A gasp. “No way, that’s hilarious!”
“Other than that, sis, there aren’t any headlines. But quickly, tell me about you! Besides sweating it out with the zoo.”
“There’s not much to tell. I’m working, occasionally making a splash at the beach, and just hanging out at home.”
I narrow my eyes, even though she can’t see it. “Really? Just occasionally?” I say with dripping sarcasm. My sister basically has a different skin tone to me at this stage.
“Yes, just occasionally. Like twice a week. Or four times. Whatever.”
I chuckle. “That sounds more like it. How’s college going?”
“Uninspiring. That’s why I needed your updates! Give me a taste of that European drama!”
“I think you’ve been watching too manynovelas, sis,” I chuckle. Too many soap operas for her. “Maybe you can come and join me for a month or two out here next year.”
“That would be so fun! We’ll see.” A noise cuts through the background. “Sis, I’ve gotta go. The parrot’s squawking—Mom’s probably home.”
“I can’t wait to meet this parrot,” I say, and I mean it. Mom’s zest for life is contagious. Animals, plants—she collects them all. One summer she even sold plants to neighbors and restaurants. It was totally random, and totally her.
“I’m sure she’ll have it trained to say something outrageous by the time you’re back.”
“I’m ready for it,” I laugh. “Tell mom I’ll call again soon. Love you, sis.”
“Love you!”
Click.
I hang up and move past the concrete walls covered in wallpaper towards my room. Everywhere in this chalet screams luxury. I pass by the gilded mirror in the hallway and pause. My wild curls are just as voluminous as always—humidity does that to them—and a little rose tinting my cheeks from the laughter and snow outside. It might look like I’m living the dream, and there certainly is a big element to that. This adventure in itself is an absolute dream I don’t take for granted. But some days it feels quiet. Too quiet. I miss the sound of mom’s laughter and even the smell of the farm. It’s odd, that—manure on normal days would make my nose scrunch up—but now? It just reminds me of home. There’s so much beauty here in Europe, but it doesn’t feel likehomejust yet.
I make it to my bedroom. The desk calls to me, quiet and steady. The sunlight streams in through the window, highlighting the exact spot I’m heading for. I take a seat as I pull out my pen and some paper to write a letter to my parents. But, for a second, I think back to the conversation about my list.Thelist. I have it safely tucked away in the drawer, back in Belgium, but I’ve memorized it like the back of my hand.
I’m not desperate. I know what I want in a man. I know what’s important to me.
Some people don’t think God picks out one person for you—and that’s fine. But for me? If I trust God with everything, why would I not trust Him to pick out my future husband for me? He knows me better than I know myself and knows who would fit me best. When I meet the one who fits this list… I’ll know. Without a shadow of a doubt that it’ll be no coincidence. It’ll be God.
Someday, I’ll have a love that God orchestrated. And I’ll wait for it.
Because when the time comes, God’s version of my story? It’ll be nothing short of breathtaking.
3
Nate
It’s Sunday. Church day. It feels good to be here. It’s been a few weeks since the divorce. And the ache doesn’t ease just because it’s Sunday. But this—church, worship, the kids beside me—this is the one hour a week that feels close to wholeness. Sunlight pours in through the windows up high. It makes this large room feel brighter. It’s not a typical ‘church’ setting. It’s more like a room big enough for a small conference or event, set up for church. Bea sits next to me, doodling on the church bulletin, while Daniel swings his legs and hums to the song that’s playing during the offering moment.
I quickly glance over to Bea, sitting next to me. Her scowls today keep prodding at my tendency to overthink.
Is she upset that she’s not staying overnight tonight? What could she be thinking about?
I hook an arm around her and she moves closer to me. A breath whooshes out of me and I breathe a little easier. I’m definitely overthinking. It feels like that’s all I do these days,especially with the kids. Always overanalyzing, always second-guessing.
The service has just wrapped up, and the kids start to play nearby, when the woman next to me grabs my arm.
“Nate, I just thought I’d check in on you. How are you doing?”
Flavia. A woman that regularly comes to this church. Is it just me or was that grip on my bicep a little too… flirty? Something about her tone and body language gives that sort of vibe.
“I’m doing good, thanks Flavia. How are you?” I answer nonchalantly.
