“I’ve moved up from abhorrent to tolerable, I think.”
“That’s…uh…something.”
“Hey, Nicole’s a passionate woman.” Ben leaned back. “It may take less than you think to push her over the line from hate to love.”
My grin felt a little evil. “Pushing Nicole has become one of my favorite pastimes.”
Malachi lifted a finger. “Does pushing her buttons count?”
Ben shrugged while I nodded.
“But then we’re back where I started with this conversation. Your intentions, Drew.” Ben anchored his elbows to the picnic table top. “She’s got a kid. When I started seriously considering a relationship with Molly, I had to think about Chloe more than my own feelings. Nicole’s going to do the same.”
Defenses rose within me. “I adore Sierra.”
Ben’s face softened. “I know you do. I’m just saying, that little girl has been through enough with her parents’ divorce and her dad barely being present. You need to know—like, really be certain—that you’re one-hundred percent serious about going the long-haul with Nicole before you take even the first step in that direction.”
“It’s not too late to turn back,” Malachi added.
But the thousands of tiny protesters with picket signs in my brain all shoutingNo!told a different story. Nicole, with her activism and save-the-world mindset, had wheedled her way into my head and corrupted me. In the best possible way. Who knew if she’d ever actually save the planet, but right then I realized she could most definitely save me.
My lips tingled with the onslaught of a smile. I stood and picked up the empty food container. “Excuse me, gentlemen, but I seem to be in need of rescuing, and I know the perfect damsel for the job.”
15
Nicole
“Is that everything on the personal hygiene list?” I peered down into the shopping cart. Toothbrushes, toothpaste, deodorant, feminine products, soaps, and shampoos.
Sierra ran a finger down the slip of paper in her hand. “Yep.”
“Where to next?”
Her finger paused. “The exciting world of socks and underwear.”
I pushed the cart down the store aisle. “Live for a while without access to a washer and dryer and I bet youwouldfind clean underwear and socks exciting.”
Her nose scrunched as if her imagination conjured up the scent of unwashed clothes, let alone bodies.
We had a rotation of charities we shopped for each month. The battered women’s shelter, the homeless shelter, the foster care advocate, and the children’s hospital. These shopping sprees always left me feeling bittersweet. I sent up a prayer of thanks that I stood on this side of the exchange. That I had employment. A roof over my head, food in my belly, and wasn’t a victim of violence. But empathy for those who would receive our paltry gifts caused a physical pain behind my breastbone. And, I wouldn’t lie, a small measure of anger at my fellow humans for turning a blind eye to the suffering around them.
We stopped at the women’s underwear section and added a few packages of various sizes to the buggy. Sierra pulled a package of Fruit of the Loom off the hook, and I touched the back of her hand. “Romans 12:13.”
She didn’t even hesitate. “When God’s people are in need, be ready to help them.” She let her package drop on top of the others. It balanced precariously before tumbling to rest beside a pile of deodorant. “Teresa of Avila.”
I smiled and maneuvered to the adjacent section of men’s undergarments. “‘Christ has no body now but yours. No hand, no feet on earth but yours. Yours are the eyes through which he looks compassion in this world. Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good. Yours are the hands through which he blesses all the world.’”
This back and forth recitation of quotes had started on our first shopping trip. Sierra had spotted a brightly colored plush jaguar that reminded me of my own childhood of Lisa Frank notebooks, and she’d immediately asserted that shehadto have it.As we’d been purchasing for the children’s hospital, toys and plushies were on our list, but the conversation that ensued about thinking of others and how Jesus wanted us to show His love in a physical way by filling needs was a hard one for a preschooler to grasp.
We’d dropped our offerings at the hospital later that day, and while I’d been speaking to the coordinator, Sierra had slipped away to a small girl in a wheelchair. I still didn’t know what the girls said to each other, but I’ll never forget looking over and watching my daughter walk back to me, her coveted jaguar cradled in the other girl’s arms and wide smiles on both their faces.
“That’s probably enough socks, don’t you think?” Our cart had little room left inside. “I saw a bin for five-dollar blankets. Let’s grab a few of those and call it a day.”
Unlike other kids, who’d go to the front of the buggy and stand on the metal part where the wheel attached to hitch a ride, Sierra walked uncomplaining beside me.
An endcap cut off my view of any shoppers coming in the intersecting direction. I paused, but when I didn’t see the front of any carts, pushed my way forward.
Bump.
