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“Of course Aubrey. Are you planning on moving out of your parents?”
“Yes. I mean–no. I actually don’t think I can afford it, but–I don’t know,” I say, turning my attention back to the delivery bags.
“Well, you know who you should talk to about somewhere to rent? Emmett.”
An actual groan comes out of my mouth at hearing his name and Bea laughs.
“Not your favorite person I can see. But, his parents own a lot of properties around town and if you’re in trouble—” Bea says, cautiously.
I wonder for a moment if I should tell Bea what’s really going on, but I don’t. We’ve been taught to never talk in detail about church matters with those that aren’t members of the church. When I was younger, this made me feel special, like I had powerful and righteous knowledge that few other people had. Now, I know this was to keep people from questioning things like the forced marriages and the high tithings required to remain in good standing in the church.
I don’t know exactly what happens if you’re asked to leave the church, but I know it’s not good. You’re not allowed to contact any church members once you leave. The active members are made acutely aware of who has been shunned, and that we are not allowed to talk to them under any circumstances. That’s part of what makes my decision to leave such a double-edged sword. Despite the church, Mom and Dad haven’t been horrible parents and I still have love for them. Their agreement to make me marry Thomas, though, changes everything.
“No,” I tell Bea, trying to give her a convincing smile. “Just wanting a little more freedom is all. If there’s nothing else, I’m gonna go deliver these.”
I take the box of sandwiches and pastry bags and head for the front door. Bea nods her head, but I can feel her watching me as I leave.
The next morning, I wake up and head into the kitchen, just as I do every morning. I sit between Mom and Dad at the table and place my hands in theirs, just as I have nearly every morning, my entire life. This time, though, as Dad prays, I don’t even close my eyes or lower my head. I stare right across from me at a spot on the wall, a small act of rebellion. There’s a smudge on the wall. Is it dirt or maybe food? Gross. When was the last time the walls were cleaned? I want to get a wet rag and remove the smudge, but then I wouldn’t have anything interesting to focus my attention on in my defiance.
When Dad thanks God for Pastor Johnson’s revelation of my courting–again–I have to make a conscious effort not to react. Mom squeezes my hand a little tighter as Dad finishes the prayer.
We eat breakfast, mostly in silence, which isn’t entirely unusual. When it’s time to pull out our Bibles, Dad tells us to flip to a chapter I wasn’t expecting. We should be near the beginning of the book, continuing on from yesterday. Instead, he reads from a passage that I know for a fact is unique to the bibles sitting before us. As he reads, the story of a young woman who disobeys her spouse unfolds. It’s one I’ve read and heard before, of course.
In short, the young woman doesn’t allow her husband to have sex with her every day in their quest to have a baby. The woman is punished by God and becomes infertile, so the husband takes on a new wife who willingly has sex with him every day and gives him four children in five years. It’s all rather disgusting now that I have context for what is and isn’t a healthy relationship.
Last year I spent months reading books on relationships. I learned what all types of abuse look like; it was eye opening to say the least.
When Dad finishes reading to us for the morning I close my Bible, we pray again and I excuse myself to go get ready for work without saying anything about how pointed his passage choice for today was.
“You’ve only got one delivery so far this morning, but you’re not going to like it,” Bea says as I walk in through the front door.
She’s at the register, filling it with cash, and nods toward the paper bag at the end of the counter. I make my way to the bag and check the delivery ticket.
Emmett.
Not surprised at all, I snatch the bag off the counter and head out back to the moped, ignoring Bea’s chuckles as the door to the bakery closes behind me. The closer I get to the barn though, the less annoyed I feel. The memory of how his touch made me feel consumes me with every turn of the moped wheels.
When I pull onto the gravel, I see the large doors to the barn are open and I pull the moped inside, parking it next to his car. Emmett is sitting in a plush chair that's been turned around to face the barn entrance, opposite of the other furniture that faces the large TV.
He stands and walks toward me as I get off the bike and take off my helmet. I grab the bag with his sandwich and hold it out to him. He takes it slowly, letting his fingers brush against mine as he does. I would think all of these little touches are accidental, but none of the other customers I deliver to touch me this way–or maybe I only notice the touches because of the way my body reacts to them.
“Hello gorgeous. How are you today?” he says, giving me that crooked grin of his that elicits an unwelcome heat in me.
“I thought I told you not to call me that,” I say, rolling my eyes and crossing my arms under my chest.
“No, you told me not to call you beautiful.”
“You think you’re so smart, don’t you?”
Emmett takes a step closer to me, placing a crooked finger under my chin and tilting my face up toward his. The skin on my chin where his finger sits feels like it’s on fire.
“No Aubrey, you’re the insanely smart one…I’m the funny one,” he says.
I know my cheeks are red. I can tell just by how warm they feel. Not only because of how close he’s standing, how he’s touching me, and how he’s looking at me, but because of what he said. No one, not a single person, has ever called me smart. My heart fills with a bit of pride and I let my guard down. I have to fight off a smile as it tries to sneak across my lips. He moves his thumb that’s resting on my chin up and down slowly, catching my bottom lip.
I let out a faint gasp and take a step back.
This is all too much.
