“If you’re afraid you’re an obstacle to your dad meeting Jesus, I can really only imagine the opposite. But there’s one thing you can do. You can keep praying for him and not stop. Set a reminderin your phone, every day, every few hours even. In my experience, God honors earnest, consistent prayers in faith.” Do I still believe that? My gut clenches. “Sometimes I wish prayer were more of a magic trick, but it’s never a cop-out. It’s the best strategy we have.”
A streetlamp’s glow betrays Levi’s wet eyes. We meander the rest of the way in comfortable, contemplative silence. When we arrive at my building, I whisper good night but stall by the bench, standing closer than friends do. I run my fingers down his open jacket, thumbs brushing the fleece underneath. His intense gaze catches on my mouth and my heart tries to crack my ribs. He snaps away.
Back in my room, my hypocrisy crashes over me. I will never fully reciprocate his vulnerability and openness, lay my own secrets bare. I can’t. In yet another way, I’m not earning my keep in our relationship.
What do I do with all of this? What’s the difference between necessary boundaries and withholding affection? What’s the balance between taking up space and treating him fairly? I know he deserves so much better. I curl my legs up on my bed and rub my face.
I still don’t get it. Please help.
In the dark of the early morning, I shuffle to the lounge with a blanket.
A psalm about fear.
I type his prompt into my AI app, which recommends Psalm 56. The more I read, the more I hunch over my phone. It’s like it was written for me. There are no people hunting me down like David, not since that night I can’t forget, but fear itself hunts me day and night. Two verses jump off the screen. “When I am afraid, I put my trust in you” and “You have kept count of my tossings; put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your book?”
I slump down to rest my head on the top of the chair cushion.
That’s a big bottle, a long book. I squeeze my eyes shut.
I’m always here.
Please take this away.
I know you’re always here, but I don’t want to do this anymore.
I hate it. I’m exhausted. In all the ways. And the nightmares are awful. Please take them away. Take away the terrible memories, the fear of them coming back at any moment.
I beat my head on the cushion, past frustrated and inching toward anger.
It doesn’t seem like a yes.
Fine. Then show me what to do next.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
On Saturday nightI whisper for Levi to walk me back earlier than usual. His eager nod shoots a thrill up my spine.
These late walks back with him are my favorite minutes of the week. I push aside the nagging feeling that I should stop, that I’m stringing him along.
Our steps match pace on the sidewalk. I squeeze my hands and peek over. Learning about his beautiful inside has made his outside even more irresistible. His eyebrows raise a fraction, and his lips twitch. He’s getting better at reading me.
I need a subject to distract me from my jitters. “So, Jeeves, tell me—you didn’t really have a butler, did you?”
He rolls his eyes. “I did not have a butler.”
“Or I guess Wodehouse wrote Jeeves as a valet.”
“No valets either. I put my own clothes on.”
I tilt my head. “You are kind of like Valet Jeeves—clever andhelpful. And you’d never allow Bertie to embarrass himself with a hideous waistcoat.”
His cheeks twitch. “I’ve been told I should read Wodehouse. Have a book here you can lend me?”
“Nope. You definitely should though, and report back?”
“I’ll see if I can get it done over Thanksgiving break.”
I’m giddy. Book club with Levi. “So your floormates were totally off on your upbringing? Or just teasing you.”
