Most nights that week, we slept at Karl’s. He came to mine on Tuesday, since I had an early shift on the front desk the next morning, but it was easier, with Parsley, for me to be on his turf. Not to mention, even the decent bathroom and sizable kitchenette in my single room at the hotel did little to make it feel like anything but a place to mark time before I left.
Wednesday night, he was leading a choir rehearsal, and I showed up at my family home for dinner. Mama handed me an apron even as she kissed me, which served me right for mentioning how hard it was to cook at the hotel. I’d only blurted that out as an excuse to stop her from dragging me to the markets with her, when I’d made plans with Karl. But it meant she’d decided we should prep a few dinners I could reheat in my kitchenette.
The obvious solution was telling her we’d been cooking in Karl’s decently appointed kitchen and I didn’t need to haul around a bunch of prepped meals. Except that would trigger round ninety-four or so of the ‘why not just move back home for good’ conversation.
So I assembled enchiladas for dinner and for later, then chopped piles of tomatoes to get a start on the salsas for our tamalada. I felt an unpleasant twinge at the reminder of how close Christmas was, and how that meant I needed to line up my next job. My next destination.
“Cole told you about his move?” I asked when Dad came in.
Dad hugged my shoulders and kissed the top of my head. “You’ll be okay, Gogo.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I know I’ll be okay.”
“We’re just reminding you. We know you’ll miss him,” Mama said.
“But even when he’s far away, he’s still your big brother. And you’ve got us. Did I tell you the other day I cleared all those old toys we’d been saving out of your bedroom closet? Boxed up a bunch of the board games from your bookshelf, too.”
“You got rid of my knock-off Barbie Dream House?”
Dad scoffed. “Of all my kids, you were always the least interested in playing dolls. Anyway, Larissa told me which things were worth preserving for grandkids, and to find new homes for the rest. And this way, there’s lots more room for you.”
“Dad.”
“Not saying you have to move home. But it never hurts to have the option, especially if you’re clearing out of Austin.”
And that was the crux. No matter how much I said I wasn’t interested in settling down in Rockport, Mama and Dad kept talking like I didn’t know my own mind.
I knew my damn mind.
What I didn’t know was how to make them see that.
“You’re almost twenty-five,” Mama said. “It’s time to get serious about your future.”
“Maybe that’s true,” I said. “But my future is not here. It’s out there. I want to travel and work different places and figure some things out along the way. In the present. That’s what I’m focused on.”
“Your sisters …”
“I’m not them. Can’t you let me be me?”
Mama sighed and shook her head, but Dad patted my shoulder and went to set the table.
When I left, I was restless. I drove around for a while, but a town the size of Rockport, there weren’t a whole lot of distractions around every corner. Especially not distractions grand enough to keep me from ruminating over what was around the corner for my life. Cole had talked about pro-con lists, but I’d never been one for that kind of determined decision-making. I didn’t have goals to work towards via a series of broken-down chunks, or spreadsheets with five-year plans.
What I had was gut feelings. I had things that fascinated me, and the desire to investigate them for as long as they stayed important to me. I had the ability to do any number of jobs to keep myself funded while I explored. I had core interests: going to concerts, being on the sea, getting way too involved in taking care of the people I loved.
That last one was the problem I needed to solve. I loved Cole; I loved everyone in my family. But I’d thrown myself into Project: Protect My Big Brother when I was a teenager. He’d tucked me under his wing when I needed him, and I’d tried to hold an umbrella over us in return. Even though we’d both been walking steady on our own for ages now, it still shook me up when he cut me off from my self-appointed gig. Not because he needed protection—not more than any of the other humans being unjustly vilified and targeted just for living as themselves—but because I had to face how I’d let those protective tendencies become a key to my personality. How could I embrace living my own life if I kept looking back to be sure he was okay living his?
What sucked about the abrupt way he’d told me about his move was that I kept saying I was sailing out into uncharted waters on my own, and his news made me realize that all along, I’d been clinging to Cole as a safety line.
I had to cut that line, and navigate to the next cove entirely on my own. It was thrilling, but also terrifying.
Ruminating about journeys, I ended up at the marina. I loved the peaceful ocean smell, the gentle clang of rigging and shush of waves crashing against the pilings. I sat on a dock and stared out at the dark water, letting my mind wander. The breeze cut sideways, whipping my hair around me until I turned to face the wind. I caught sight of a spire in the distance.
It wasn’t St. Luke’s, but it lodged in my breastbone just the same. Talking with Karl about his faith the other day had stirred up feelings I’d been setting aside, and now they rushed at me like an incoming tide.
I’d been mad when Cole tossed the accusation at me, but one thing he was right about was that I’d been a very religious teenager. Youth group, Sunday school aide, teen night lock-ins, choirs, the works. St. Patrick’s had made up a lot of my world, and I’d gone there assuming that my love for God meant there was no question of the Church’s support of me. I’d been to confession after the abortion, and not even mentioned it, because God’s love meant it wasn’t wrong for me to exercise my choice over my decision. And then Father James spewed his intolerance and bigotry, and that was it. I walked away from my faith and refused to look back.
Until now.
It was easy enough to attend the handbell rehearsals and perform at services while telling myself it was because I enjoyed the instrument. And really, really enjoyed the conductor, as a side benefit.
It was harder to admit that being in St. Luke’s itself had been an unexpected balm. And to concede the importance of looking at faith in different ways than the one I’d known growing up. To look for God in music and on the waves and in my love for my siblings. To accept that if I made the choice to trust in that love, it would buoy me up no matter how the tides of our lives changed. That choice was a form of faith, and until Cole made me walk back in to a physical church, I’d been rejecting any kind of belief that reminded me too much of being a broken-hearted seventeen year old.
I wasn’t that girl now. I wasn’t moved to add any kind of organized religion back to my life, but I was coming to understand that it did my grown-ass soul a lot of good to let in new forms of faith.
I sighed. The single-serving meals in my passenger seat needed refrigeration. It didn’t surprise me at all when I ended up carrying them, and my overnight bag, straight to Karl’s door.