to simple division and be stalled.”
“Kay!”
“I’m sorry. I know Arin is smart, but she’s missing something in the practical arena and she married Seth. Why does she have to be so mean to him?”
“In her defense, there were days I was mean to him too. For a reason!” Let’s face it, look up exasperating in the dictionary and there’s Seth’s picture.
“No one knows how to have a dinner party because they don’t need to. I’m enabling. Pure and simple.” She puts her gloved fingers to her eyebrow as if the entire thing has given her a headache. “No one brings so much as a hostess gift. You know, I don’t care about a hostess gift, but on what planet is that acceptable, Ashley?”
I stare at her, my mouth dropped open. Since when does Kay care about a hostess gift? All this discontentment is coming from somewhere, and if I don’t figure it out, she’s bound to think Matt Callaway is the answer to all of her problems. I can pretty much guarantee that he’s not an answer. Unless the question is, Who does Kay not need in her life?
“I agree, Kay. They should know better,” I say absently as my thoughts return to Arin. In actuality, Arin has an Ivy League education. That doesn’t mean she’s fit for homeschooling, but it’s still worth mentioning. She’s not nearly as dumb as I’d like her to be, but watching her with Toby, it shows me that she’d be perfectly happy to put her kids in an American school on a foreign mission field.
Kay picks up the soapy sponge. “I don’t know. My patience just ran out, I guess.”
“I can see that. It’s unnerving, but you can’t blame God for the way His people act, and you certainly can’t marry Matt because there are no great candidates in the Reasons. Why don’t you try another church?”
“I love Matt.” She tosses the sponge into the sink and glares at me.
Why?
“This may be my last shot to be a mother.”
There it is. Her true fear. The driving force that makes Matt Callaway appear as acceptable husband material.
Kay squints. “Walgreens is open late. Go get yourself some hair dye. You’re not going home.”
“I brought you something,” I say sheepishly. “A hostess gift for you—even though I didn’t actually think I’d be staying here. I knew you’d have at least one dinner party. It’s who you are, and I appreciate it.”
She shakes her head. “Not anymore. It’s not who I am anymore. When I have Matt’s clients here for dinner, it’s different. I don’t feel like I’m babysitting.”
“You’re entertaining Matt’s clients?” That sick feeling permeates the rest of my body and I wish I could see some glimmer of likeability in him – just for Kay’s sake.
“Yes…and don’t make that face. Did it ever occur to you that I deserve to be loved, too?”
“It always occurred to me. I just want to be sure Matt’s the one. Before you make up your mind, can I show you something?”
“He’s the one. I have made up my mind,” she answers firmly.
“What if I had evidence that proved he wasn’t the one?”
“You don’t,” she says flatly.
My chin drops. “Let me go get your hostess gift.”
I stride into the bedroom, determined that I’m going to pick up the wayward orange undies and ask if they’re hers. But when I get there, I pause at the sound of Matt’s voice and can’t bring myself to grab them. My gift, a bottle of black truffle oil, isn’t enough to make her stop thinking of Matt Callaway as husband material – and worse, neither might a pair of orange undies. I quietly shut the guestroom door and start to pray.
Chapter 8
‡
W hen I wake up, the first thing I notice on Kay’s pristine white pillow is that my hair is still neon. Truthfully, in Silicon Valley, no one will notice. They’re so imbedded in their smart phones, I could dance naked on the streets and no one would raise an eyebrow. When I shower, the tinge of orange puddles in the water around my feet, and I’m reminded
“Kay!”
“I’m sorry. I know Arin is smart, but she’s missing something in the practical arena and she married Seth. Why does she have to be so mean to him?”
“In her defense, there were days I was mean to him too. For a reason!” Let’s face it, look up exasperating in the dictionary and there’s Seth’s picture.
“No one knows how to have a dinner party because they don’t need to. I’m enabling. Pure and simple.” She puts her gloved fingers to her eyebrow as if the entire thing has given her a headache. “No one brings so much as a hostess gift. You know, I don’t care about a hostess gift, but on what planet is that acceptable, Ashley?”
I stare at her, my mouth dropped open. Since when does Kay care about a hostess gift? All this discontentment is coming from somewhere, and if I don’t figure it out, she’s bound to think Matt Callaway is the answer to all of her problems. I can pretty much guarantee that he’s not an answer. Unless the question is, Who does Kay not need in her life?
“I agree, Kay. They should know better,” I say absently as my thoughts return to Arin. In actuality, Arin has an Ivy League education. That doesn’t mean she’s fit for homeschooling, but it’s still worth mentioning. She’s not nearly as dumb as I’d like her to be, but watching her with Toby, it shows me that she’d be perfectly happy to put her kids in an American school on a foreign mission field.
Kay picks up the soapy sponge. “I don’t know. My patience just ran out, I guess.”
“I can see that. It’s unnerving, but you can’t blame God for the way His people act, and you certainly can’t marry Matt because there are no great candidates in the Reasons. Why don’t you try another church?”
“I love Matt.” She tosses the sponge into the sink and glares at me.
Why?
“This may be my last shot to be a mother.”
There it is. Her true fear. The driving force that makes Matt Callaway appear as acceptable husband material.
Kay squints. “Walgreens is open late. Go get yourself some hair dye. You’re not going home.”
“I brought you something,” I say sheepishly. “A hostess gift for you—even though I didn’t actually think I’d be staying here. I knew you’d have at least one dinner party. It’s who you are, and I appreciate it.”
She shakes her head. “Not anymore. It’s not who I am anymore. When I have Matt’s clients here for dinner, it’s different. I don’t feel like I’m babysitting.”
“You’re entertaining Matt’s clients?” That sick feeling permeates the rest of my body and I wish I could see some glimmer of likeability in him – just for Kay’s sake.
“Yes…and don’t make that face. Did it ever occur to you that I deserve to be loved, too?”
“It always occurred to me. I just want to be sure Matt’s the one. Before you make up your mind, can I show you something?”
“He’s the one. I have made up my mind,” she answers firmly.
“What if I had evidence that proved he wasn’t the one?”
“You don’t,” she says flatly.
My chin drops. “Let me go get your hostess gift.”
I stride into the bedroom, determined that I’m going to pick up the wayward orange undies and ask if they’re hers. But when I get there, I pause at the sound of Matt’s voice and can’t bring myself to grab them. My gift, a bottle of black truffle oil, isn’t enough to make her stop thinking of Matt Callaway as husband material – and worse, neither might a pair of orange undies. I quietly shut the guestroom door and start to pray.
Chapter 8
‡
W hen I wake up, the first thing I notice on Kay’s pristine white pillow is that my hair is still neon. Truthfully, in Silicon Valley, no one will notice. They’re so imbedded in their smart phones, I could dance naked on the streets and no one would raise an eyebrow. When I shower, the tinge of orange puddles in the water around my feet, and I’m reminded
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