34. Zane Ortiz
34
Zane Ortiz
“What if this is a mistake?” I turn to Pearl, her head resting on my shoulder as the plane touches down in Chicago.
“It’s a huge leap of faith, but it’s not a mistake,” she reassures me, gently squeezing my hand.
When the plane begins to settle, passengers start to rise, and we watch as everyone hurriedly retrieves their bags from the overhead compartments.
Choosing to reroute my trip to Chicago instead of Detroit is the reason I’m flying commercial with Pearl. But being with her in economy feels far richer than any luxury charter flight could offer.
Pearl makes a move to grab her carry-on, but I beat her to it. With a grin, I gather both mine and hers, along with the business suit I brought along, and hand her my light backpack.
Outside the cramped aircraft, she hooks her arm in mine .
O’Hare Airport is one of the biggest and busiest airports I’ve ever been to. I like the architecture and the efficient TSA, but the chaos is too much. Pearl and I try to weave through as fast as we can.
The delicious scent of food wafts from nearby eateries, enticing us since it’s already two in the afternoon and we still haven’t had lunch. The snacks Pearl packed for us have long vanished from my system. But as tempting as the smells are, we resist the urge to indulge. Aunt Melissa begged to cook us a late lunch, and showing up with anything less than a voracious appetite would definitely hurt her feelings.
It’s been a week since Pearl and I started dating, and every day I discover something new about her. Whether it’s stories from her childhood or insights into her work—though she never calls it that. It’s her calling and ministry—I’m still awestruck by her being mine.
She’s more than just an amazing girlfriend—she’s become my best friend, my rock, and my biggest cheerleader. If it weren’t for her encouragement, I doubt I would have listened to the little voice in my heart that has, for so long, urged me to see Dad. I could have easily kept brushing it off, delaying the inevitable, but Pearl’s unwavering belief in me made me believe I could do it.
Even now, as we stand at the rental service, about to pick up a car and drive fifteen minutes to see the man I’d long ago written off, I still feel the pull to turn around and head straight to Detroit, where our final game awaits in just a couple of days. But Pearl and I have made plans to make the drive tomorrow. We aligned our arrival with the rest of the team.
Everything feels so right between Pearl and me, but there’s one thing she hasn’t said yet: those three life-changing words, “I love you.” It’s not that I’ve been dwelling on it every time I’ve said it, expecting her to echo it back. Her actions speak volumes—the way she looks at me, the way she devotes all her time to us, the kisses she doesn’t hold back—it’s as if I already have her whole heart.
But there’s a nagging fear in the back of my mind. Her not saying it back leaves a tiny crack in our otherwise perfect connection. We’ve promised each other honesty and open communication, but I don’t want to jeopardize anything by bringing it up too soon. It’s only been a week, and she hasn’t given me any reason to doubt her commitment.
Maybe I’ll give it another week before I broach the subject. I’ll need to find the right words, though. I don’t want her to feel pressured or rushed into saying something she’s not ready to express. It’s just that her actions already say it all, and I can’t shake this feeling that she’s holding back for a specific reason.
Maybe after I talk to my dad, she’ll see how serious I am about obeying God, and she’ll fully trust me to eventually lead her when we get married someday. Yes, she hasn’t said she loves me yet, but she’s made enough allusions to our future together to give me hope.
So you see why I’m a little worried.
We settle into the rental car and begin our drive to Aunt Melissa’s house, my heart quickens its pace, much like it has the entire flight here .
The sun shines brightly. It’s a perfect summer day. I grew up in Chicago, but I never miss living in the city. It was a bit much, especially with all the memories of my childhood.
Life in Bedford has been kind to me, and it’s not a long drive from Boston when I need a little chaos—which usually comes from the team anyway.
“I don’t even know what to say to him.”
“Listen,” Pearl says gently, her voice calming my nerves. “Don’t try to come up with the perfect words. Just give him a chance to tell you what he’s called you for, and trust the Holy Spirit to guide your conversation.”
“But what if I lash out? After all these years of resentment, I don’t trust myself to speak kindly to him.”
She reaches out and her touch immediately grounds me. She offers a prayer for self-control and wisdom and asks God to glorify himself today. When she finishes, her hand gives mine a gentle squeeze.
I turn to her for a split second, offering a smile, before returning my attention to the road.
She is wearing a cozy baby blue sweater, yoga pants, and sandals, her hair swept up in a messy bun. I’m always attracted to her, but when she goes to the Father for me, that attraction is almost uncontainable.
It’s usually expected for a man to make a woman feel protected and safe, but she also does that for me in ways I never knew I needed. I feel secure, grounded and at peace with her because she involves Jesus in every aspect of her life—and now mine too .
We pull into Aunt Melissa’s driveway, and memories of past summers spent here come flooding back. This was always my sanctuary, my escape from Dad’s torment. Now he’s inside, and I’m going in.
Can I really do this?
“Look at me,” Pearl commands, and I quickly turn to meet her gaze, wondering if she can see the hesitation written all over my face.
I don’t want to disappoint her.
“I need you to know something important before you go in there.” She releases a long, slow breath. “I love you with every fiber of my being, every beat of my heart, and every breath that graces my lips. I can’t express enough how amazing you are as a person. Even if you don’t feel ready and choose not to go in there, my love for you is irrevocable. My heart belongs to you, Zane Ortiz, no matter what you choose to do right now.”
Moisture invades my eyes. “I really needed to hear you say this. I’m having second thoughts, but there’s a deep feeling that’s convinced I need to go.”
“I won’t leave your side unless you tell me to.”
“I won’t ask you to go anywhere. And you’re used to working through family dynamics, so I could use you in every capacity,” I quip.
She swats my arm. “Zane, I’m not your therapist and never have been. I’m your girlfriend who loves you.”
“I love you too, Sweet P.” I pull her hands and kiss her knuckles.
“I love you even more,” Pearl says with a bubbly voice. I suppose now we can compete to see who loves the other one more. It used to seem like a silly game, but now it’s all I want to do. Though we don’t have time for that, I have a feeling either Aunt Melissa or Dad already knows we’re here.
When the door opens, I realize I’ve been holding my breath, and I exhale in relief when I see Aunt Melissa.
“Honey!” she exclaims, pulling me into a tight hug that lingers. “I’ve missed you so much. And look at you!” She steps back to take a good look at me, her hands gently patting my arms. “You’ve become even more handsome.”
Then she notices Pearl behind me and almost knocks me out of the way. “And you must be Pearl Davis!” Aunt Melissa envelops Pearl in a hug. “I’ve heard so much about you, darling. Pictures don’t do you justice—you are a thousand times prettier in person.”
I’d only sent one selfie of us to Aunt Melissa because Pearl and I weren’t the best at taking pictures together. The photos that circulated of us were from Kate and Duke’s wedding, where we danced together, and others were from coffee shops where people caught glimpses of us. According to Pearl, they didn’t always capture her best angles. Maybe she’s right, if Aunt Melissa thinks she’s prettier in person.
In my opinion, nothing could dim Pearl’s beauty. Not even a bad picture.
“Thank you, Mrs...,” Pearl says, realizing I never told her Aunt Melissa’s last name.
Aunt Melissa quickly interrupts. “Please call me Mel. Everyone does. I’d love it even more if you called me Aunt Mel, like this one here.” She points to me .
“No problem, Aunt Mel. I don’t have a lot of family, and I’d never pass up such an opportunity,” Pearl replies easily.
“Well, the pleasure is mine. I never had kids, and I’m too much for Zane, so we’re a perfect match.” Aunt Mel chuckles as she leads Pearl inside.
We step into the living room that smells exactly like I remember—spicy notes of cinnamon and nutmeg. I immediately see Dad sitting in the living room on the love seat near the entranceway.
Surprisingly, the feeling I have when I see him isn’t what I expected. There’s no rage, no anger brewing up inside me, no churning in my stomach. Instead, my heart feels expanded in my chest, and a gulp in my throat struggles to find release. I feel a small hand in mine, reminding me to breathe and not succumb to this strange emotion.
When I step on the carpet to take a seat, he remains seated and doesn’t stand to greet me. I’m glad because I can’t recall how I ever greeted him when I was young.
As a teenager, I didn’t even bother acknowledging his presence in a room. But when I was a kid, I held onto the hope that things would improve if I showed him how well-behaved and perfect I could be. I tried so hard back then, thinking he would eventually like me.
We all sit down, and Aunt Melissa asks if we want anything to drink. My hunger and thirst are barely registering—I can’t name anything—but Pearl asks a Sprite for me and a water for herself.
She knows me so well.
And she loves me.
Whatever happens in this living room isn’t going to ruin the day the love of my life told me she loves me too.
“You look good, Zane. Thanks for coming,” Dad says.
And he looks good too. Prison time has definitely made him look sober and in the best shape I’ve ever seen him in. But I say nothing. How can I compliment the man? I’m not angry like I thought, but I’m also not happy to be here.
“I’m just going to go ahead and say what I’ve been waiting to tell you for the past decade. And if your girlfriend—”
“Pearl, and she’s staying here with me,” I interrupt.
“Yeah, I was going to say if Pearl wants to be here for it, she’s welcome to,” he finishes the sentence in his rumbling voice.
“I’ve spent every day of these ten years reflecting on the man I was, on the father I failed to be. Being locked away forced me to confront the demons that led me to ruin your childhood and damage your life.
“I want you to know that the man who walked into that prison cell is not the same man standing before you now, and not because I’ve done lots of soul-searching and I decided to change my ways, but because Jesus Christ entered my life.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me like He did. I didn’t deserve His forgiveness, and I don’t deserve yours either. I know apologies alone aren’t enough. They can’t erase the pain or make up for lost time. But I want you to know that I am sorry. If I could go back…” A tear rolls down his cheek. “If I could go back, I’d change the perspective I had before you were born.”
“You knew you were going to be an awful dad even before I was born?” I manage to ask.
“Yes,” he mumbles, looking down. “When Alice was pregnant and having all sorts of health issues, they told her there was a risk she wouldn’t make it if she went through with the pregnancy. They wanted to try to save her but that meant losing you, and she would have none of it. She was resolute in her faith in God, thinking He could save both of you. Even if her prayers went unanswered, she was determined to see you through.” Tears started streaming down his face. “I resented you before you even arrived because of those agonizing months she endured. When the unthinkable occurred and she passed while you survived, my deepest fear became a harsh reality I faced every day by simply looking at you.” He covered his face with his hand, not wiping the tears but trying to hide how much it still hurts.
“Really, it wasn’t you that I was mad at. I was mad at everyone else—Alice’s determination, the doctors who couldn’t save her, and the God she placed her trust in. It’s no excuse, but alcohol became my refuge, the only thing that dulled the pain, and I clung to it faithfully.”
My heart feels like it’s exploding into a million pieces with this new information no one cared to give me before. My mom knew she probably wasn’t going to live?
Like Dad, I can’t comprehend her logic. Why did she think being motherless was better than not being born at all?
A thought that distinctly isn’t mine emerges in my mind, drawing a parallel with Jesus. He died for us so we may live. And that’s what my mom did. She gave me this life—a life that, though bitter in the beginning, has led me to the woman holding my hand, bravely fighting back tears to be strong for me.
Now, I can live this life with the assurance of salvation and the hope of seeing Mom in the next life.
For the first time, my eyes see Dad differently—not just as the source of my pain, but as someone who carried his own burdens. Despite his bad choices, I realize his suffering was genuine.
Something in me tells me Mom would love it very much if I stood up and wrapped my arms around Dad and told him I forgave him, and so I did.