object. It’s our family church. And—bonus!—that Noah Spencer character doesn’t go there.
“Most guys would rather have me study their fantasy football league charts than the Bible. You’ve taught me so much. You’re such a good example of what a Christian should be. I wish they understood that.”
My words are meant to encourage, but a fresh tension stiffens his frame.
“A good example would not cause you to sin by meeting you behind your parents’ backs. That’s not much of an example, Faith.”
“Noah—”
“The Bible says to honor your parents. Obey your parents. And I’m leading you into disobedience just by showing up.”
“You didn’t know—”
“I suspected. And when I found out, it wasn’t like I turned the car around and took you home, was it?”
I tilt my gaze to the sky. “No offense, God, but being a Christian sure makes it hard to be a human being. This totally bites.”
“Yes, it does.” Noah laughs, and his posture relaxes.
“I bet this is one of those times you wish you had a direct line to Heaven like everybody seems to think a missionary’s kid should, huh?”
“You know it. But the truth of it is that we’re the only people who know what we have and haven’t done. I know that I love you, and I want to honor your love for me. And God knows that, too.”
“I wish he’d set a bush on fire or something and tell my mom.”
“Me, too. Sometimes I think the best thing would be for us to keep our distance until your parents agree to meet me. Maybe it would be easier, maybe there would be less opportunity to sin, if we stopped seeing each other.”
“But Noah, I—We . . .” Panic constricts my chest, halting my airflow.
Noah squeezes my shoulder. “The Bible says Christians should avoid even the appearance of sin. Sneaking around behind your parents’ backs implies we have something to hide, even if we’re not doing what people might assume we’re doing.”
A cold, heavy lump forms in my stomach. I try to swallow, but there’s no moisture in my mouth.
He just said he loves me. Surely he won’t—
“Noah.” His name exits my lips on a hoarse whisper. “Are you . . . breaking up with me?”
Noah is quiet. With each passing second, the lump in my throat grows, until my neck aches from the pressure of it.
Finally, he squeezes my shoulder. “No.” He leans over and kisses my hair. “I thought I could. I probably should. But I can’t.”
“Oh.” A bit of the pressure releases, but I can’t shake the tightness in my chest. “Good. You scared me.” I swallow. “Having you so far away is going to be hard enough next fall, but not having you at all when you’re so close would be—”
I can’t finish the sentence, can’t allow myself to imagine the emptiness that would consume me with Noah near, but inaccessible. I’ve had short tastes of it, and it is a bitter, sour thing.
“I have an idea,” he says. “It’s a long shot, but it might solve our problem. What would you think of us trying to build a deeper friendship, but without—without the, um . . . romantic stuff?”
My mind whirs in confusion. He just said he couldn’t break up with me, but . . . ? “Are you saying you just want to be friends?”
“Yes, but . . . No.” He shakes his head and closes his eyes. “But, ultimately, yes. Your parents don’t want you to be romantically involved with me, right? So if we can agree to take out the element of romance, we can still be together and still honor your parents.”
I ponder that. “So what you’re saying is, you think that if my mom and dad see that we can be friends without being romantic for a while, then maybe later we could, um, add the romance back in?”
Noah nods. “Yeah. Maybe. After they’ve gotten to know me as your friend. After we’ve played by their rules.”
I try to imagine being with Noah and not holding his hand, not letting myself snuggle into his side, like I’m sitting right now. “How do we even do that?”
“Um, well, I guess I hadn’t thought that far. No kissing, for sure.”
I like it when Noah kisses me. I like it a lot. But we aren’t like Jenna and Cole, who consider it the gold-medal event of every date. “Okay.”
“We should probably stop the hand-holding, too.”
“So snuggling like this would be out?”
“Right.”
And yet he makes no move to release me.
I smile at that. “Can we do that? I mean, when I’m near you, I just want to be, well, closer to you.”
“Uh, yeah. Exactly. I think that’s what your parents are afraid of.”
It takes me a second to catch his meaning. “Oh. Right.” Can he feel the heat of my cheek through his sweatshirt? “So when would this whole ‘just friends’ thing need to start?”
“Soon.” Noah stands up and holds out his hand. “Dance with me?”
“Here?” My head spins. “Dancing is pretty romantic, Noah.”
“So we’ll stop being romantic later.”
“But there isn’t any music.”
“I guess we’ll just have to create some, then.” Noah stands and pulls me to my feet, into his arms. “After all, we’ve finally identified our song. I think we ought to use it at least once. This may be our last chance.”