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So much is said without a single word coming out of our lips.
Then my mama calls for us from the foot of the stairs.
And the moment’s over.
Twenty minutes later—and a very uncomfortable ride in the car with my mama chewing Bobby’s ear off about a hundred and one different things—we’re heading into Spruce Fellowship in a crowd of giggling ladies, all of them fluttering excitedly around my mama like starved pigeons and she’s got a bag of bird seed.
“Where’s your pa?” asks Bobby as we enter the church, all the noise of chatter following us into the echoey, small space. “Doesn’t he go to church with your ma?”
“He kinda leaves my mama to her church thing every Sunday, as far as I understand it. Something to do with him-and-her time. I never really took much effort in understanding my own parents’ idiosyncrasies over the years.”
“I don’t understand my parents either,” confesses Bobby.
Suddenly my mama comes to a stop, staring across the lobby. “Now what’s your mother doin’ all by herself, Bobby?”
Bobby lifts his face. “What? Where?” He looks off.
I follow their line of sight. Mrs. Patricia Parker stands at the other end of the lobby, fidgeting with her purse and glancing around herself, looking like a sweet, lost lady in a sea of strangers, despite her likely knowing each and every face here.
“That ain’t right,” my mama decides. “That woman looks like she could use a bit of company, poor thing.” She turns back to give a wink at Bobby. “You boys find yourselves a seat. I’ll go have a little girl-talk with Patricia and keep her company, then sit with her inside. Go on, now.”
With that, my mama beelines through the lobby like she owns the church, and soon, the ladies are having a pleasant exchange at the other side of the lobby. In no time, Patricia is laughing merrily and wearing a smile that looks too big for her sweet face.
Even all the way across the lobby, it makes me smile.
My mama does do a nice thing or two, now and then.
The ladies, both husband-free, take a seat inside together—at my mama’s insistence—while Bobby and I find a small available spot near the front, all the way to the side by the windows.
We’re squeezed so tightly on this long crowded bench, our shoulders and arms find themselves pressed together, and our faces are super close whenever we turn to each other to speak.
Or whisper. “You look really handsome today, Bobby Parker.”
He turns and peers into my eyes adoringly. “You look mighty handsome yourself, Jimmy Strong,” he whispers back.
The service is long, but Reverend Arnold keeps it entertaining when he invites his son Trey up to say a few words of his own on the subject of family, which is this week’s theme. With a witty joke and intelligent aside here and there, Trey talks about appreciating the family we have, and how sometimes “family” can include the special people we invite into our lives—loved ones, close friends, and lost souls who “find themselves in you”.
I don’t know if it’s just me, but every word that comes out of Trey’s mouth seems to carry a deep and weighted significance that resonates, as if the sermon is specifically meant for me.
Have I been lost for years, and searching for myself in Bobby somehow?
Am I still searching?
“Now how about some brunch?” chirps my mama when we’re gathered outside the church. “I propose Biggie’s, since I can get us a good deal with Mr. Tucker.” She leans into Patricia. “That’s my son-in-law’s father. He’s such a sweet man, that William Tucker.”
Mrs. Parker seems privately amused that my mama wouldn’t think she—along with the rest of the town—already knows who the infamous William Tucker is, but she indulges her with a sweetly-voiced, “Ooh, that sounds lovely,” anyway, then peers at her son. “Bobby, how’s that sound to you?”
Bobby and I share a look.
We had a private discussion of our own before meeting up here, anticipating this very thing.
“I think Bobby and I were gonna—”
“—catch a movie,” Bobby picks up right on cue. “Jimmy hasn’t seen the one about the—”
“—that heist one starring what’s-his-name,” I say, half on top of his words, half cutting him off.
“Yeah, what’s-his-name,” Bobby agrees, then turns smilingly to his mama and gives her a kiss on the cheek. “The theater is just down the road, not too far. We can walk there. But you two can go and have some brunch, if you like. I’m not really that hungry.”
“Me neither,” I throw in unnecessarily.
“And we can come meet you at Biggie’s after the movie to head back home. I have employee privileges now,” he points out, satisfied with himself, “and I can get us in for free.”
To my surprise, my mama doesn’t seem to mind in the least. She gives a light little laugh—the same kind when she’s had a glass or two of wine—then faces Bobby’s mama cheerily. “Well, I don’t have a problem with that if you don’t, Patricia?”
