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“I don’t know if I can do this, God.”
The rest of my prayer was silent and somewhat wordless as I tried to gather my thoughts. I wanted her, but I also wanted to deserve her, and I knew I didn’t. I wanted what Bryce and Krystal had.
I took a deep breath and headed back inside.
Bryce’s dad stood up before the meal to say a few words. I briefly wondered what he thought about the situation and how much Monica had shared with her parents. I’d seen a few pitying glances from Mrs. Storm during the rehearsal, but that didn’t tell me much.
“We’re so glad to have you all here tonight to celebrate on the eve of Bryce and Krystal’s wedding. I’m sure I’m not alone in saying I always–and never–thought we’d get here with the two of them. I also know that God’s timing is perfect, and he couldn’t have brought together a more perfect union. Bryce, I’m proud of you, son.”
I felt the air being sucked from my lungs as Mr. Storm said those words about Bryce. A sharp sucker-punch of envy. I tipped my head down to look at my plate, clinging to the Lord for strength against those feelings.
His dad continued, “You’ll be a good husband to Krystal. You’re a good friend,”—Bryce looked at me—“a good brother,”—he looked at Monica—“and a good man.”
Mr. Storm turned to his left. “And, Krystal. We couldn’t have chosen a better woman to call our daughter-in-law. You’ve been a part of our family for years, but now it’s official. To everyone else who is here, thank you for taking part in the big day. Tomorrow will be a celebration with nearly the entire state of Indiana, I think that’s what I heard–” He looked around, the joking tone making everyone chuckle. “But the most important people are here tonight. So, let’s pray and eat. We’ll celebrate and…” He checked his notes. “What was this you wanted me to say, Krystal?” He pretended to show it to her. “Oh yeah. Go to bed early and get to the church on time.” He spoke the last line slowly and deliberately, as though reading words he hadn’t written.
Everyone laughed again, including me, feeling some of the heaviness of my own pain dissipating for a moment.
After the meal, Bryce and Krystal stood up and thanked everyone again, passing out gifts to us and inviting us to hang around for some games before calling it a night.
Instead, I stepped outside again, once again needing some air. The church was on a fairly small lot, but there was a little bit of grass around the building, especially in the back. I walked through the trees, winding between them with no real destination, glimpses of a bright moon poking through the canopy.
I needed to help clean up after dinner, so I couldn’t leave yet. I wasn’t exactly in the mood for socializing though. If I did, I’d probably be in there making jokes so no one looked too deeply into my emotions.
I’d been thinking about my father. What my mom had said about our similarities. Thinking about what Bryce’s dad had said about forgiveness and looking for the best in people. Seeing the good in my dad wasn’t something I’d attempted to do in years. He was gone, so what did it matter?
I was beginning to understand that like prayer, sometimes God asked us to forgive not for the impact it would have on the relationship, but the impact it might have on us. I just didn’t know if I could forgive my father after all this time. As I wrestled with the consequences of my behavior on the relationship with Monica, I couldn’t help but wonder what it would have looked like if his intentions had matched his actions.
I’d never wanted to stifle Monica with my negativity. Instead, I’d managed to do the opposite–influence her toward my own natural direction of carelessness. She deserved better.
I circled a tree and caught a glimpse of a yellow dress that made my heart stop. Monica’s long brown hair flowed loose over her shoulders, as she tipped her head up to look between the trees. Perhaps at the moon I’d noticed earlier.
“I’ll go. Surely, you’re not out here looking for me,” I said with a dry tone, then regretted my sarcastic comment. Monica jumped slightly, saw me, then turned back to where she was looking before.
“I wasn’t,” she said simply. “But you’re welcome to stay.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” My words said one thing, but my feet said another, and suddenly I was next to her. My fingers itched to trail along the skin of her exposed shoulders. I stuffed them in my pockets to keep them from misbehaving.
“Probably not,” she agreed. “But we can’t avoid each other. It’s not like we can’t be friends,” she said, turning toward me.
I laughed, a bite of bitterness in the sound. “It’s not?”
She frowned, and I realized that my honesty had hurt her. I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “Sorry. I’m trying this new thing. What I’m trying to say is that…being friends with you is going to be hard for me.”
Impossibly hard, in fact. Though I didn’t say that to her.
“Why?”
This time, I let my fingers touch the expanse of skin that had been teasing them all night. I brushed my fingers across her shoulder, to her collarbone and up her neckline until they paused, just below her ear. Her neck lengthened in response, and I saw her throat bounce as she swallowed.
“Because I know what makes you laugh when you’ve had a long day. I know the way it feels to rub your feet and cook you dinner. I know the way your lips taste.” Her eyes fell shut at my words. I leaned in, whispering in her ear this time. “I can’t be friends with you when all I would ever think about is how I used to be more.” I was being honest, but that didn’t mean I would say the hardest truth of all. Which was that she was the only one who’d ever made me feel like I was worth loving.
“Jake…” she said on a sigh. It sounded like longing, and for a moment, I expected her to turn into my arm, accepting the invitation of my words.
“I can’t.”
I swallowed my objections and stepped back, creating distance between us in the muggy summer evening air.
I nodded. “I know. Which is why we can’t be friends.” I walked back toward the church, turning after a few steps to find her watching me. “Good night, Monica.”
