Chapter 11
11
Nataly
One of the things I love the most about coming home, besides seeing my parents, is where they live. After they rented that first house when we moved to Bournemouth—where we had one gigantic spider (seriously, it was horrible; it must’ve come from the chimney)—they found an amazing flat a year later. It’s in an apartment building, and the best part about it is the view. It’s right on the cliff next to the sea, so from their patio, you can glimpse the sea and the horizon. I spent around five years in this apartment, and I remember just going out onto the patio to listen to the waves. It would take me about 15 minutes to walk down to the sea because of the cliff, but I could still hear the waves from being up at the top.
Joel meeting my parents was fine. My mom came and picked us up from the train station, while my dad was at home.
“Hello, dear!” she said immediately, smile beaming.
“It’s so good to meet you,” Joel said, stepping forward and giving her a warm hug that made it look like he’d known her forever.
“And you as well! I’m looking forward to getting to know you,” she said.
“I’ve heard a lot about you—Nataly sings your praises. I can already see why,” he said with a smile. “And now I see where she gets it—the warmth, the sparkle... and the dangerously good lasagna I’ve been warned about,” he added with a wink.
My mom laughed, fluttering her hand.
“You’re too kind!”
“Just honest,” he said, eyes crinkling with a smile. “I knew I was in for something special when Nataly said she was a ‘mini-you.’ I’m starting to believe her.”
My mom is ever the welcoming and most hospitable woman I know. He charmed her, as he does with most people. His conversation skills are top notch. It’s one of the reasons I like him. He enjoys asking other people questions and having a good laugh with them. And you can never underestimate the power of laughing with other people. Or charm. Prince Charming was called Charming for a reason , people. So this side of Joel is great and reminds me of why I got together with him in the first place.
We came back to my parents’ place, and we chilled for the rest of the night. I’m staying on the sofa bed which I still need to unfold, and my thoughts can’t seem to quieten down. I’m wide awake, thinking through everything.
“Hey, sweetheart. You’re still up?” Mom walks into the living room, concern soft in her voice.
“Yeah, I’ve just been thinking through some things, is all.” I hug my knees to my chest.
“Is this about Joel?” Her voice was gentle, but steady. “I know what my daughter looks like when she’s in love. And this… doesn’t look like it.” Nothing escapes my mom’s ever knowing eyes.
“Honestly, Mom, I’m still trying to figure it all out. He’s the first Christian guy I’ve ever dated, which makes him really different from the guys I’ve dated. He actually cares about the most important thing to me.”
“Yes, sweetheart. But just because he’s Christian doesn’t mean he’s the one. I think you need to revisit that list you wrote—remember what you’re looking for in a husband.” She sits beside me.
“Your dad and I both had lists, you know that. They weren’t magical, and your dad’s not perfect. But those lists helped us recognize the kind of person we wanted to spend our lives choosing, forgiving, and loving.”
“I once came across a story shared online by a woman named Lauren Britt. She described marriage like two explorers landing on a new, uncharted shore. They decided they would build a life there—together. No matter what challenges came, they'd face them side by side. And then, to make sure there was no turning back, they burned their ships. That was the commitment: not just choosing each other, but choosing to stay. That’s what makes a marriage last—you both decide that leaving isn’t an option. That has forever stuck with me.”
“You’re right, Mom. I guess I just don’t know how to know . He’s great. He’s funny and witty. But sometimes, things just feel… off. And I don’t know if that’s how it’s supposed to feel with someone I might marry. But then we laugh, and we have good moments, too.”
“Joel’s a nice guy,” she says gently. “He’s charming and he’s a brilliant conversationalist. He’s funny. And if you’re happy with him and see a future with him, then that’s great. But I know you. And right now? You don’t seem all in. If you’re not honest about what you really want, you’ll both get hurt.”
She paused, then added quietly, “Is he the one you want to burn your ship for?”
I swallowed.
“You’re an all-in kind of girl. Don’t settle for less,” She pats my knee as she moves to get up .
“Thanks mom. You’ve given me a lot to think about. I love you,” I reply.
My mom always knows what to say. I remember when I was a teenager and she would do this thing where she’d put her finger right underneath her eye and pull her eyelid down to make her eye seem bigger and wider. It was her way of saying: I’m watching you, and I know more than you think I know.
But my mom has always provided a safe space for me. That’s one of the things that really helped me understand the grace of God. Whenever I got things wrong, she would just open up a safe space for me to be honest—to admit my mistakes and talk about how I wanted to change. There was never anything she said that made me feel ashamed, and that really empowered me to shed light and truth on things. She really is the most amazing woman I know. So, she knows that Joel meeting them doesn’t necessarily mean I’m 100% in this for the long haul. This also makes me sigh out of relief. There doesn't have to be a massive amount of pressure in this. But I’ve definitely been building up the pressure in my mind.
In the morning, Joel and I walked around Bournemouth, and we went down to the beach to take a stroll along the promenade. It was great to show him the sights on a vibrant, sunny day.
Now, Joel and I are in the living room, just chilling and hanging out about to watch a movie.
“Bournemouth is really cool. I feel like we should do a church event down here. The beach is sandy and it’s only two hours from London—it’s ideal,” Joel says.
“Coming back here always reminds me how much I love being by the water. It’s so nice in the summer too, especially during the air festival,” I reply.
“Maybe we could have one of our young adult trips down here in the summer.”
“That sounds like a great idea. It’s a perfect spot for summer.”
But at that moment, my phone buzzes across on the other side of the room. I get up to go and check who’s just messaged me.
Nathan: Hey, how’s it going?
My heart just did a little loud thump that reached up to my ears. How is this possible after just a text?
Me: Hey, I’m good, thanks. How are you?
Nathan: Yeah, good. I was thinking about what you said about this movie the other day, and it made me think of you.
My heart is like a racehorse, gearing up to take off. I won’t be chatting too much with him now, but there’s a constant spark every time I talk to Nathan. I constantly feel guilty that there’s a spark even though we’re just friends. And if this carries on, I know it really needs to be addressed. I don’t think I’ll be able to stay with Joel much longer if my heart starts to lean this way, it’s not fair on him. It also isn’t great timing that Joel has just come down to meet my parents when the state of our relationship feels… unsettled.
I know I’ve been shoving it to the back of my mind to avoid conflict, but I haven’t really been avoiding the truth. The truth? The truth is, I do want that It Takes Two kind of love—the can’t-eat, can’t-sleep, reach-for-the-stars, over-the-fence, World-Series kind of stuff. And every day, I’m starting to recognize that this isn’t it. That maybe… we both deserve more.
“ Bom dia , Mom,” I say, kissing her on the cheek— good morning in Portuguese.
“ Bom dia, filhinha ,” she replies— my little daughter. “Ready for some breakfast?”
“Mmm, whatcha got for me?”
“Whatever you want. We’ll see what Joel wants when he comes out. ”
“Better get the coffee ready for him,” I tease. “He’s definitely a coffee guy.”
“Him and your dad both. Your dad has coffee at 10 p.m. and then wonders why he can’t sleep.”
“I had a pumpkin spice latte at 3 p.m. once and I was jittery at 11,” I say, shaking my head.
Mom laughs. “The coffee we had in Italy especially kept us up when we were in Rome, I remember.”
“Are you sure it was the coffee… or the broken air conditioner?”
“I still can’t believe it died the week we were there! Thirty-three degrees in the middle of the night,” she says, shaking her head.
I grin. “You even turned on the cold shower just to get some cool vapor into the room.”
Mom laughs. “You know me—I like to be savvy in all things.”
“You definitely come up with the savviest ideas I’d never think of. Also, the funniest. I still remember when you tried to translate that Portuguese saying for Amaia,” I say, already laughing. “You meant to say, ‘My mother would roll in her grave,’ but you said, ‘My mother would revolve in her tomb.’ Like a rotisserie chicken!”
I burst out laughing at the memory.
Mom covers her mouth, laughing with me. “Not one of my best translations. I always get things mixed up: kidnapping and napkin, pressure cooker and cooker pressure, chicken and kitchen?—”
“It’s probably because you have so many languages in your head!” I giggle. “You’re fluent in three—and intermediate in, like, a million more.”
Being with her is always such a joy. We bounce back and forth so naturally. We’re basically Lorelai and Rory, and I love that.
After everyone is up and breakfast is had, I start getting ready for the day. But when I head back into the living room, Joel is having a conversation with my mom and dad—and I’m promptly shooed out of the room. My mom shot up an eyebrow at me before I left. That’s… suspicious. What sort of conversation could they be having that I shouldn’t be part of?
Since I’ve been staying on the sofa bed in the living room and Joel’s been in my room, I head into my room to finish getting ready. I grab my curling iron, because wearing my hair curly always feels like the best expression of myself. I’m bubbly, and my curls feel like my hair’s way of declaring my personality.
I want to put on some music. This was my teenage room where I would belt out songs while doing my hair. Because we’re on the fourth floor, we also have these beautiful French doors that open out and make me feel like I could be Rapunzel and let down my hair. I’ve always enjoyed this room, and doing my hair in here. My parents really chose such a great spot. I still miss America, but being grateful for the small things makes all the difference.
But since my phone is still in the living room, I can’t put on my music. I spot Joel’s phone attached to the charger and decide to put something on from there. But when I pick up his phone, a message pops up on the screen, and it makes me freeze.
Peter: If you’re looking to pop the question in June, I’ll try to be there.
POP THE QUESTION?! My mind short-circuits with visions of proposals and magical moments. I’m a romantic at heart. Proposals give me the happy giggles. But the fantasy lasts for literally two seconds before reality slaps me in the face. Because the man who might be planning to propose is not the man I want to spend my life with.
And suddenly, my mind is a whirlwind, my inner debate team has come to life:
“Well, if he happens to do it, I could just say yes and break it off later…”
“But that’s terrible, who wants to go through a proposal only to get broken up with?”
“But I can’t let him be humiliated if he does it, right?”
“What am I even thinking?! THIS IS NOT THE DREAM! WHAT IS HAPPENING?!”
And because my inner debate team absolutely loves giving me a hot take on life, I think, “you’ve really avoided this for too long and now it’s about to get away from you.”
Panic mode on.
Apparently, California did do a number on him. He was so off before his trip and while he was there. He barely texted me, he did tipsy video calls, and there was just some undercurrent of weird going on. I couldn’t name it, but I knew it was there. Now he’s back, suddenly acting like we’re on some fast track to forever, and having secret conversations with my parents clearly ABOUT THIS and wanting to take things to the next level. WHAT HAPPENED IN CALIFORNIA?! Am I ever going to know?
But the bigger question is: Where do I go from here? What do I do with this information?
For now, I’m just going to keep going with the flow. At least through the rest of today. And I’ll try to figure out what on earth I’m going to do with my life.
I’m not normally the kind of girl who pushes everything under the rug. I like dealing with my emotions. I used to get called melted butter, as a term for being ‘emotionally sensitive’. I felt my feelings and I felt them hard. But melted butter is the best kind of butter. Who wants hard butter? Feeling all the feelings has never been a problem for me.
So my problem right now? I’m being an absolute coward.
I haven’t had too many opportunities to resolve conflict outside of my family, and my parents always come from a place of love. The real world doesn’t always do that. And even though my dad’s protective nature came from love, it didn’t exactly prepare me for stepping into uncomfortable situations. So now, uncomfortable situations terrify me.
But I know this: Comfort can be a prison. You can make your prison cell as cushy and as beautiful as you want. Decorate it perfectly. Make it feel safe. But a prison cell is still a prison cell. And I know I can’t stay locked in my comfort zone forever. I just haven’t had to do it too often and dipping my toe in that water absolutely terrifies me. I understand I’m going to have to change that and that’s going to have to start real soon.
I may not be as brave as I want to be yet. I may not be ready just yet. But I’ll work up the courage. And God will help me when I don’t have it. I’m so thankful that God is ever patient with our little messes in life.