Immaculate (20 page)

I settled onto the sofa with a pillow behind me, propping my feet up on the coffee table. Pastor Lewis and my dad sat on the love seat directly across from me, while Gracie and my mom hovered for a minute before deciding to join me on the couch.

I had known Pastor L for my entire life, and I'd never seen him look nearly as uncomfortable as he did right then. He was always so calm and composed, as if he had all the secrets of the world just waiting for you behind his bright twinkling eyes. But he looked very uncertain and very out of place in our living room, picking at the white clerical collar around his neck like it had suddenly become a few sizes too small. I had always loved Pastor L—he was a warm, big-hearted teddy bear of a man who had a hug and a kind word for every person who walked through the church doors. But as I sat there watching him fidget and perspire, thinking about the role he'd played in my life, I realized that a big part of why I had loved him so easily was because he made religion feel simple. He didn't push envelopes, he didn't ask hard questions. He had never made me face my doubts, had never made me even consider that I had any doubts at all.

Hopefully he wouldn't finally start with the hard questions now.

Pastor Lewis coughed, clearing his throat. “It's good to see you, Mina. I've been keeping you in my prayers these last few months. You and the baby, too, of course. I was glad that your family invited me here today, though, so I could ask for myself how you're doing.” He paused, waiting for me to respond.

“I'm doing okay, Pastor L,” I said, forcing my lips into a smile. “Considering the circumstances, anyway.”

“Very good, very good,” he said, knotting his fingers so rapidly that his knuckles made a fierce cracking sound. “Your father tells me, Mina, that . . . How do I say this? The child was conceived in a rather miraculous way. That there's no father. And that this all started with the appearance of a mysterious woman at the pizzeria one night.”

“That's all correct,” I said. “I don't mean any offense to you, Pastor Lewis, but I have nothing to add to that.”

“And I'm not here to disagree with you, Mina,” he said, his voice deeper, more mellow and assuring, like he'd started acclimating to the bizarre surroundings. “I'm here just in case you have any questions, or anything at all you want to talk about. You should know after, what—nearly eighteen years now?—that I'm not a fire-and-brimstone kind of preacher.” He leaned back into the chair, propping one leather loafer against his knee. “I have to admit, even as a Pastor, I'm not the most literal of biblical scholars. Do I believe that God created the entire world in seven days and seven nights? Do I believe that Noah actually loaded up an ark full of animals? That Moses parted the Red Sea?” He cocked one eyebrow dramatically and wriggled his shoulders. “Literally? No, probably not. To be perfectly honest, Mina,” he said, putting a finger to his lips as he leaned in and whispered, “I'm not even sure that I believe in
Hell
.”

I heard my dad gasp next to him, and I pressed my lips together, stifling a laugh.

“But that is a discussion for another day. My point is that faith isn't a rigid book of rules to me. I believe in a compassionate, loving God. And I believe in a compassionate, loving Jesus. I might have a fancy certificate saying that I graduated from seminary school, and I might have this fancy collar around my neck, but I don't have any answers for you today, Mina. I'm as dumbstruck as you are. Faith is one heck of an interesting journey sometimes,” he said, chuckling to himself as he reached out to pat my knee.

“Thank you,” I started, grinning at him in relief. “I was a little—”

“Pastor,” my dad interrupted, his face flushed as he leaned forward to intrude upon our cozy powwow. “I don't want to speak for you here, but I was hoping you might have a little more insight into what is really going on.”

“And what do you mean by ‘really going on'?” I asked, turning to look at my dad.

“I'm worried,” he said, his blue eyes drilling into mine. “I am scared every second of every day, Mina, worrying about what God is thinking about all this. About how these—these
lies
you're telling—could . . . could change your path forever. Pastor,” he pleaded, tilting his head toward Pastor Lewis, “can you really sit there and not be terrified for my daughter's future?”

“If by ‘future' you mean whether she'll make it to Heaven, then no. I'm not scared,” Pastor Lewis said simply, his voice like a smooth touch, gently nudging my father back toward his seat.

“I'm not sure that I believe in Hell either,” I said, feeling encouraged and emboldened by everything Pastor L had said. It felt good to say the words aloud, as if I was freed from something I had never realized was holding me back before now. “I'm not scared, Dad, and I don't want you to be scared for me either. I just want you to be in my life again.”

“Do you think I don't want that, too, Mina?” he asked, his voice breaking as he buried his face behind his hands. “It's tearing every last piece of me to shreds to ignore you like this. This isn't what fathers do. It's at least certainly not what I do. I've watched you and your mother deal with this for the last few months, and I'm so damn proud of you for fighting through it all, holding your head up high, but I don't understand why you keep hiding behind lies, Mina.”

I couldn't begin to respond, not right away. I closed my eyes first, trying to relax my abdominal muscles and breathe in deeply from my diaphragm, a meditation practice I'd been turning to whenever I felt the stress closing in on me. It seemed so simple, but it was more helpful than I would have ever imagined, giving me the strength and calm I needed to make it through my days at school.
Ten
. I inhaled, exhaled.
Nine
. In, out.
Eight
.

“Mina?” My mom laid her hand on my elbow. “Are you okay, sweetie? Does something hurt?” Gracie leaned in against me, curling up alongside my belly.

“I'm fine, Mom. Just trying to stay calm for the baby's sake.” I took another deep breath in and opened my eyes, locking them on my father's face.

“I can't explain why this is happening, Dad, but it doesn't feel wrong to me. It doesn't feel bad or dirty or freakish. It feels . . . it feels amazing, actually. It feels like it was meant to be for some reason, like this was meant to be my life. And maybe someday I'll understand all of it, or maybe I won't. I don't know. But either way, this is my life now. This is what I've chosen.”

I turned to Pastor Lewis to thank him again, but before I could say anything, I felt a strange tickling in my stomach—like a tiny, fragile butterfly was fluttering its wings for the first time, flapping its way slowly into life. I looked down and grinned, a golden, sunny happiness flooding through my body.

“Did you feel that, Gracie? The baby just kicked!”

“I didn't feel anything!” Gracie squealed, pressing her head more heavily against my stomach. “Do it again! I'll listen harder this time!”

“I don't think it quite works like that, sweet pea. I can't tell the baby what to do. He or she has a mind of their own. But it'll happen a lot more, don't worry.”

I smiled over at my mom and saw that her eyes were wet and shining—she was crying, too, excited, happy tears as she pressed a warm hand next to Gracie's head on my belly. I could see my own grin mirrored on her, no sign of the pursed lips and tight lines that had become such a permanent fixture on her face.

“Congratulations, Mina. I'm glad to see you're doing so well,” Pastor Lewis said, rising from his chair to leave us to our family moment. “You're truly glowing.”

“I know it's hard to believe, given that I've destroyed my social life and I have a whole school filled with people who think I'm crazy . . . but I
am
doing well. I'm happier than I would have thought possible right now.”

From the corner of my eye I saw my dad stand, too, and for a second, for one glorious, shimmering, perfect second, I thought that he was coming over to join all of us. I thought that he was going to accept me and the baby, even if he couldn't accept my story. But he wasn't coming over to me. He wasn't accepting anything.

Instead he simply left the room without another word, his footsteps echoing through the hallway and out through the foyer. The front door banged shut behind him. Pastor Lewis watched him go with a small frown on his face.

He glanced back at me, his eyes creased with a newfound sympathy. “Please call me, Mina, if you ever want to talk more. I'm here for you.”

I nodded, waving as he turned to follow my father out the door.

I wouldn't let him destroy the moment. The memory of that first kick, the feel of their hands on my belly, Gracie's sweet, sticky breath against my face as my mom pulled us all together even closer. This was more family than some people would ever have in their lifetime.

Like my mom had said earlier, my dad had to find his own way back.

All I could do was hope that he somehow found a compass.

• • •

I sat alone on the front porch later that night, curled up on a rocking chair with an old quilt and a mug of hot chocolate. The early November breeze was cool and crisp, laced with the rich, oaky scent of nearby wood smoke and the dizzying sense of imminent change. The leaves were becoming brown and brittle, and those that had already dropped were swirling in circles across the dark lawn. I realized, watching the leaves dance, that I had barely noticed the reds and golds of October, hadn't had even one cup of cider or eaten a single caramel apple. I had dreaded everything about Halloween, convinced that someone, Kyle or one of his clones, wouldn't be able to pass up the opportunity to dress like Mary or Joseph or baby Jesus. I'd stayed home on Halloween as a precaution, and kept the door locked and the lights off while my parents took Gracie out trick-or-treating. Nothing happened, no jocks cross-dressing in a long blue Mary tunic caroling at my doorstep, thank God, but I wouldn't have had the heart to celebrate, anyway. And besides, soon enough my Halloweens would be very different—next year I could be dressing my seven-month-old baby in a fluffy orange jack-o'-lantern costume. It was time to change, along with the season. Time to let go, time to make new traditions.

An owl hooted from high up in a nearby tree, and I shivered, pulling my mug closer to my chest and inhaling the warm sugary vapor. It would be my birthday in a few weeks, and Thanksgiving, then Christmas right around the corner. I couldn't imagine celebrating any holiday without my dad. He would be there, yes, sitting in a chair at the table eating turkey, driving the car to church on Christmas Eve, but he still wouldn't really be
there
. Not in a way that mattered. I set the mug down on the porch rail and squeezed my eyes shut as I rocked back in the chair, willing away the tears that I refused to cry. Not anymore.

A soft knock drummed against the front door behind me, so quiet that I didn't hear it at first over the tapping of my chair.

“Um, yes?” I said, confused. People knocked to come
in
to the house. “Come . . . out?”

The door opened and my dad stepped out onto the front stoop. I tensed, not willing to start another round of the evening's conversation. He'd disappeared for the rest of the night, hadn't even come out of hiding for dinner. “I'm too tired right now, Dad. I don't want to fight with you anymore tonight.”

“I just came out to check on you. It's late, Mina, and cold out. That blanket's not enough. I think you should head back inside.”

“Oh,” I said, too surprised to say more.

“I also came out . . .” He paused, scuffing his slipper back and forth against our worn
WELCOME TO THE DIETRICH
S'
mat. “I came out here to say I'm sorry. About some of the things I said earlier. Pastor Lewis just threw me off, I suppose. I was expecting him to have very different advice from what he gave. But he chased me down after I stomped out of the room like a child, and he said a lot of things that I needed to hear.” He glanced at the empty rocking chair next to me, hesitating for a few seconds before sitting down on the edge of the seat.

“I want to try to be more a part of all this, Mina. Even if I can't agree to believe everything that you're saying, I still want to support you. I'm your dad. I want to start acting like one again.”

“Okay,” I said, nodding in the dark. “I'd like that. A lot. And . . . and I want to apologize, too. I told you that I'd never forgive you when you made me call Nate that day. I wish it hadn't happened quite that way, yeah, but we were both angry. Neither of us could be completely rational. Nate had to find out one way or the other, and it was probably better it happened sooner rather than later. I needed to let him go so that I could start moving on.”

There were a few beats of silence before he spoke. “I appreciate that. But I'm still sorry that it hurt you.” He settled a little farther back into the chair, kicking the runners up as he rocked in a rhythm that seemed to directly oppose my own. I watched his silhouette in the dim porch light, slowing my chair until the pace better matched his beat.

“How are the college applications going?” he asked, his voice still just a little more polite, a little more formal than I was used to.

I grinned to myself in the dark, wondering how long this question had been gnawing away at him. Usually this kind of conversation annoyed me, but now—I felt practically giddy. My dad was harassing me about college applications again. It felt beautifully, fabulously normal. “Just Penn State. Following in your footsteps, of course. The application barely took any time at all, and I figured I would go to the branch campus near us, at least in the beginning, take some English classes and knock out other general requirements. As lovely as it would be to move away, get a fresh start somewhere else, I obviously can't do that. Firstly, I don't need to explain to you that I'm broke and need state tuition, and, secondly, I need to be near Mom and Gracie. And you. I can't do this alone, even if that means I don't get the Ivy League degree I always imagined I would. Dreams change, Dad. They get rewritten so that we can create new dreams instead. I think that's the secret to growing up, right?”