Never the Bride

  A family nearby romps around, oblivious to whatever trouble there is in the world. They are catching Frisbees, tackling one another to the sand, sunbathing, and swimming. That’s what I want. In case He’s listening and taking notes.

  Blake returns and hands me a chocolate shake. That’s why I like Blake so much. He just knows. He knows that I’ve seen Clay, prepared his dream proposal, and now need chocolate in liquid form.

  I take a long sip. “Ah. Thank you, my hero.”

  “Anytime.” He smiles. It’s a knowing smile from the kind of guy who would take the time to rescue a girl from her perfectly happy ex.

  I recline, sipping my shake, watching the waves, and trying to remember my life with Clay The memories are clustered together into two groups—happy times and horrific times. The happy times seem smaller, even though there were actually more of those. I wade through the pile, remembering roller coaster rides, long walks on the beach, movie nights, Chinese takeout.

  Yet there it is—that one moment. That one moment when I learned Clay was seeing someone else.

  And of all the people who had to tell me, it was Blake. It had crushed me from every side. Not only was my boyfriend cheating on me, but the guy that I most wanted to notice I was desirable had to break the news to me that I wasn’t.

  I remember the first time I saw Gwyne. I was across town at the Super Target, delighting in the clearance bins, when I saw Clay walk by. I nearly fell over the merchandise.

  But he wasn’t alone.

  He walked up to her as she was surveying the large line of size-small spandex. And not the capri length either. I watched from the kitty litter aisle as he poked her in the ribs and then said she’d look good in the baby blue one.

  I couldn’t take it anymore and wandered to the light bulb section, which at the time, I won’t lie, seemed very dark. I ended up on the candy aisle with a basketful of chocolate—and an hour later the left side of my face was blown up like a balloon animal.

  I take a long gulp of the shake and then say to Blake, “Was there ever a generation that had to live without chocolate?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t spend time pondering such atrocities.”

  “Yeah.” I sip some more. “I wouldn’t need chocolate at all if Somebody up there would just do what I ask.” I stare at the sky. It’s blue and bright and expressionless. Not even a cloud floats by.

  I am about to take another sip when I notice Blake staring at me.

  “What?”

  “Who are you talking to?”

  I go back to looking at the sky. “What? You don’t talk to God?”

  “Not usually and not at the beach or in the middle of a conversation. Plus, I’m not totally sure about this, but if I remember the Bible stories correctly, God’s usually the One handing out orders.” He watches a long, lanky redhead in a pink bikini pass by.

  “Oh, He’s good at that, believe me.” I watch the redhead also—to guess at what he sees in her. Over me. “But He’s a good listener too. That’s what I don’t get. He’s got the world at His fingertips, literally, and I have only the best ideas for how my life should go. So why doesn’t He just, you know, do His thing, make it happen. Huh?”

  Blake wiggles the cup I’m holding. “Drink more chocolate-though I think I’m about ready to introduce you to something a little stronger.”

  I give him the thumbs-up but don’t follow his suggestion. “My ideas don’t include planning the marriage proposal of my ex to the girl he cheated on me with.” I gesture toward the sky and add loudly, “And if you ask me, it’s a little more than cruel! I’m even blogging now.”

  Blake looks at me. “You are? I thought you hated blogs.”

  “I do.” I prop myself up on my elbows. “It’s a little therapeutic. It’s totally anonymous. It’s okay, I guess.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Blake says. “You’re mad at God, so you took up blogging?”

  And then I see two feet. Standing right at my head. I look up and there He is, like an umbrella shading me from the sun; I feel the relief from the sun but can see no shadow. Nice. He’s dressed in casual khakis and a Hawaiian shirt, which makes me laugh out loud—until I spot the purple pen in His pocket. He crouches down next to me.

  “Hi,” God says.

  If I say anything to God, I’m going to look weird—which I am, but Blake doesn’t need to know that. I sit up and face the water. “God needs to start writing me some new material. That’s all I’m saying.” I slurp my shake until it’s dried up.

  “And that’s all you should be saying because you’re kind of talking weird,” Blake says.

  “Am I?” I answer Blake with a question for God. “Because it sounds extremely reasonable to me.”

  “That’s it. More chocolate for you.” Blake hops up.

  “Extra chocolate, please.”

  “Yeah, no kidding.” Blake jogs on the sand toward the canteen.

  I quickly turn to God. “Do You need something?”

  “Just a little bit of attention.”

  “Any particular reason? Because I’m really enjoying a nice time at the beach with the perfect man whom I’m hoping You think is suited for me.”

  God sits down where Blake had been sitting. “I like spending time with you.”

  This causes me to pause. Takes my breath away, actually. I drop my straw. “You do?”

  “Yeah? Who knew?” He laughs.

  I don’t laugh, because honestly, it just seems like His timing is always off—and on purpose, if you know what I mean. When I expect Him to show up, when I need Him to, He’s nowhere to be seen. But when I’m perfectly happy, sipping chocolate through a straw and playing hooky with Blake, He blows in like a sandstorm. I gather my knees to my chest and stare at the water. “Well. We gotta talk about Your sense of timing. Don’t take this wrong, but You are not the One whose company I want right now.”

  “Oh. Okay.” He stands, suddenly. I sense disappointment in His voice, and I watch Him walk away from me, down the beach.

  “Are You ever going to write him into my story?” I call after Him. “Just throwing it out there!”

  He doesn’t even slow down, just keeps walking, His hands in His pockets and His shirt fluttering in the breeze.

  I jump up and chase after Him, and before I can stop myself, I’ve jumped onto His back. We topple into the sand.

  “Gimme the pen!” I grab at the pocket on His shirt, but He plucks the pen out and holds it above His head. I push Him to His side and make a grab for it, but before I know it, I’m on my back with palm-tree-printed fabric batting at my face.

  “I just want to borrow it for a few minutes. Come on.”

  He smiles and dangles it just out of my reach.

  “If You don’t, I’ll torture You by singing.”

  That gives Him a good laugh. “Yes, I’ve heard you in the shower. Not pretty. But in case you haven’t heard, I do love when people sing. To Me.”

  “Yes, well, thanks for the degree of tone deafness You gave me.” I chuckle. I try to snatch the pen from Him, and He bolts. I chase after Him. “Give me that pen!”

  I dig into the sand, trying to get a better position, and then I start laughing, like there’s a feather tickling my chin. Or maybe it’s that I must look completely ridiculous running around in the sand all by myself. I drop my arms and catch my breath. He stops running and turns, walking back to me with a big grin on His face.

  With my hands on my knees I say, “When You said, ‘Let there be man,’ did it not occur to You to add, ‘Let there be man for Jessie’?”

  God laughs. He likes my jokes. That’s kind of mind blowing, considering hardly anyone thinks I’m funny except Malia and Blake.

  God dangles the pen just out of reach again and says, “Face it. I’m more powerful than you.”

  That’s the understatement of the year. Yet, oddly, it hits me right in the chest, like I’d never considered it before. In my world, in my way, I was the powerful one. I stare at the pen as th
e sunlight glints off it.

  He smiles and holds the pen out to me, this time within reach. “But you don’t really want it back, do you?”

  I look at Him and concede with a small smile. I dust the sand off my pants. “Technically, this is all Your fault. And by ‘this’ I mean me.” I gesture toward myself. “The way I am.”

  “Really? Please, do enlighten Me.” He sits in the sand, and I look at my pants for just a second and then sit down next to him.

  I stare into the sky again. “You gave me this great mom.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And then You took her away.”

  He puts my pen in His pocket. “I have watched you lie on your mother’s grave and cry.”

  “For hours.”

  “Yes. For hours.”

  “Before she died, she started these savings accounts for Brooklyn and me. For our weddings.”

  God chuckles affectionately. “She is such a romantic, just like you.”

  “She’s had me thinking about my wedding, my dress, my Prince Charming, since I was six. And maybe I thought something magical would happen, You know? Maybe along with that money, she also left a wish for me to find the perfect man. Once she was gone, I thought she was up there directing my path to him.”

  “Instead, it was Me.”

  “Yes, and that’s where things get confusing. I always felt like that’s what Mom wanted for me, to have an incredible wedding, just like she did. And I’m failing her every day that goes by.”

  “It’s not about the day, Jessie. It’s about a lifetime.”

  I turn to look at Him. “With whom? Just tell me that?”

  “No.”

  A shadow moves beside me. “What are you doing?” It’s Blake, standing over me with another shake.

  I fly to my feet. “Um…just having some fun.”

  Blake normally would have a comeback, but instead he’s just standing there holding the shake. “I could see you from the canteen. You were like rolling around in the sand. I thought you were having a seizure. I almost called 911.”

  I try to laugh this off. “You’re being overly dramatic. Can’t a woman roll around in the sand?”

  Blake is still staring at me and it’s getting awkward, so I pull him down and we land in the sand together. There. Now we’re both sandy and he has to shut up about it. My shake has sloshed and there is ice cream sliding down the side of the cup. Blake attempts to wipe it up with his fingers.

  “If I wanted to capture the attention of one of you frustrating men, what do I do, oh wise one?”

  “That’s My name.” I glance behind me. God’s still there, sitting a few feet away. I smile, but right now I have to ignore Him. Blake is already suspicious.

  “So? How do I capture a man’s attention?”

  “Is that why you were rolling and running around in the sand by yourself? A whole beach full of people noticed.”

  “Funny. I’m being serious.”

  Blake sighs. “I don’t know. I mean, get creative.” He hands me the shake, all cleaned up now.

  “I’m an examples kind of girl. What’s the most creative way a woman has ever tried to get your attention?”

  God puts His mouth right next to my ear and says, “And what do you need this information for?” I keep my back to Him.

  Blake is thinking, then he shrugs. “I can’t say that a woman has done anything creative to get my attention.”

  “We have failed you as a gender?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, the very idea that a woman is trying to get my attention makes me wonder. It’s sort of like I should be getting hers, you know? If she’s all into me already, there’s nothing that fun for me to do.”

  “You have failed us as a gender.”

  Blake smiles. “I know. Sounds shallow. But you asked. Generating mystery is always a plus.”

  “What, like a secret admirer?”

  “It’s a start.”

  “Are we twelve?”

  He thumps me across the shoulder and bolts. I jump up and chase after the turkey. Yes, he’s twelve. I look back. God is sitting in the sand. He’s watching the waves now. I want to go back, but…

  “Come on, Turtle!” Blake is running backward, a puckish expression beckoning me. I chase after him and don’t look back.

  fourteen

  I make it home way after dark and begin to scarf down Chinese takeout. Brooklyn somehow has the energy to go out after work, and I resist giving her a lecture. She’s not little anymore, but I see her that way. I still remember when she couldn’t button her pants or tie her shoes or reach the cereal bowls in the cabinet.

  “Hey um, God, maybe You could watch over her tonight. Make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid, or hook up with Stupid, if you know what I mean.”

  Silence. He’s not around. I don’t feel Him near. I wonder if He’s still at the beach, sitting in the sand.

  The rest of the workday went well. Brooklyn and I did some preliminary planning for Clay’s proposal. It didn’t seem to sting as much after I spent some time with Blake and drank two chocolate shakes.

  I slurp my lo mein and wonder what reason God could have for not hooking me up with Blake. I mean, I know I’m not God and can’t see all things, but sometimes there are things that feel so natural and so right. As humans, how do we know that they aren’t? What do we have other than our instincts?

  Exhaustion keeps me from pondering deeper. I trudge up the stairs and throw on a T-shirt. I wash my face, brush my teeth, rinse with Act, take my vitamins, and floss. The bed calls me, but so does my laptop, glowing in the dark room. I decide to do a short blog about mystique. So far I’ve blogged about the Art of Wooing, Proposals Done Right, and What Men Need to Know About Women. I don’t understand why God wants me to blog. Maybe it’s to let off some steam, though if I blog about what’s going on with me and God these days, I’m certain to lose readers. Oh yeah. I don’t have any.

  But wait. I lean toward the screen, peering through the darkness. There’s a comment left! By…JessieFan? I have a fan? The subject line reads, THANKS FOR JESSIE’S CORNER.

  Jessie, I appreciate everything you’ve written to help us clueless guys know how to relate to women. I hope one day soon I’ll get to involve you in a proposal to a special girl. Please keep posting. How does a man win a girl’s heart? J.F.

  I lean back in my chair, cross my arms, and smile. JessieFan. That’s secret admirer—ish.

  The sound of an out-of-tune piano indicates I have an IM. Probably Blake.

  Nope. Turns out it’s God. At least that’s what His screen name reads. Very well could be a cute guy who knows it, flaunts it, and thinks he is…but under the circumstances, I’m betting it’s the real deal.

  GET TO THE GLORY WEDDING CHAPEL AT 1 P.M.

  “Huh?” Like the screen can hear me. But God can, so I say it again. Louder. “Huh?”

  No answer, but another IM pops up.

  TAKE THE RED TILE DISTRICT TROLLEY.

  “That’s not what the ‘huh’ was for,” I say loudly. Sometimes I think He has a hearing problem. “I’m a little more worried about this wedding chapel thing. I mean, don’t You think I should meet the guy first? Sure, I know whoever You pick is going to be the perfect guy for me, but it’s a little awkward to just show up and get married. Plus I don’t have a dress, and I—” I stop blabbering and take a breath. Okay, I’m getting way ahead of myself. I should just show up, do what He says.

  Obey.

  Yeah. For once. I think He would appreciate that.

  I shut down the computer and crawl into bed, first tucking in all the covers and smoothing out the wrinkles. I set my alarm, then swing my legs under the sheets, sinking into my feather pillow. It feels good to get off my feet.

  “Hey.” Brooklyn’s in the doorway.

  “Hey.”

  Through the darkness, she walks toward the bed. She kicks off her shoes, and the next thing I know she’s crawled into bed with me, punching her feet to untuck the covers at the end
. “I’m exhausted.”

  “Me too. Why are you back so early?”

  “I dunno. Just wasn’t that fun tonight. I mean the gang was there and everything. Thankfully Gary was nowhere to be seen. But it just got old after a while.”

  I smile into the darkness. “Probably best,” I say. “We’ve got a long week. I’ve been working a little on Clay’s deal. I think we’ll have some—”

  Snoring.

  I take her hand in mine, like I used to when she was little, and I settle into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  It’s like I am tapped on the shoulder by dread. I sit straight up in bed, and the first clue that something is wrong comes with how the light enters my room…from up high. It is sort of blinding, and I shield my eyes as they water.

  I barely see the alarm clock through the tears. But I notice something immediately. The dot is gone.

  The a.m. dot.

  “What time is it?” I shriek as I rub my eyes frantically, trying to clear them. But Brooklyn isn’t in bed. My heart sinks. If she’s already out of bed, how late is it?

  Brooklyn comes around the corner, brushing her teeth and grinning through the foam. “Lazy head.”

  “What time is it?”

  She spits and returns. “After noon. I beat you up. ’Course I went to bed before the moon came out, so that probably explains it. But I feel so—What’s the matter?”

  I grab the alarm clock. “Is it 1 p.m.? Is it? Is it one?”

  “Don’t have a cow. You don’t turn into a pumpkin if the clock strikes twelve. Maybe sleeping in did you some good.”

  I jump out of bed and scramble to my closet. “What time is it, Brooklyn? Exactly. The exact time.”

  “You just looked at the clock.”

  “I set it fast. Often. It gets a little out of control sometimes.”

  “It’s twelve-thirty.”

  “No. No! I have no time to get ready!”

  “For what?”