Her gaze flicks back and forth as if assessing my response. “It’s a good reason?”
“Very.”
“Are you going to sit with him at church?”
“I think Jackie would have a heart attack.”
She snorts. “Or Dad would.”
By agreement, we lean backward onto all my throw pillows. “What are you going to do?” I ask.
“I don’t know. What areyougoing to do?”
“I don’t know either.”
Fran reaches for my hand and holds it. I squeeze my little sister’s fingers and begin to pray. Because even though the thought of telling Jackie that Jabari is a good friend is a mountain I don’t want to face, it’s nothing compared to the uphill battle Fran has before her. Dad will ice her out, Mom will cry, and Jackie will act righteous. How is she going to do this alone?
She has you.
I release a slow breath as my prayers center me and remind me of Who is in control.
I’ve never taken such care with my appearance when readying for church as I have today. My reflection stares back at me. Thelong black skirt I paired with my pale pink long-sleeved silk shirt is a pretty combination. My blouse is tucked into the waistband to show off my pink belt. The diamond stud earrings are understated but elegant.
I certainly didn’t dress to impress Jabari, there’s no point. But my outfit is a statement that’ll bolster my confidence as I prepare to meet my family drama head-on.
“Val, you ready?” Fran calls.
The sound of Fran’s voice leads me to the kitchen, where she’s leaning against the sink, stuffing her mouth with a cinnamon roll sans icing. My sister is such a weirdo.
“Where did you get that?”
“Bakery down the street,” she muffles around a mouthful, then points to the opposite counter.
Sitting on a blue pottery plate is a decadent roll covered in icing. My nirvana.
“You got me one too?” I breathe.
“Of course. I even had them make it extra sweet.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s not extra sweet. It’s called icing. A cinnamon roll without the icing is just a sad muffin.”
She laughs.
I sit at the eat-in table with a fork and knife and dive in.
“Jackie’s picking us up.”
Our sister does every Sunday, and Dad meets us all at the church. Afterward, we’ll all go out to eat for lunch and talk about how the past week has been. It almost turns into a work meeting, but thankfully Ollie usually steals the show and keeps us from being obsessive about our jobs.
“Are you going to tell her?” I ask.
Fran tilts her head. “I don’t know. I’ve prayed about it and know God will tell me when the timing is right.”
“I did something similar.” I don’t want to take Jackie by surprise when I tell her about my new friendship, but I do need to tell her. We’ll see when God nudges me in that direction.
“Val?”
“Hmm?” I say around my icing-covered mouthful of happiness.
