Goodnight to My Thoughts of You

Chapter Five

  The Grove

  Thursday night I purposely arrived at the church at 8:15 p.m. so I wouldn’t appear too anxious. This time he can wait for me, I thought. He wasn’t there. I almost turned around and went home. Instead I waited and waited.

  Then I saw headlights, and a car rolled into the parking lot.

  “Paul!” I waved. He was half an hour late. I took a deep breath, put a mint in my mouth, picked up my purse and my jacket and got out of my car.

  He leaned over and opened the door for me from the inside. I climbed in and settled into the passenger seat of his silver Honda. He looked amazing, just like a tall, lean movie star, and the car smelled like his cologne. He wore a black-collared shirt with a charcoal gray sweater over it, and khaki pants. I had tried to think of what he would want me to wear. After trying on seven different outfits, I went with my green silky shirt and tight, dark jeans. I wanted to look church-sexy, a good balance of attractive and modest clothes. I wore my hair long and straight—the way I always wore it—but I spent extra time making my makeup look perfect.

  “Hey, you look good,” he said. He had me. That was all it took. I no longer needed an apology for his tardiness.

  “Thanks, so do you.”

  We were back to our carefree friendship. We talked and laughed in the car on the way there, getting to know each other just a little bit more. When we arrived at The Grove, I was starving.

  “Are you hungry?” I asked.

  “No, my mom made a big dinner,” he said.

  “Oh. I didn’t have dinner.”

  “Well, let’s go get something to eat.”

  Every restaurant was packed, and I was ravenous. We ended up at a tiny ‘50s diner. French fries—that’s it, that’s all I ordered. I couldn’t eat a whole meal with him watching me.

  I glanced into his eyes while we were talking. They were so bright blue, so mesmerizing. He had a smile on his face.

  “How are you liking those fries?” he asked, brushing his hand over mine.

  “They’re good,” I said, inhaling a piece of potato in my windpipe. I pulled my hand away from his and started to cough. Then I couldn’t eat another bite.

  After he paid for my fries, I was convinced: This is a date. Even though he didn’t pick me up at my house or plan to have dinner together, he drove me here, touched my hand, and paid for my French fries. This is really happening.

  I wanted to show him my entire soul. I wanted to give anything and everything of myself to him. But my feelings were premature. He hadn’t even hugged me; he hadn’t said a thing about how he felt or why we were there that night. But I had to say something. I had to share my feelings with him. But what was concrete enough to share?

  I want to be your wife.

  I couldn’t say it, but the desire was rippling through my body.

  After walking around and visiting a few novelty stores, we sat down at a coffee shop. I didn’t order anything.

  I was going to do it. I had to. I was going to be the first to say something.

  “Can I tell you something?” I asked.

  After finishing his sip of coffee, he set down his cup and looked at me.

  “I want to tell you something that might sound kinda weird,” I said.

  “OK.” He tensed up a little.

  Suddenly, a karaoke singer started belting the song “I Will Always Love You” across the courtyard. His eyes widened.

  “That is the worst rendition of that song I have ever heard,” Paul said, laughing.

  Oh no, he’s trying to change the subject.

  “Um, so, what I want to say is …” It took way too long to choose just the right words.

  “I feel … don’t take this the wrong way. But I feel—somehow—devoted to you.”

  He was quiet for a minute.

  “OK,” he said.

  Come on Paul, please give me a Jane Austen moment and tell me something brilliant.

  “Explain.”

  “OK. I feel like it wasn’t just a coincidence that you came to Mexico. I feel like maybe God had a hand in that.”

  He nodded.

  “I feel like we get along really well. I mean, like, really well.”

  He took another sip, with a half smile.

  “We laugh at the same stuff. And I guess I have a lot of respect for you. I remember when you spoke in church on a Sunday when I was in junior high. You just had this presence. I think I shook your hand afterward, and I just felt like we had a connection, you know?”

  “When was that?”

  “When you told us about your—your testimony.”

  He thought for a moment, trying to remember. Then it clicked. He sat up in his chair. “You were in junior high then? Wow. I feel old.”

  He closed his eyes and then looked down at the table.

  I started to speak again, but a drunk guy singing “Billy Jean” interrupted me.

  Paul put his hand over his eyes and started shaking.

  “Are you OK? I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”

  He took his hand away and burst out laughing. “Can you believe this guy? I think we should sing next. If this guy can get up there and sing, then they should let us have a go, right?”

  I sat there stunned, sort of wanting to cry and laugh at the same time.

  “Have a go? What does that even mean?”

  “Come on, Miriam!”

  We went over, put our names on the list, and started looking through the songs.

  “This one,” he said, pointing to “YMCA.”

  “No way. Let’s do a Disney song.”

  “No freakin’ way,” he said. I hit him on the shoulder, and he seemed to like it.

  “OK, OK, sorry, I forgot that I still have to be a good example. You’re still a student.”

  “I’m almost in college.”

  “Yeah. It’s taking too long for you to get there.”

  “No kidding,” I said, smiling.

  “This song is awesome. Let’s do this one.”

  “ ‘Brown Eyed Girl.’ Van Morrison. I love that song.”

  We wrote down the number for our song and waited for our turn. I got really nervous and started sweating. Great, I thought. Now I’m gonna have wet armpits and B.O.

  We were up next.

  “I can’t do it!” I said, my hands over my face.

  “Yes you can, Miriam.”

  The DJ handed us each our own microphone. The music began. I looked out past the stage and saw that no one was even watching us—I decided to go for it.

  We sounded great together. I looked up from the karaoke screen long enough to see a small crowd of people watching. Some rowdy guys jumping around in the fountain turned to see what was going on.

  When we got to the part about making love, I almost died. I’d forgotten about that part of the song.

  At the end, we heard a light, faraway applause. As we walked off stage, he took my hand and squeezed it, just for a second.

  “We did it,” he said. “We redeemed the ears of The Grove.”

  Suddenly, I remembered that it was a school night.

  “What time is it?”

  Paul looked at his watch.

  “Eleven.”

  “My mom is going to kill me!”

  “Your mom?”

  “I didn’t tell her where I was going.”

  “Will she care?”

  I called home.

  Please don’t be mad, please don’t be mad!

  “Hi Mom.” I tried to sound playful.

  “Where are you?” she hollered. She was determined to be mad.

  “The Grove.”

  “You need to come home right now! You have school tomorrow! Who are you with?”

  “Paul Greer. From church. I’m fine! I’ll be home soon. We’ll leave right now.”

  “Who’s Paul?”

  “I’ll tell you when I get home.”

  “Wow, she was pretty upset,” Paul said. I knew that was a euphemism for hy
sterical.

  “I forgot to tell her about tonight.”

  “I guess I forgot that you still have to check in with your parents,” he said.

  On the drive home, I was really stressed about my next encounter with my mom. But I didn’t want that to ruin my last moments alone with Paul. I tried to act normal and make him feel comfortable.

  “So how is your family doing?” I asked.

  “Great.”

  “That’s so awesome.”

  I waited for a while, and then gently asked, “So how is your sister? She has leukemia, right?”

  “She passed away last year.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. How did I not know?”

  “It’s the strangest thing—I miss my sister but I am so glad she doesn’t have to suffer anymore.”

  I didn’t really know what to say. I had never known anyone who had died before. We sat in silence for the rest of the ride.

  When he dropped me off at my car, I gave him a quick side-hug from the passenger seat. He started to say something and then he hesitated.

  “It was good talking with you,” he said.

  “Yeah. Thanks so much. And I hope—you understand what I was saying at the coffee shop. Sorry if it was out of nowhere.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be thinking about it.”

  “Well, thanks for tonight. Everything. I had a great time.”

  As I drove away from the church, I got the chills. He had touched my hand. Twice. We sang freakin’ karaoke together. I had to tell Bianca. I replayed the night over and over again in my mind. When I got home, my mom and dad were already asleep. I stood in the bathroom with the door closed and whispered to myself in the mirror, trying to see what I looked like when I talked to Paul.

  For the next few days I avoided my mom. Finally, on Saturday morning we were both hanging out in our pajamas, and she was in a good mood.

  “Mom, can I ask your advice about something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Can you stop doing the dishes and just listen?”

  She dried her hands, and we sat down on the family room couch.

  “It’s about a guy. Paul.”

  “Oh?”

  “He is the greatest guy. He is like, amazing. He is so close to God. And I think God is bringing us together. Whatever’s going on, I really think God is doing it.”

  “How long have you known him?”

  “A few years, but we got to know each other well in Mexico.”

  “I’m glad he’s a Christian. But he kept you out late.”

  “Yeah …”

  “Do his parents not care if he is out late?”

  “Well, the thing is—he is kind of older.”

  “Miriam—how old is he?”

  “No, Mom, it’s OK. He is one of the youth leaders at church. He’s going to be a pastor.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Twenty-something.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Twenty-two.” It was a white lie.

  “That’s way too old for you!”

  “I know …”

  “Miriam, I don’t like this.”

  “Well …”

  “What about his parents? What do they think? What about Bob and Kelly?”

  “They don’t know. But I’m sure everything will be fine, I mean we aren’t officially going out or anything. We don’t even hold hands.”

  “Bob needs to know.”

  “No he doesn’t. Mom—God is the center of this. We don’t have to make Bob the center. You know, the reason I wanted to talk to you was because I thought you would support me. Now you are freaking out.”

  “I can’t support you if Paul isn’t honest with the church.”

  “Mom, why try to rush it? Do you trust me that this is from God?”

  “OK. We’ll see if he starts to show some respect. He can start by getting you home at a decent time.”

  Paul called that afternoon.

  “I want to see you again. How about Denny’s? Tonight?”

  “Sure.” Even Denny’s was fine with me, as long as I was with him. “How about the Denny’s in Burbank?” I asked.

  “I was thinking the Denny’s in the Valley. It’s right by my parents’ house.”

  “It’s really far for me, but OK.”

  I was excited. Maybe I would get to meet his parents. I got all dressed up this time. My hair and makeup and jewelry, every detail had to be perfect. Should I use two sprays of perfume? I had it in my mind that I was going to give him a big hug when I saw him. I had not truly hugged him yet.

  We planned to meet at 9 that Saturday night. I arrived at 9:10, positive that he would be there.

  I didn’t see his car, so I sat in my car and waited. Then I walked inside and looked for him. I got back in my car and waited some more. I was brutally disappointed. How could he make me wait for him late at night, alone, in the parking lot of Denny’s? How could he do this to me—again?

  Before I could drive, my friend Lana would let me ride with her from school to ballet class five days a week, and my mom was supposed to pick me up. Every day Mom would be late. Occasionally, she would completely forget. I would wait outside alone, the ballet studio closed for the night. If I could reach my sister Gretchen and convince her to come get me, I was lucky. I developed a loathing for waiting, a rage against whoever abandoned me.

  So Paul had lost this game before he even met me. I couldn’t handle waiting. I kept telling myself, “Any minute. He has to be here soon.” But he never came.

  It was 9:35 p.m. and I was a fool, alone at Denny’s. If he found me waiting there, I would look like a fool even more. So I left. On my way home I passed through the parking lot of the Denny’s in Burbank, just in case, but he wasn’t there either. I went home—completely dejected.

  The next morning I went to church with puffy eyes. I hoped he wouldn’t be there. I didn’t want to see him. What would I say? I thought I might scream. So I decided that I would ignore him if I saw him, and stay proud.

  I didn’t even see him come in. I was standing by myself in the back, and he drew next to me, just out of my periphery. When he spoke, I had to turn to be sure it was Paul. I wanted to run away.

  “No Lenny’s?” he whispered. This was during the youth group service, so we had to be quiet.

  “What?” I whispered back.

  “No Lenny’s?” he said again. I didn’t think it was cute.

  “You never came,” I said, tears welling up in my eyes.

  “You never came,” he insisted.

  I didn’t move an inch. We stood next to each other dumbly.

  After Bob concluded his message, Jeff came over and put his hand on my shoulder.

  “What’s going on, guys?”

  “Not much, man,” Paul said.

  I left.

  Later that day he called my house. “Hi Mimi.”

  “Hey.” I wanted to smile, but I was too upset.

  “You left church pretty quickly today.”

  “Yeah.”

  Silence.

  “I was wondering if you could meet me at Denny’s tonight.”

  Why was he messing with me?

  “No, I don’t think I can. I have homework and school tomorrow.”

  “I want to make up for last night. Have you ever been to Santa Barbara?”

  I perked up. “I love Santa Barbara. My aunt and uncle live there.”

  “There’s this restaurant I want to take you to.”

  “Which one?”

  “You’ll find out. So will you meet me at Denny’s?”

  I hesitated. “Why can’t you just pick me up at my house? My parents want to meet you.”

  “Santa Barbara is in the other direction.”

  “OK. But you’re going to have to tell me what time you’ll be there, ‘cause I’m not waiting for you.”