Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Matt
Nothing. No call, no text, nothing but silence since he texted her last Saturday. It had been nine days.
Nine long, silent days.
Was she mad about the photos and video? He'd tracked down P.J. from the gym and asked him as nicely as possible to delete them, and as far as Matt could tell, he had. But how many people had already seen them, forwarded them to their friends, screenshotted them?
Given all the churches where he had served temporarily, basically everyone in New England knew him by sight. His own workout videos had already pushed the church community far enough, and that was based in youth outreach. Adding a girl dressed in spandex clinging to his back, her legs around his waist, might very well push them one step too far.
In the meantime, he had to prepare for next week’s service. Maybe there was some sermon inspiration in his present situation? With a sigh, he opened his laptop and started a new Word document.
'Judge not, lest ye be judged?' Okay, that one's been done to death.
'He ain't heavy, he's my brother?' Probably not, they weren't born yesterday.
No one looking at that photo would seriously believe he was carrying Nessa as some kind of metaphor.
Twenty minutes later, the page was still blank. Writing a weekly sermon was never his favorite part of ministry; it was like having a college essay assignment due, one you had to read aloud to the whole class — forever .
Thirty times a year, give or take (because Unitarian Universalists didn’t hold church in the summers, and thank goodness for lay services), he was expected to deliver a twenty-minute speech that served as a moral compass in people's lives, guided them in their daily interactions, provided a touchstone in times of emotional crisis, and touched everyone equally so they felt fulfilled.
Easy-peasy.
Thoughtfulness, empathy, spirituality–these were requisite qualities for the clergy, but the greatest loss he had so far experienced was the death from old age of his childhood golden retriever. He didn’t have a lot to draw on in his thirty-one years. There were always at least a few parishioners who were past eighty; why weren't they giving sermons that he could learn from?
Hmm… was there an innovative idea there? Guest sermons, say, once a month, from people of different decades? He made a note, then got up and went to the kitchen for a bottle of iced tea.
Closing the refrigerator door, he heard purposeful footsteps approaching in the hall. A woman of perhaps sixty, with short gray hair and wearing a sleeveless cotton dress in an indigenous print, filled the doorframe.
"Good morning," he greeted her cheerfully, but he felt a twinge of foreboding. Her demeanor was not cheerful. This was only his fourth week here, too soon to have identified the hot-button issues and long-simmering resentments among the members.
He was flying blind.
"Good morning. You're Reverend Draper? We haven't met. I'm Barbara Jenkins."
"Matt, please." Smiling politely, he held out his hand and she shook it. She didn't smile back. "Would you like some coffee or, ah, a refill on your water?” He pointed to her stainless steel thermos, which could double as a cannonball.
"No. Thank you. I head up our Youth Group and I'm here to discuss a concern."
"Oh, well, I'll try to help. Come into the office?"
"No, thank you. I only have a few minutes. Can you tell me about this?" She held up her phone, and he didn't have to look at the screen to know what her concern was.
"I think I can. That was taken at my gym about a week ago and posted without my knowledge. It's been taken down. Are you sure you wouldn't like to talk in the office?" The last thing he wanted was an audience for this, but she ignored his offer.
"Will there be more videos like this? I realize you have a site for teenagers related to body-building, but my understanding was that it was quite straightforward, training and maybe a little nutrition advice. This–" she waved the phone, "–is something different."
"Ms. Jenkins–Barbara?–that is absolutely not the kind of content you can expect from me going forward. Believe it or not, it started as a challenge from a Boston firefighter, something about evacuating victims from a disaster scene, and I didn't stop to think about the optics. I should have, and I apologize for any misunderstanding or discomfort that it causes."
The woman regarded him silently for a moment, as if she were assessing his sincerity. Finally, she spoke.
"The Youth Group meets at four o'clock on Sundays. I think it would be a good idea for you to attend and talk with them honestly about this. Social media can be hard to navigate emotionally, and this could be a teachable moment. You're young, and they might hear it better from you."
"I would be honored."
"All right, then." She turned to go, then paused. "Was that your girlfriend in the photo? Why don't you bring her to the meeting? The girls might relate to her better."
"Uh, well, I, she…"
"Good. See you then."
Picking up his iced tea from the counter, he stumbled back down the hall to his temporary office. Why hadn't he gone to dental school? No one cares about the personal life of their dentist. He could drive around in a red Porsche 911 with Nessa leaning out of the sunroof – probably even topless -- and no one would come to his office and question him about it. Not that he would ever actually do anything like that, but still…
The blank page on his computer screen mocked him. Stymied, lacking any good next steps, he did what everyone does in that situation.
He picked up his phone and began scrolling mindlessly.
There was his niece getting an award at summer camp, hair in braids… cute. Marcus and Lily serving burgers at a church cookout, laughing at the camera–he looked at that one for a while. The usual funny animal videos, ads for workout gear, general jokes selected for him by some algorithm. Okay, it was working, he was feeling better about life in general. This was what Instagram was for.
Then a tightly cropped closeup, a solid, shiny red background with a woman's hand pulling a door handle. Attention grabbing, for sure. A short caption read: 9-1-Won my heart! Thank you Porsche of Boston for the best–and fastest–commute ever!
It was posted by verynecessary.
Reflexively, his eyes went to the window, overlooking the parking area where his Bronco Sport was parked in the shade. It was new and he'd been self-conscious about that, but he planned on maintaining it well and driving it for a good long time. Reliable, multi-purpose transportation was an absolute requirement for him.
Something that, for all its glamor, a Porsche 911 would never be.
Who was Nessa, really? Did she post this stuff purely as a side gig, a way to supplement her income in her spare time, or was this the life she aspired to? Was she seduced by these beautiful luxuries? Her user name was verynecessary–he got the pun on her name, but just how necessary did she think it was?
There was another side to her, a grounded, hardworking, compassionate side–he'd seen it for himself. The way she took care of her grandmother, her fundraising efforts for animal welfare, her professionalism in a high-stress work environment.
This was not a shallow or pretentious person. But…
The little chiming sound of a new email coming in reminded him that he hadn't checked his inbox for a while. You had to be careful about that; parishioners chose all sorts of ways to reach out, especially in times of stress, and a timely response was crucial.
One click showed him that in the forty-five minutes he'd been offline, twenty-two emails had come in.
"Slow day," he said out loud, managing a small smile. After all, it was Monday.
A quick triage showed him an alumni fundraising campaign, seven updates from church-related committees, two from parents struggling with difficult teens, one from Barbara Jenkins, one from his father, and three pay-online reminders.
Plus seven emails that looked to his experienced eye like inquiries from brides-to-be, judging by the subject lines.
He clicked first on Barbara Jenkins' note, titled Thank you. The message itself was brief:
Dear Rev. Draper,
Thank you for your time this morning. I'm pleased that you accepted my invitation for you and your girlfriend to speak at our next meeting; I feel sure that our teens will benefit from lessons you learned. In today's world, someone is always watching and it's all too easy to give the wrong impression.
We meet, as you might have guessed, in the recreation room. Again, it's at 4:00 on Sunday. See you both there!
Best regards, Barbara
If he said Nessa wasn't his girlfriend, that was going to make the gym photo look even worse. If he said she was his girlfriend, he was going to have to produce her on Sunday. Was she, in fact, his girlfriend? And how would she feel about talking to a roomful of teenagers about the perils of social media, especially since her second income was derived from it?
An email from his father was unusual, but was likely to be easier to sort out than this mess over Nessa and the fine line between his personal life and his life's work. Two lines into it, though, he realized he was wrong.
Not easier.
Matthew, I hope you won't think I'm overstepping my bounds here. I was at the golf club yesterday and Ed Healey showed me something on his phone that I thought was a little concerning. There was a photo of you at the gym, horsing around, carrying a young lady on your back. Maybe I'm being old fashioned, too much of a boomer and out of touch, but I'm just not sure that's an appropriate thing for a minister to post. Especially when you're starting out, moving from parish to parish, where people don't know you. They don't know the kind of man you really are, underneath the collar. I understand why your workout videos are important to you, but this seems to be crossing a line. I would hate to see all your hard work and dedication undermined. And I would hate to have your mother or Nana see it, if you know what I mean.
Just a word of caution from your old dad, who loves you.
“We did nothing wrong,” Matt said aloud, blowing a long breath out, cheeks puffing, as if the tension in his neck and face needed to be released.
Because it did.
They were two consenting adults who just ran on a treadmill, for Pete’s sake! Now the church pearl clutchers were choking themselves to death, and Marty Draper was more worried about what the guys at the golf club would say about Matt than actually, you know --
Talking to Matt like a grown up.
“I need a good cup of coffee,” he muttered, regretting that he hadn’t brought his good beans to work. Resolved to fix that, he decided on the spot that this was all part of his journey. All a lesson he had to internalize, learn from, and move through.
It was okay if people didn’t understand him.
It was okay if people didn’t like him.
It was okay if his dad sent that email.
It was okay if he stood up for himself.
And it was more than okay if he was with Nessa.
On the whole, his father’s email wasn’t awful. Going through it again, he read less shame, and more love.
And it was actually fairly mature, treating Matt like an adult. Learning to be curious versus judgmental was one of the lessons Matt taught parishoners.
Maybe he needed to take a page from his own teachings right now.
There was truth in Barbara’s email. Truth in his dad’s too.
Matt had his own truths that mattered as well. Nothing in life was black or white, right or wrong, all good or all bad. People especially.
People were the most complex of all.
Which is why he loved ministry so much, even when it challenged him.
Especially when it challenged him.
One short week ago, his life had been under control, humming along nicely. Now there were minefields everywhere, on Instagram, in his inbox, in the church kitchen. Even voicemail and text messages were making him uneasy, with no communications from Nessa. That was the worst part in all this.
What did her silence mean?
Before he set about writing his replies, none of which would be defensive, all of which would use positivity to turn opinion around, a quick scan of the bridal inquiries might cheer him up. Here was an arena where he brought happiness and fulfillment to people, where love prevailed, and where he was sought after and valued.
Dear Reverend Draper,
My fiancé and I are planning to be married in October of next year. We recently attended a wedding where you officiated … he skimmed, … ours will be a bit more unusual … circus enthusiasts … Ringling Estate in Sarasota, Florida … Would you be available?
As long as they didn't ask him to wear a costume or perform a ceremony on a tightrope, sure. Making a note of the wedding date and the location, he moved on to the next.
… Your wedding service for my college roommate was so memorable and special … next November in Gstaad, Switzerland … The Clooneys have offered to bring you on their Gulfstream …
November, he wrote. Gstaad.
Wait. Clooneys ?
… and we were wondering if you are comfortable on horseback? My daddy's ranch in Texas is where our romance began, and …
That one was going to have to be a no, unless–how long did it take to get "comfortable" on horseback, anyway?
When he finished, he had a list of seven–or maybe six, depending on riding lessons–dates over the next two years. Only two were local, and he wondered briefly if Nessa skied, bicycled, was comfortable on horseback, or liked clowns. Considering that she wasn't even responding to him at the moment, he was getting way ahead of himself, but it was a relief to focus on something positive. He emailed all seven brides suggesting a phone or Zoom call, to be followed by meetings if the fit was good.
That left him with the two anxious parents, Barbara, and his dad. The parents could be answered this afternoon, when he'd had a little time to reflect. He wasn't a parent himself, of course, but sometimes that helped. He could be objective. Also, his own adolescence wasn't so far in the past that he couldn't dredge up memories of how it had felt.
His dad's email… that was the one he dreaded. Objectivity was in shorter supply when it came to your own immediate family.
Barbara first. He hit Reply.
Dear Barbara,
It was a pleasure to meet you today. I am so appreciative of your understanding, and I admire the way you were able to turn my challenge into a learning opportunity for the teens in our community.
I am looking forward to meeting them and having a meaningful discussion about an aspect of adult life they may not have given much thought to–obviously, I hadn't, or at least, not enough! Although I haven't had the chance to check with my girlfriend and ask if she is free, I will definitely see you on Sunday afternoon.
Best,
Matt Draper
When he got to the words my girlfriend, he hesitated, but if it wasn't exactly true, it wasn't not true, either. No harm, no foul, right? He pressed Send and sat back in his chair as if he had just run a hundred yards. With a girl on his back.
Lunchtime had arrived–well, early lunchtime–and he needed a reset. Get out of here, take a break, eat something, come back recharged for the afternoon. Picking up his phone, he texted Vince, congratulating himself on the good idea. Vince was so straightforward–no bullshit, no moral ambiguity. Said what he thought. Hanging out with him, even for an hour, would be a relief.
Hey. Lunch?
The response was immediate. If you bring sandwiches here. Grilled chicken wrap, side of hummus. Apple. No chips.
Can't get away? he typed back.
No. Everybody trying stupid stunt. Your fault. Pissed at you
What are you talking about?
Honey run
What?
Guys coming in here with girls, trying to run on treadmills. Called honey run. Look at Instagram! Stupid
I am not stupid, Matt typed.
Not you! The trick. Bring chips with sandwich. Stressed
Bzzz
Matt’s screen shifted, the new text from his dad at the top. The first few words were visible, and they read: My email was ...
Quickly, he abandoned the stream with Vince and read his dad’s message.
My email was too emotional. Sorry, kid. Ed made it weird and then I made it weird with you. I just want you to find a permanent ministerial home and would hate to have small-minded people disrupt that. I hope to meet this new woman in your life.
Matt gawked at the message until Vince’s new text came in:
Get your ass over here
Never one to mince words, Vince was his role model. Matt decided to be blunt and brief with his dad, too, and replied,
Love you, Dad. And you’ll meet her someday. Hopefully soon.
With that, he powered the phone off and headed to the gym.
Where everything was binary.
You lifted, or you didn’t.
And Vince was about to make him lift.