Dinner was wonderful. It was our first—our only—real date, and it came with all the trimmings: Zander wore a suit. He brought flowers. He held my chair. And he let me order everything I wanted. Everything. Enough for a party of five: lettuce wraps, spring rolls, soup, three main courses and two side dishes to share.
I drooled over the menu.
When the waitress left with our order, I set out the single ground rule. “Zander, whatever conversation we have tonight must be between you and Jayda. No one else. That’s the way it has to be.”
Zanders head bobbed once. “It may be a difficult adjustment, but I’m willing to live with that.”
So, we talked. And laughed. About the study group and about his ministry with the youth and young adults. He asked me about my apartment and job prospects. Then I shared the work God was doing in my life—couched in vague references that Zander would “get.”
“With all that’s happened . . . in the last year, I can look back and see how much God has changed me. Oh, I still get grouchy and I frequently struggle with anger, but the cool thing is that when I open my Bible and step into God’s word? It’s like his presence comes and fills me up—and I no longer have room for anger or grouchiness.”
“Jesus said that his word is living bread. You are describing the way his living bread feeds our souls.”
“That’s it exactly.”
Zander was careful how he phrased his next question. “What are you doing to fill your time right now, Jayda?”
I licked my lips. “Oh, this and that. I run. Work out. Look for employment.”
“Do you . . . do you miss the, er, faster pace of, say, the last six months?”
He’d couched so much in that one line.
And my answer was honest. “Yes. I’m kinda bored, to tell the truth. I’m safe and secure, but a little bored.”
“Could you . . . do you think you could get used to a normal, boring life? Could you get accustomed to, say, being courted by a poor associate pastor? Because this poor associate pastor would like to woo you, Jayda.”
I leaned toward him and lowered my voice. “We can’t . . . we can’t go there, Zander. You know that.”
“And yet, we’ve never ‘gone there,’ Jayda. You owe me a real, honest, and complete discussion on this, uh, topic—and you owe it to us not only to explore the possibility, but to prayerfully ask God’s direction after we’ve identified all the obstacles.”
I expected to be angry with him, but I wasn’t. I was just sad.
“Jayda, look at me.”
My eyes were too full of tears to meet his.
He reached across the table and took my hand. “Please, sweet Jayda?”
I looked up.
“Jayda, I want to suggest a path forward. Monday is my day off. Let’s go for a long drive and find a remote spot where we can be ourselves to talk it all out. We’ll get every bit of the issue out on the table—and then we’ll pray over it. Are you willing to do that?”
“But you already know that those tiny, um, complications will come along with us.”
“Yes. I know.”
Waitresses, universally, have the worst timing ever.
“Would you like me to box up the leftovers?”
Zander didn’t miss a beat. “That would be great. Jayda would love to take them home.”
“Jayda. What a pretty name.”
Zander agreed. “It is; I’m already partial to it.”
“Thank you,” I mumbled.
When we left the restaurant, I was carrying a bouquet of flowers and a large bag filled with boxes of goodies.
“Where are you parked?” Zander asked.
I pointed. “Way over there. The lot was crowded when I got here.”
He grabbed my pointing hand and tucked it into his, and we walked across the lot like any other couple.
But we weren’t like any other couple—and we never would be.
If I were to be honest, what lay at the center of my concerns was that “thing.” The Big Thing. I mean, every girl has a picture of what . . . intimacy with the man she loved would be like—am I right? Except Zander and I would never be alone, just the two of us . . . together.
I had this recurring (and creepy) vision of us whispering the most private of endearments—and Alpha Tribe uploading every word to their library. I imagined Zander, leaning in to kiss me—while the nanomites watched over our shoulders and added running commentary.
Popcorn, anyone?
It would be worse than having a dog or a cat in the room! At least a pet wouldn’t be asking inappropriate questions.
At the absolutely wrong time.
Ackkk! I squeezed my eyes shut. I’m never gonna “un-see” that!
Zander opened my car door. I slumped into the seat.
“Are you all right?”
“Hunky-dory,” I lied.
Crud. Now I need to repent for lying.
“Jayda, would you come to church tomorrow? Sit with Izzie? Maybe have lunch with us afterward?”
I snorted a laugh. “You mean not hide up in the choir loft?”
“That’s exactly what I mean. You’re Jayda Locke, new to DCC, part of the young adult group now. Friends with Izzie.”
“I-I’ll consider it.”
“Great. It was a lovely evening—thank you. I hope to see you tomorrow.”
He closed the door, waved, and turned away. I popped the door back open and climbed out.
“Wait. Zander? I didn’t thank you for dinner.”
He chuckled and kind of smirked. “Okay, but you’d better thank me three times. Dinner with you is like buying for three girlfriends.”
I had to giggle. “I know. I’m sorry. Thank you, thank you, thank you. For dinner, for our fellowship. For everything.”
“Would you like a goodnight kiss?”
“W-what?”
“You heard me.”
“Well, I-I—”
“Because I only kiss the woman I intend to marry. So, do you want a goodnight kiss?”
More than anything. More than you know. If only—
He must have seen it on my face, because the next thing I knew, his arms were around me, and he was delivering the finest goodnight kiss in the history of the world.
Well, in the history of my world, anyway.
We pulled apart, and I could hardly breathe. “Wow.”
“Wow is right. I love you Ge—I mean Jayda, so don’t forget to pray and think on our upcoming conversation. We’re going to hash this thing through and then give it to God.”
“Okay.” Might as well.
I drove out of the parking lot in a fog of consternation: I had only scratched the surface of my concerns. I knew what the nanomites had done to my body, but I didn’t know how those changes might affect certain biological functions. And, if Zander and I were to discuss the facts in less than forty-eight hours, then I needed to know the facts—and that meant asking the nanomites explicit—uncomfortable—questions.
Like, could I have children? Because Zander would expect children. Had it crossed his mind that I might not be able to give him a family? And, if, by some miracle, I could conceive, did conceive, would the child be normal—or would the nanomites’ mutations filter down in my genetic code? Would the child be a nano-amalgamation, like me? Or would those genetic mutations damage the baby?
And, if I did conceive, what might happen to the infant in utero if the nanomites and I were to use the terrible powers we possessed?
Beyond all my other concerns, was the certainty that my life was tied to the nanomites’ health and longevity. One unanticipated, unprepared-for electrostatic discharge of sufficient strength could wipe out the nanocloud—and me.
Longevity. The nanomites had also warned me of the effect attrition would have on their numbers. The swarm would age and would suffer the inevitable breakdown of various members along the way. As individual nanomites failed, the swarm would diminish—unless the nanomites had the environment and materials to replenish the nanocloud.
And, Dr. Bickel had assured me, that wasn’t going to happen. He was not going to re-engineer another ion printhead.
The question was, how long before the nanocloud depleted to the point where it could not sustain its critical functions—me being one of them? How many years did that give me?
Ten years. Fifteen, tops.
Was that fair to Zander? To any children we might have?
Yes, I was scared to ask the nanomites the questions that pressed me—because I dreaded their answers.
Tons of uncertainty.
Heaps of reticence.
Loads of fear.
Not the faintest flicker of hope.
***
The next morning, I found Izzie in DCC’s large sanctuary. “Hi, Izzie. May I sit with you?”
“Jayda! Yes, of course.” She patted the seat next to her and I scooted in.
She wasted no time. “Zander tells me you might be coming to lunch with us after service?”
“Oh. Yeah, he did mention that.”
“Last night at dinner?”
“He told you we had dinner, did he?”
She grinned. “Oh, yes, indeed. Come on, you don’t fool me. I saw sparks shooting across the room at Bible study Friday evening.”
The stink eye I leveled on her would have earned high praise from a polecat.
She just laughed. “Hey, there’s Zander’s little friend, Emilio, and his foster dad, Abe.” She waved at them. “Zander’s going to ask them to lunch, too.”
Abe and Emilio waved to Izzie from seats far away. They scarcely gave me a glance—but that was before we went to lunch together.
Worship on the main floor was a very different experience than what it had been from the choir loft. I felt exposed and out of place—not because I was Jayda Locke but because everything was strange to me. I felt self-conscious: I didn’t know the songs and was certain my failure to sing would be noted by all. I hardly knew when to stand or sit—and what was with all the raising of hands? I watched Izzie out of the corner of my eye and followed her examples (except shooting my hands into the air—that was a bit much).
But the service taken altogether? I loved it.
When Pastor McFee pronounced the benediction and we all said, “Amen,” Zander joined us. Abe and Emilio did, too.
Zander placed his hand on the small of my back. “Abe, Emilio, this is my new friend, Jayda Locke. Jayda, these are my good friends, Abe Pickering and Emilio Martinez.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Pickering” I shook Abe’s hand and held on. I winked. Twice. Abe shifted on his feet and tried to take back his hand. I didn’t let him. I hung on and squeezed his hand. Twice.
I coughed and winked again.
With sudden clarity, Abe grinned. “Nice to meet you, um, Jayda. Very nice, indeed.”
Then I tried to shake Emilio’s hand.
Nope. Instead, I got to witness the might and power of a fully functional Death Stare, Emilio style.
“Hi, Emilio.”
*Scowl*
“Say hello to Miss Locke, Emilio,” Abe instructed.
*Glare*
Emilio’s brows bunched down in that black line I knew so very well and he muttered a half-hearted “Hey.”
“Young man—”
“It’s all right, Mr. Pickering. He just doesn’t know me yet.” Emphasis on the “know” part.
Abe glanced from me to Emilio and nodded his understanding, but Izzie missed the unspoken communication between Abe and me.
She was oblivious, and in my book, oblivious was good.
“Anybody else hungry?” Zander asked to ease the strain. “How does IHOP sound?”
My stomach roared in my ears. “Yum! I’m down with that.”
Emilio’s eyes narrowed, and he was about to say something, but Abe put his hand on the kid’s shoulder. Emilio looked away and grumbled under his breath.
***
Going out to lunch together should have been a great idea. Our wait for a table was only supposed to be a few minutes, so we stood in line. Smiling. Chatting.
Izzie excused herself to use the restroom. “I’ll be right back.”
Yup, going out to lunch would have been a great idea—if Emilio hadn’t seen Zander (when he thought no one was looking) stroke the back of my hand. It was just a touch, a brief token of affection.
Well, Emilio was looking.
While Abe and Zander talked about the finer points of the pastor’s message and I listened, Emilio shot jeers and grimaces of disgust and distain my way. His sneers weren’t bad; I rated them somewhere between sulfuric acid and toxic waste. I seriously thought the side of my head was going to putrefy, melt, and puddle on the floor.
Then I snapped to the basis for Emilio’s anger.
Whoa! He sees Jayda Locke as Gemma’s competition! He’s trying to prevent some two-faced hussy from horning in on Gemma’s man.
Relieved to understand, I made eye contact with Emilio. Waggled one brow. Willed him to “see” me.
No joy.
Instead, he flashed me an obscene gesture and mouthed an uncomplimentary phrase in Spanish.
Emilio said that you—
“Um, yeah. I got the gist, Nano. Don’t need a translation” I tried not to let the nasty words bother me, but they did. Emilio wouldn’t have said those things to Gemma.
Wouldn’t have said them to Gemma.
Ah.
“Nano, listen: This is what I’d like you to do.” I gave them instructions and waited.
Emilio was still seething and sniping at me when he blinked and became still. His face went slack.
He glanced up at me. Afraid. Unsure.
I’d had the nanomites whisper this in his ear: “Emilio, cut it out. Stop being such a big booger. I’m Gemma, hiding inside of Jayda—and you’re being mean to me.”
I made the tiniest nod—before Emilio crashed into me, threw his arms around me, and burst into tears. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
“Hey, hey,” I whispered. “Don’t. You’ll give me away.”
Naturally, that’s right when Izzie breezed back from the bathroom. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, nothing much. Emilio, um, he accidentally bit his tongue.”
Super lame! And another “white” lie. I needed to have a talk with the Lord about how to handle these kinds of situations. Was telling little lies to protect my identity all right or did God want complete honesty at all times?
So much to learn.
Izzie reached for Emilio. “You poor kid! Want me to see how bad it is?”
Emilio shook his head and clung to me.
I shrugged. “Surprise! Guess I’m a hit, huh?”
“Well it beats how he was acting before.”
Emilio stuck out his tongue at Izzie when she wasn’t looking.
Oh, and Jesus? Could you please get ’hold of Emilio’s heart, too? The kid has a lifetime of abuse and bad examples for you to heal and redeem.
The hostess led us to our table soon after that. All I can say about the rest of our lunch is that Emilio and I both ordered the special: The Bottomless Stack. Over Abe’s misgivings, Emilio and I made a competition of who could eat the most pancakes.
I won.
Emilio and I laughed our glee; he grinned and high-fived me.
“Wow. That boy seems taken with you, Jayda,” Izzie whispered. “What a switch.”
Going to lunch turned out great after all.
~~**~~