With the cake in the oven, I pull the chilled tricolor rotini out of the fridge and grab the onion, cucumber, pepper, and tomatoes that still need to be chopped for the pasta salad.
“Well,” I say, reaching into the cabinet under the island to find a cutting board, “I’ve been planning the fall festival at my school. I’m the president of the committee this year.”
“Oh, Clarity!” she beams, clapping her hands together to make a resounding sound, her smile glowing with pride. “Congratulations. You’ve always loved your club. Now you’re the president.”
I blush, a little from her over-the-top reaction and a little because it’s the truth. “Actually, I’mcopresident with another student. The… captain of the field hockey team stepped up to save the committee by getting the entire team to join. Without them, we wouldn’t have had enough members,” I explain.
Even though I’m not stating anything explicit about Hannah or our relationship, just mentioning her to my Momma nearly makes me clench up.
“How has that been?” Momma asks, looking at me over the top edge of her glasses, some of her white hair spilling down around the sides of her face.
“Good,” I say, “actually, really productive.” With everyonepitching in, we’re a week ahead of the committee’s usual pace.
“Sounds like working together is a good thing, then,” she assures me.
I start chopping the onions, finding a relaxed rhythm in the familiarity of the motion. I only stop when my eyes begin to sting so bad, a few tears leak through.
“You still got some sun on you from that camp,” Momma says as I dab my eyes with a paper towel.
The mention of camp makes me pause, but I recover quickly and return to chopping. “I know, I’m a few shades darker, even still,” I say, splitting the cucumber lengthwise and cutting smaller and smaller strips to dice.
Momma takes my mixing bowl to add what’s been chopped already to the salad.
“You’re beautiful,” she assures me. “Blessed for doing God’s work. I love that for you.”
“Thank you, Momma.” Her compliment doesn’t quite land. My chest pinches with something close to embarrassment… maybe shame…
I think back to what Yasmin said about me not being a real Christian. I wonder if Momma would feel as proud if she knew the rest of what happened over the summer… if she knew the truth about who I am now.
“You could hear the cicadas chirping at night the way you hear them out here,” I say, rushing to pivot.
“Probably because there are people around all the way down there,” she muses. “But I do love that raucous sound.”
“Raucous,” I say, adding flare to my tone.
“What, I ain’t never teach you any big words?” she asks, laughing, taking her turn to blush a little.
“You did, Momma, it’s just been a while since I heardthatone. And, I don’t know, I guess I hadn’t really thought of it that way.”
“Mmmm,” she hums, prompting me to go on.
“I thought of it more like a song, starting off low and rhythmic until it’s all around you. In every tree, in every leaf. The woods would vibrate—”
“Sounds like God at work,” she says, quirking a brow. “Sounds like the spirit was following you, singing to you.”
I highly doubt that. But I see the peace it brings her, thinking of me like that, like God is around me like a second skin—keeping me safe.
And what if Hewasthere? Walking with me, blessing me with the experience of falling in love, to know earthly love after spending all my life being taught about God’s love?
“Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful,” Dad sings, rubbing his hands together as he looks over the set table with food arranged up and down the center, his eternally blessed smile working double time today.
“Might wanna turn off the grill there, champ, before you burn the whole house down,” Uncle David teases.
Dad slouches his shoulders, his face going slack, and then, mimicking his brother’s tone, he says, “Might wanna turn the grill off there, champ,” making the whole table laugh.
“I see your impersonations haven’t gotten old,” Uncle David points out ruefully.
“I’m not the one getting older,” Dad points out, pulling off his apron and draping it over his chair.