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“Do you want me to leave?” Julia asked, her voice clear and sure.
“Why would I want you to leave?” Birgitta asked.
“So you and Papa can finish what you started,” Julia looked over her shoulder with a small smile on her lips.
Birgitta scoffed. “Stop it,” she laughed. “Terrible child.”
Julia turned the coffee machine on. It started to hum loudly as it began to heat up. “Seriously, though,” Julia started, leaning against the counter. “Why don’t we do something together? As a family?”
Birgitta frowned. “Like what?”
“Well, how about instead of staying indoors, we go and do something good?” Julia asked. “Why don’t we head down to the church?”
Birgitta was shocked by her daughter’s words. “The church?”
“It would be so fun,” Julia leaned forward and grabbed hold of her mother's hands. “You used to love going there to help.”
Birgitta took in a sharp breath as the memories of her younger years washed over her. It was true. She’d loved going to the church and helping all the needy people there.
Churches in Sweden were mostly secular, like the rest of the country. Very few churches held sermons or Sunday meetings. Instead, they had morphed into centers for the community to come together and help those in need. Birgitta had always loved helping people. Going home with a full heart was a feeling that she always loved. Knowing that she’d made a difference in someone’s life felt even better.
“I did use to enjoy it,” Birgitta mused.
“So we’ll go,” Julia said. “We’ll show our faces, do some good work, and spend the day together. As a family.”
Once Julia had set her mind to something, there was no convincing her not to do it. She had that glint in her eyes, the sparkle that told Birgitta that there was no getting out of this one.
It’ll be good for me to get out of the house,she thought, almost trying to convince herself.We’ll do some good in the world.
It didn’t take long for Julia to get Kent on board. Before Birgitta knew it, they were on their way to the local church. All of them piled into the car, trundling along the winding dirt roads.
The church was only a tiny building in the middle of the small village. A couple of shops surrounded it, along with throngs of houses with large gardens and their own private, dirt roads. It was so quaint out there in the country, so easy-going and carefree.
A couple of people were standing outside the small, wooden building. They were talking excitedly with each other, nodding their heads and waving their arms. Birgitta tried to ignore their happy expressions and instead focused on the building. She hadn’t been there in so long and yet it looked exactly the same.
The wood was still the same bright yellow. The flowers hanging from beneath the windows were in every color under the sun, resting between thick arms of vines. The gravel parking lot was the same bleached white. Everything was as she’d left it, all those years ago.
And yet there was something in the air, something that told her it was very different than she remembered. When the car was parked, the family got out of the car and made their way to the building. Friendly eyes looked at their faces, smiling and watching as they approached.
Inside wasn’t what Birgitta remembered at all. Everything religious had been completely ripped out and the whole room had been redecorated. They had a small reading nook in the far left corner, fitted with children’s seats and tables and toys. Other tables were set up around the room, covered in leaflets and stacks of information for immigrants.
“It’s so different in here,” Kent said, his deep voice whispering to the family.
“Mhm,” Julia said. “They’ve been busy.”
“Let’s find someone,” Kent said, nudging his daughter’s arm. “See if we can make ourselves useful.”
They meandered off, leaving Birgitta alone in the middle of the room. She wasn’t sure what to do with herself, so she turned in circles slowly as she looked at her old church and how it had changed.
Listening to all the voices around her as they merged together, Birgitta just stood there and soaked everything in. The sounds, the smells, the way people interacted with each other. Their voices all merged together into a beautiful chorus.
As she turned again, looking to see where all of the voices were coming from, she saw a familiar face buried within the crowd. His brown skin glistened under the harsh, fluorescent lights embedded into the ceiling. The mop of dark curly hair atop his head was gelled heavily, allowing it to sit neatly atop his head. His deep brown eyes were already centered on his face and a small smirk was playing on his plump lips.
All of the breath vanished from Birgitta’s body. She helplessly stared at the man she’d been fantasizing about since she saw him two days ago. Beneath her, her knees turned weak. They were ready to buckle. Somehow she managed to hold herself upright as he moved over to her.
He was wearing a smart shirt, buttoned up to the hollow of his throat. Behind it, a couple of black hairs were poking out, crawling up his neck. Birgitta tried not to look at them as he came toward her.
“It’s you,” Malik said.
