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“Where’s your mom going?” Chris asks when I let him in the back door of the cabin.
“Has some errands to run,” I tell him. If he didn’t look so serious, I’d make some kind of joke about how she could come back any minute so he better not try to get too close or anything.
But he’s staring at me so intently. I have no idea what’s on his mind or what he’s about to say.
“Come on.” He brushes past me into the living room. I follow him toward the largest couch, and my stomach drops when he says, “We have to talk.”
I try not to let him see my panic. Try not to show him how scared I am. If he’s planning on breaking up with me, couldn’t he at least do it at the end of the weekend? Let me enjoy just a couple more happy days with my friends?
I force a smile. Tell myself I’m being ridiculous. Chris and I are destined to be together. I’m the only one who knows his family secrets. I’m the only one he trusts. Not to mention the fact that we’re in love. We’re meant to be together.
Chris is fidgeting in his seat. “Listen, Mia.”
“Hold on,” I interrupt. I can’t help it. If Chris wants to break up with me, he has every right to in the world. Just not now. Not here. Not like this. “Maybe we should go back out to the dock. It’s such a nice day. And ... and ...” I feel my voice rising. This is no good. I can’t get all irrational right now. I have to think clearly.
Clearly.
Just listen to what he has to say, I tell myself. It’s an order. I shut my lips.
“Mia, I think you’re an amazing girl,” he begins, and that’s when I know. This is it. This is goodbye. This is the end.
I’m off the couch. “I need some fresh air,” I say. “Let’s go out.” I’m not thinking about Mom’s silly water safety rules, which made tons of sense when I was a preschooler but now are just fueled by paranoia. Dad checks the wood on the dock every single year, and besides, I’ve been swimming since I could walk.
My palms are sweaty when Chris and I reach the water’s edge. He doesn’t argue when I leave the cabin, just follows me out here. Well, at least if he’s going to dump me, it won’t be in front of twenty of our classmates. Got to give him props for that much at least.
I don’t want to do this. Don’t want to go through it. No sense of timing. None whatsoever.
I cross my arms and face him. The sun’s behind his shoulder, blinding me, but I don’t care. I squint, which probably makes me look more intimidating than scared. Good.
“So,” I say, jutting out my hip as defiantly as I can, “what is it you want to tell me?”
Chris is staring at his feet. This is one time when I wish he wasn’t so soft-spoken, wish he wasn’t so polite. After you’ve been with someone for three full years, after you’ve grown as close as we have, there’s no such thing as a gentle breakup. He needs to just say it and get this torturous silence over with.
Chris swallows so hard I can hear his throat working. For a minute, I suspect he’s waiting for me to be the next to talk, but he’s dead wrong if he thinks I’m about to make this easy on him.
I brace myself. Remind myself that uncertainty is always worse than the truth. Haven’t I been terrified for weeks that Chris and I would break up? At least now I’ll know where I stand.
I can handle this. I can be mature. I can be an adult.
I hold my breath.
Chis fidgets with his hands. “I had a dream last night,” he tells me. “A dream from God.”
I squint even harder. “What did you just say?”
“A dream from God. Look,” he rushes on, “I know it sounds kind of crazy, and I know sometimes dreams are just dreams, but this one was different. Just hear me out, okay?”
“Okay.”
He sits down on the dock, dangling his feet in the water. I feel silly standing here with my arms crossed, so I do the same.
“I think God wants me to become a pastor.”
It’s not what I was expecting to hear, but I try not to show my surprise. I can tell that Chris is in one of those pensive moods he gets, and I know from experience it’s best to let him talk it all out.
At least he’s not breaking up with me. Not yet.
“I can’t explain it,” he begins, and I can sense the confidence rising in his tone, “but in my dream, I was there in front of a church telling hundreds of people about Jesus. It was the most intense feeling I’ve ever experienced.”
I swallow down my jealousy. I thought his love for me would be the most intense feeling he’s experienced. I don’t tell him this. Instead I keep listening. His voice only grows in excitement.
“And I was just ... the Bible verses, they were just coming out of my mouth. You know I’ve never been all that good of a speaker, and I don’t even like to talk when the teacher calls on me in class. But I wasn’t scared or nervous or anything. I was just ... I was there in front of the church, and people were listening to me, and it was like ... It was like God was right there. Talking through me. I don’t even know what I was saying. My only thought was it must be God speaking through me because that was the only way to describe it. It was amazing.”
“Wow.” I literally don’t have anything else to say.
Fortunately, Chris is ready to keep on talking. “So I woke up, and it was the middle of the night, and I was praying and praying and praying, and I told God that if he was calling me to become a pastor, then yes I was going to become a pastor.”
He hesitates for a minute, and that’s when I realize what this discussion is all about. It’s not about me or our relationship at all. It’s about something that hits much closer to home for Chris.
Much closer.
“What about your dad?” I ask quietly.
“Well, that’s the thing,” he answers. “For the first time, I didn’t feel scared. I didn’t feel worried. In fact, I wrote him a letter last night and left it for him.”
“What’d you say?” I want to be excited for Chris. I really do. I want to be excited and supportive and encouraging and everything else a good girlfriend should be. But I know about Chris’s dad. I know better than just about anyone. And all I feel is dread.
“I told him that God gave me a sign that he wants me to become a pastor. And if that means my dad wants to disown me, I’m willing to take up my cross and bear that burden.”
“What about Gabriella?” This doesn’t make sense. Chris wouldn’t do anything to risk his sister’s safety.
“She’s with her grandma all week, so it’s perfect timing. I think that’s why God waited to give me that dream until last night. Because I can do something now. I can make a difference.”
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” I whisper. I’m not scared about Chris breaking up with me anymore. I’m scared for an entirely different reason.
Chris shrugs. “That’s probably what I would have said a week ago, but if you would have just seen that dream. If you could have just ...” He’s leaning toward me. Looking right at me. Begging me to understand. “It was so real,” he tries again. “And if this is what God wants me to do, if this is what he’s calling me to ...”
I want to hold him. To hug him and protect him and show him that nothing in the world means more to me than his happiness. And I know God makes him happy. I really do. And I know that if he had the chance, Chris would make an amazing pastor. He’s so kind and encouraging, and he loves God with all his heart. But he’s not thinking things through right now. He’s on one of those spiritual highs, like when you go to a camp or retreat or something and get all fired up for Christ, but then you come home and that excitement dwindles down.
That’s what this is. A flash. A spark. This isn’t sustainable. Not for someone like Chris. Not with a dad like his.
I have to reason with him. Have to make him understand.
He grabs my hand, and there’s an intensity burning in his eyes I’ve never seen before. I want to believe this dream really was a message from God. I desperately want to believe it. But I know Mr. Gomez. And I know what he’ll do when he reads that letter.
The letter.
My stomach flops. “Where’s that note you wrote him?” I demand. “What’d you do with it?”
“I left it on the dashboard of his truck so he’ll see it when he leaves for work this morning.”
What time is it? I have to think. Chris’s dad starts work before lunch. That means ... Oh, no. He’s already seen it. He’s already read it.
Chris kisses the top of my head. “I want you to be happy for me,” he whispers.
“I’m happy for you,” I lie, while inwardly I’m trying to think of anybody I could call to run interference for us. Maybe his dad’s so hungover today he’ll be late for work. Maybe there’s someone I could ask to swing by Chris’s house ... His truck might be unlocked. If I can get a hold of my brother, I can ask him to do it. Pull up in Chris’s driveway, find a way to get into that truck, and grab the letter. Make sure his dad never sees it.
Ever.
“There’s something else,” Chris says.
My throat clenches because now I know what he’s going to do. And I know that neither of us is ready for this. Not really. As much as we love each other, as good a fit as we are together, this isn’t the right time.
Chris is on his knee. He’s holding out a jewelry box.
“I know it won’t be easy being married to a pastor,” he’s saying, and I have to clench my jaw shut to keep my sob contained. “I can’t promise we’ll earn as much money as you’re used to, but there’s something else about the dream I haven’t told you yet. You were in it too. We had ...” His voice cracks with emotion. “We had a church of our own. A little country church. And you were there, and I was there, and you were sitting in the front row, and you were so proud of me, and ...” He sniffs. “Mia, will you marry me? Will you be my wife?”
I crumple to the ground beside him. We have to figure this out. We don’t have much time.
Chris wipes away my tear with his thumb, looks at me with a sheepish grin, and says, “Well?”
He probably thinks I’m crying because I’m so happy. Everything makes sense now. The conversation with Mom, Chris calling my dad at work ...
I support you a hundred percent. That’s what Mom said. Whatever decisions you make for your future, I support you a hundred percent.
I kiss Chris on the corner of his mouth. I want him to know how much I love him. How much I adore him. And that yes, one day I want to be his wife.
One day ...
This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. This whole weekend ...
“Say something,” Chris pleads.
I open my mouth and choke on a sob.
Chris slips the ring box back into his pocket. “Are you not ready? Should we wait?”
He’s worried that I’m upset about the proposal. He really has no idea, does he?
“Chris.” I can barely say his name without suffocating with emotion.
“I should have waited, shouldn’t I? We’re too young. Is that it? A promise ring. Would that have been better?”
I shake my head. It doesn’t matter what he chooses to call it. Engagement ring. Promise ring. Wedding ring.
Because there are two things I know in the bottom of my soul to be true.
That Chris and I are meant to be together.
And that his father will never let him become a pastor.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Chris says. “I want to know how you feel.”
“I’m scared,” I admit to his shoulder, clinging with all my might to the back of his shirt. The truth is I’ve never been this afraid in my life.
“Why are you scared?” he asks.
“Because when your dad gets that letter,” I answer, “he’s going to kill you.”