Perfectly Ridiculous (21 page)

 19 

“You look different,” I tell Claire when she arrives back at the suite.

“I feel different. I feel as though I found my purpose here. I love kids. Did you know that?” she asks me.

I shake my head.

“I didn't know it either, but I do. I love them. I love their honesty and their raw ability to love and seek the connection they desire. It's the first time I've felt alive in years.”

“So what does that mean?”

“It means I'm not coming back home with you. You'll be off at college, as will all our friends, and that's just not for me. At least not yet. I'm going to stay here and learn the ropes from Libby. Then I'll see where God leads me.” Claire cinches the taffeta belt on her electric-blue frock.

“It's very Kate Middleton.”

“I can't believe your mother picked it out.”

“I think she had help. She didn't grow taste overnight.” I smack my forehead. Why can't I think sweet thoughts like my mother does? Shouldn't it be genetic or something?

“Yours is very elegant,” Claire tells me.

I twirl in the full-length mirror in the bathroom and watch the fabric ebb and flow in the air. My dress is pale pink with tiny rhinestones lining the skirt's hem, so when I turn, it floats like a cloud behind me. “This whole day feels like a dream, as though it can't be happening.”

“A lot more of these dreams might happen if you weren't so annoyingly rigid about planning every second.”

“Thanks.”

“Max will be here soon. He said that the dances here are much more social, much less romantic and one-on-one. Think you can handle that?” Claire asks.

“For once, I think I can. Where has my undying devotion to a guy ever gotten me?”

“Let's see, the principal's office, the police station, and Buenos Aires.”

“From now on, I'm devoted to life with one man.” I point up to the ceiling. “Anyone else is going to have to tirelessly apply for my devotion and wait on his answer.”

“I hope that's true.”

“Me too,” I tell her honestly. Claire has made my eyes up like a cat with navy sparkle eyeliner and fake eyelashes. I'm not certain what my mother will think, but I feel like a cow with these extensive lashes, as if my eyes are headlights one cannot miss.

There's a knock at the door, and Claire and I look at one another. “Think this will be anything like prom?” Claire asks.

We both giggle.

“No, I think it will be better,” I say. “A thousand times better.”

“At least,” Claire agrees.

As we open the bathroom door and enter the salon, J.C. is resting on the sofa with his leg straightened on the coffee table. He looks like a million bucks cleaned up, and he wobbles to a standing position at the sight of us. “You two look incredible! Who would have thought you could look anything like this?”

“Is that a compliment?” Claire asks him.

“It is, actually. Your camping selves were hiding all this.”

“I'll get the door,” my mother sings as she bursts through the room, but she halts at us. “Look at you two. Don't you look beautiful! Beautiful!”

My father claps, and I can't help but roll my eyes.

“Don't do that. They'll get stuck that way,” my mother says. “Honey, get the camera so we can get pictures.”

My dad grumbles but produces a camera within moments. As I open the door, Max is immediately blinded by a flash. “Wow, hi.” He feels out in front of him. “Are my dates here? I'm too blinded to see.” Max has two corsages in clear plastic boxes.

“They're here,” J.C. answers. “But you only get one of them. I may be crippled, but I intend to dance Argentine style.” He makes some awkward movement and we all burst into laughter.

“I'll explain to my friends that that's a dance move and not an epileptic fit,” Max says. “One for you.” He hands me the corsage, a mixture of pink roses and baby's breath. “And one for you,” he says to Claire.

We slide them onto our wrists, and I feel as if this makes up for all the dark days of high school, all the times I didn't fit in and it felt like no one cared. Today I am in my best store-bought dress. I am wearing strappy, silver kitten heels, and my hair is pinned up in a lovely rhinestone crown that matches the skirt of my dress. I feel like a true princess, a daughter of the King, and I'm so grateful that tonight is a surprise. I didn't have time to set my expectations too high, so I can only be impressed.

After we pose for what seems like an entire yearbook's worth of pictures, the four of us head downstairs to the waiting limousine. “After you,” Max says, holding out his arm. He helps me into the limo, then takes Claire's hand and does the same thing. Finally, he assists J.C. in, and we're all mesmerized by the lights lining the inside of the vehicle and awed by the gadgets in the vast backseat.

My father is still behind us snapping pictures when we enter the car, as if we're stars trying to break free from the paparazzi. When the door shuts, I breathe a sigh of relief.

When we arrive at the church, there are small lights strewn all around the entrance like we're about to enter a magical fairy tale. American music blares from within the small, quaint building, and teens dressed in their best gowns and suits dance away to the beat of the song.

“It looks like the party has already started!” I yell at Max over the music.

“It's not every day we get a party thrown for us like this. Look at the spread of food over there.” Max points to the corner where a row of tables is set up and covered in red tablecloths. The food tables are manned by several caterers, and the smell of barbecued steak fills the air. I breathe in deeply and try to take in the entire picture, which is more than I ever could have imagined for prom back home.

Swaths of fabric are elegantly draped from the ceiling. Tiny, sparkling lights hang in a magical canopy, and my senses are alive with all the brightly colored gowns, the suit-clad guys, and the mixture of delicious scents from cologne to grilled shrimp. I hardly know where to look first, but the thumping beat from a CeLo song gives way to a slow tune. Ironically, the song's name is “Marry Me.”

“Is it safe to dance this song with you?” I ask Max.

“Scout's honor. I'm not marrying anyone until I'm done with divinity school and have a parsonage of my own.”

“Fair enough.” I take his hand and he holds me close as we enter the crowded dance floor. “Your church sure puts on a spectacular dance.”

“Your parents did this.”

I stop dancing. “My parents did what?”

“Arranged for this dance. It's Sunday night, and we don't usually have dances on Sunday night. And we never have the kind of food you'd find in a tourist restaurant.”

“Why would my parents do this?”

Max starts to sway to the music again, and though we're arm's length apart now, I feel pulled into the rhythm. “Because they wanted to show you grace. They felt maybe you'd learned all about God's rules, but not as much about his grace. Did you notice the theme of the dance when we came in? ‘Grace Covers All.' It was your mom's idea.”

“Apparently, her company really did get bought.” I stare over at J.C., who is hobbling around the dance floor with Claire, and I'm struck by the grace I've received thus far from my parents. From Claire. From Max. From J.C. So why do I always look to the people who don't extend it to me, like Libby? Why do I dwell on the negative and look for places God isn't, instead of where he is?

“Do you mind if we get something to eat?” I ask.

“Not at all.”

I scan the scene in front of me and can hardly believe my parents had anything to do with this, much less pulled it off in what had to be a very short time. Unconditional love is incredible. I don't think I've ever felt so enveloped in warmth and the grace of others. Maybe it's been my attitude the entire time. Maybe if I'd been less concerned with doing things my way and getting away from my parents' way of life, I might have seen the wonderful aspects of their spiritual gifts all along.

“My parents really are incredible,” I say as Max hands me a plate for the buffet. “Did you know they arranged for J.C. to fly home with us so he could get help if he needed it?”

“I know they're very unselfish people, and they always put your interests first.”

“Are you trying to make me feel guilty?”

“Heck, no. I'm trying to make you see where you get it from.”

I put my plate back down. “I'm not so hungry after all.”

Max sweeps me back onto the dance floor, and we tango, slow dance, salsa, and everything in between (though I think no professional would call any of the dances I did by their professional name) until the lights dim to announce a break for the DJ.

“This vacation has been nothing like I expected, and yet everything I needed.”

“That's how God works.”

We find a round table and sit beside J.C. and Claire, who are both sampling food like they haven't been fed in the last two weeks. I think about all the years I was so jealous over Claire and her parents, only to see her give it all up for a fraction of the acceptance my parents have shown me.

“We're going to be apart for the first time.” I grasp her hand.

“But we'll both be where we belong, and you know what I'm thinking anyway. Do you really need to hear it from me?”

I laugh. “Probably not.” I rest my head on Max's shoulder, then switch to the other side and rest it on J.C.'s shoulder. “I'm so grateful for you all!” I shout this just as the last song ends, and Claire looks right at me and bursts into a fit of laughter over my obvious lack of the cool factor.

For once in my life, I don't feel like I need a boyfriend. I feel like my life is pretty good, and romance, when it's time, will come. For now I'm just happy to be in the present. To bask in the day God has made for me and to practice letting him take the reins.

He's made my life perfectly ridiculous. Having really good friends to laugh with through the absurdity is just icing on the cake. And I for one wouldn't have it any other way.

Thank you to my wonderful team at Revell. Lonnie Hull DuPont, you make writing feel like such a dream when I get to editing. Thank you so much for all of your efforts, kind words, and corrections. Donna Hausler, thank you for handling all those details! Janelle Mahlmann, thank you for keeping me on track and providing all those great marketing materials that make my job so much easier. Karen Steele, Jessica English, and Sheila Ingram, thank you for making this book come together and for getting the word out!

Kristin Billerbeck
is the bestselling author of several novels, including
What a Girl Wants
and
Perfectly Dateless
. A Christy Award finalist and two-time winner of the American Christian Fiction Writers' Book of the Year, Kristin has appeared on the
Today Show
and has been featured in the
New York Times
. She lives with her family in Northern California.

Perfectly Dateless

Perfectly Invisible

Perfectly Ridiculous

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