“What are your Mayberry friends doing for fall break?” Typical Mom.
“Nice of you to ease into it. You want to know about Levi?”
Mom purses her lips guiltily.
“He flew to Connecticut to see his granny. She’s not doing well.”
Her expression softens in compassion as she leads the way across the street.
“He’s around a lot, hangs out with that group I’ve told you about. With Austin and Haymitch.” I’ve told her about my activities during our weekly phone calls, but I avoid mentioning Levi, so this is coming as a confession.
Her face alights with excitement and maybe relief. She silently asks for more information, but I don’t offer any.
“I see,” she says. From her voice, I know she does.
“Can I ask you something?” I ask.
Her thankful look pangs my conscience.
“I can’t stand the thought of seeing any of my friends while I’m home.”
That wasn’t really a question, but her head bobs. “Incomplete love. Your old friends stuck by you for years but let you down when you blossomed into this beautiful young woman. You are God’s incredible creation, Kit, like a sunset or the night sky or wildflowers. Your beauty isn’t about you—it’s meant to point us to our creator. Anyway, your new friends last year did the same, really, just opposite. They accepted you for how you looked but were too self-consumed to ever care who you are. Incomplete, conditional love messes us up. It’s not what God wants for us.”
My thickening throat tells me she’s probably dead on, as usual.
That’s it, isn’t it?
“How do your friends at school treat you?” Her voice gentles. “Do they love you unconditionally?”
“Ayumi yes, but she’s not around that much. Sophie, I don’t know. It’s weird between us sometimes.” Levi has been a true friend to me, even while I confuse him and reject his advances and refuse to explain my bizarre behavior. Is that unconditionalfriend-love or is it strategic? “Mia seems to. She word-vomited on me last week, but I think that was her way of taking care of me.”
Mom watches.
“She said I make myself small, that I let Sophie walk all over me. But, last year …” I nearly whisper. “I can’t do that again.”
Mom side-hugs me as we walk. “You think you make yourself small so your friends don’t have a reason to bolt?”
I shrug and nod.
“God will provide, sweetie. You can trust him.”
I can trust you. If these friends leave, you’ll bring others. You did this year.
I can tell Mom’s praying too. It’s so good to be home.
I run my fingers along needly leaves as we pass a spruce tree. The pine needles on campus are too high to reach.
I would ask Mom’s advice about getting him—both hims—out of my head, but she can’t help with that. She wouldn’t understand why I want to be freed from my feelings for Levi. She’s been with Dad since they were younger than me. And Mom doesn’t know anything about memories that haunt, about moving on from someone because it couldn’t work. I need so much more help, but she couldn’t possibly understand.
Cozied into the chair on my front patio, feet crossed on the ottoman, I finally admit it to myself—I’ve made zero progress since Mia cornered me at the sink last week. My walk with Levi and car ride weirdness prove that I’m still not taking up space, and the few times I speak up are only to avoid some worse fate. Mom helped me see I have reasons, but I wish I could be brave and fierce like Mia. I wish I could just go and do like Sophie. I wrap Mom’s chunky white cardigan tighter against the chill of the morning.
I wanted to tackle this personal development thing on my own. I feel like I’m already spending up my prayers on my broken mind and my broken sleep and my confusing relationships withLevi and Sophie. But spending up my prayers isn’t actually a thing. And I can’t live like this. I need help.
So … even this “smaller” problem is too big for me. I can’t even discern my own motives half the time, much less change them.
Trust in me with all your heart,
and do not lean on your own understanding.
