She laughs and dishes me a hefty serving of some kind of soup and sits in the other chair.
“He really made you work for it, huh?” I ask her.
“What?”
“Your ex.”
“What makes you say that?”
“You made this big meal just to ask me for a favor so small it’s barely even a favor.”
She looks down and shrugs, like she hadn’t even realized how bad it really was.
“I’m glad you left,” I say.
She picks up her fork and squeezes it between her fingers, letting out a steady “yeah.”
I reach my hand out. My mind is hesitating but my body doesn’t care. She looks at it for a moment before it clicks, and then puts her hand in mine.
“Dear God, thank you for this day, a great end to the season, and easy clients to work with this year. Thank you for bringing Karissa here so she can feel safe and the baby can be safe. And thank you for blessing her with a seemingly very good ability to cook. In Your name we pray, amen.”
“Seemingly?” She smiles, bright, happy.
“Well, I didn’t taste it yet. It smells good, though.”
“Gee, thanks.” She laughs, cutting into the bread.
“It all looks really good,” I say, watching the first slice fall onto the cutting board as she starts another. It smells like a bakery in here.
I grab the end and take a bite. “Mm-hmm…nothingseeminglyabout that,” I say as I chew. She smiles more and butters herself a slice.
“I don’t really understand,” she says after we fill our plates with the tossed salad.
“Understand what?”
“Praying.”
“Explain?”
“Like, if God knows everything already, and your life is already planned out and stuff, what’s the point? Like, if I ask him to keep me and the baby safe during delivery, but it’s already decided whether or not one of us dies during childbirth or whatever, what’s the point in asking?”
I blank. While I sorta understand what she’s saying, I still have no idea how to explain it.
“I’m not a preacher,” I admit. “I don’t know all the right words. But prayer isn’t about changing the outcome. I think it’s about trust, not control. Like…even if it’s already decided, it still matters who you’re leaning on while you wait.”
She doesn’t say anything, so I go on.
“I pray ’cause I’d rather bring it to God than carry it by myself. Doesn’t mean I get everything I ask for. But I still do it.”
She’s quiet for a long second. “So it’s more about…peace?”
I nod once. “Yeah. And the relationship. He wants you to talk to Him.”
Another beat passes. Then her voice comes out small. “Okay.”
Just…“okay.” She doesn’t sound defensive, just maybe a little less confused than before.
We eat, not talking much about anything major or life-altering. I tell her she’s a good cook, though. That the food’s great. That makes her smile.
