Small Miracles

“Everyone was asking about you at church today,” Mom says, coming in with James bounding behind her.

I look up from where I’m lying on the couch reading. “Still?” I haven’t been to church in months, and quite frankly, I’m surprised I haven’t been chased out of town yet. In Sterling, the Bible is not to be taken lightly. Every Sunday, St. Andrew’s Baptist Church is packed with residents, all eager to hear the word of God. Except for me.

I almost feel bad about it, because I used to like church. The hymns were pretty, I got to sit with my friends, and afterwards there was a big brunch in the parish hall. But once Dad left, it was like a switch was flipped, and suddenly I just didn’t see the point in going anymore. Mom and James go, Savannah goes, Ashley goes, even Nick goes. The day we spent at the lake together was one of the few times he skipped, and his mom gave him hell for it afterwards.

“Of course,” Mom says now, putting her purse down. She’s got one of her church dresses on, a beautiful white one with pink floral print. “Pastor John always asks about you. They all miss seeing you.”

“Oh.”

“They want to know when you’re coming back.”

I put down my book. “What’d you say?”

She smooths a hand down my hair affectionately. “I said you’d come back when you’re ready.”

I shut my eyes for a second. I don’t particularly like having my hair touched, but I make an exception for Mom. Her hands are always soft and cool, and it reminds me of when I was little and she’d stroke my hair to get me to fall asleep. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.”

“That’s fine,” she says. I have to give her credit, because she’s been going to church, like most of us here, since she was born. I know that by not going, I’m going against her wishes as well as potentially putting us at risk for more probing questions and rumors spread by the community.

I listen as she goes into the kitchen and opens the fridge. “Want some coffee?” she asks. “It’s been steeping all night.”

“Sure,” I say. I can hear ice clinking around in a glass as she pours the coffee before she brings it to me. I take a sip. My mother is the only other person who can make my coffee exactly how I like it.

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think I’m a bad person for not wanting to go to church?”

Any other mother in Sterling would immediately agree and give me a lecture on how I need to learn to start accepting God in my heart or something. But Mom merely smiles at me, a little sadly. “No, honey, of course not,” she says. “I think you’re a very good person with a very big heart who is just a little lost right now. And I think that when you’re ready to go back to God, he’ll be ready to welcome you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

My normal instinct would be to not believe her and worry about it some more, but oddly enough, I do. I go back to my book as Mom moves around in the kitchen, getting started on dinner for tonight. We’re having slow-cooker chicken with rice and some vegetables. Just thinking about it is making me hungry.

“So,” Mom says, “I saw Nick at church today.”

“Yeah?” I say, taking a sip of my coffee. I feel slightly nervous at what she’s about to say next, picturing the embarrassing stories or the over-enthusiastic greetings. “And?”

“I invited him to come for dinner tonight.”

I almost spit out my drink. “You what?”

She pokes her head into the living room. “I said I invited him to come over for dinner.”

“Why would you do that? Are you crazy?” I demand, sitting up.

She looks confused. “No . . . what’s wrong? I was just trying to do something nice.”

“If he comes over, this will be our first official ‘date’ as boyfriend and girlfriend! Dinner, with my mother here!”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“It’ll be like you’re chaperoning! I don’t want a chaperone!”

“It’ll hardly be like that,” Mom says, rolling her eyes in a way that infuriates me. “It’s just dinner, Jules, for God’s sake. I thought it would be a nice way for all of us to get to know each other.”

“I know him well enough!”

“Well I don’t!” Mom says, a little louder. “If you’re going to be dating him, then I want to meet him!”

“He works for you! Isn’t that enough?”

“Well, what do you want me to do? Cancel?”

“No, because then he’ll know that I was the one who freaked out. God, we have no choice but to let him come over,” I say, rubbing the bridge of my nose..

“You’re impossible,” Mom snaps. “God forbid I try to do somethin’ nice for you.” She storms off before I can say anything. Normally I’d feel guilty, but right now I’m just pissed off. Sighing, I pick up my phone and see that I have one new text message. It’s from Nick.
,
See you at dinner ;) ;) ;) ;)

I groan.

▲ ▼ ▲

At exactly 5:30 on the dot, the doorbell rings. I reluctantly get up and go to answer the door, but my brother beats me to it. He opens the door and shouts, “Nick!”

“Jamie!” Before he can even get the full word out of his mouth, James is flying at him. Thankfully, Nick’s reflexes are pretty good, and he catches James easily. “What’s up, buddy?” He sees me enter the room and smiles. “Hey there.”

“Hi.”

James looks from Nick to me and back before asking, “Do you like my sister?”

Nick grins. “Yeah, I do.”

“Does she like you?”

“She hasn’t beat me up yet, so I think that’s a pretty good sign, don’t you?”

“Are you gonna get married?”

“James!” I say, embarrassed. “Stop that.”

Mom comes in, thankfully. “Hi, Nick.”

“Hi, Mrs. Carter,” Nick says, his entire demeanor changing. “How are you?”

“Fine, thank you, and yourself?”

“I’m good. Thank you for inviting me over.”

“Of course,” Mom says. “Dinner won’t be ready for a few more minutes, so you kids can just hang out if you want.” I resist the urge to cover my face as she winks at me and goes back into the kitchen.

“Nick, wanna play with me?” James asks eagerly.

“Sure. Can Jules come too?”

James considers me for a few seconds before he nods. “I guess.”

“Gee, thanks,” I say sarcastically as we follow him into the backyard. While James looks for a toy for us to play with, Nick quickly leans over and kisses me on the cheek. “What was that for?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I’m happy to see you. Is that a crime?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“I apologize on behalf of my mother. I hope she didn’t corner you and force you to come over tonight.”

“No. She was very nice, and I wanted to come anyway. She said you’d love it.” Nick raises his eyebrows at me. “Are you not loving it?”

“I’ll let you know as the night goes on,” I say.

James comes running over holding a small toy football. I distinctly remember Dad giving it to him for his first birthday. Gotta start ‘em off young, he’d said, laughing when Mom pointed out that James had only barely learned to walk, let alone throw anything.

“Hey, I know what that is,” Nick says. “You ever learn to throw a football?” James shakes his head, which is technically a lie. Dad taught him about a year ago, but I’m not surprised he doesn’t remember. “Want me to teach you?” James nods.

Nick looks at me, to my surprise. “That okay?”

“It’s a free country,” I say off-handedly. When Nick continues to stare at me, I try to sound a little nicer. “Go ahead. It’s okay.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but gets up and goes over to my brother anyway, crouching beside him and taking his hands. “Okay, so you’re gonna put this hand right here, and your pointer finger goes closest to the tip of the ball, like this. And you see these laces? Your middle finger is gonna go at the end of them. And then this finger goes here, and then your baby finger goes here.”

“Where’s my thumb go?”

Nick chuckles. “You just wrap it around, like this. How’s that feel?”

“Good.”

“Good. Okay, now you’re gonna move your feet shoulder-width apart, like this . . .” Nick gently nudges James’s feet apart. “And you’re gonna raise both your hands like this, to your ear.” Nick adjusts James’s hands. “Okay, now when you throw it, you’re gonna move your shoulders back like this, and move your arm forward like this. You want it nice and long and smooth, so the ball goes really far, right?” James nods.

“Now when you throw it, you’re gonna let your fingers roll off of it, starting with your pinky finger, and you’ll end with your pointer finger pointing at the target, get it? And you wanna follow through, which means you wanna keep moving your hand forward until your thumb is facing the ground. Get it?” James nods again. “Okay, cool. How about I go over here and you can practice throwing to me?”

Nick backs up a few feet from James and holds his arms out. “Okay, remember. Nice and long and smooth, right? Let your fingers roll off of it. Let ‘er rip.” I watch as James pulls his arm back before launching the ball at Nick, who dives to catch it. It’s a little sloppy, but not a bad throw for a five-year-old.

“Hey, good job! Just remember what I said about your arm, okay? And when you’re done throwing, your leg should be back like this.” Nick demonstrates before handing the ball back to James. “Try again.”

They throw back and forth a few more times, with Nick occasionally stopping to give my brother pointers, but mostly just cheering him on. At one point, James throws a good one that lands right in Nick’s arms. He didn’t throw it very hard, but Nick staggers and falls onto his back like it’s knocked the wind out of him. “Oof! Right in the gut!”

James shrieks with laughter, because when you’re five, watching someone fall down is always hilarious. “That was a great throw, buddy. You could be quarterback when you get to high school, how about that?” He reaches over and high-fives my brother.

Watching them together and seeing how good Nick is with James makes my heart break and mend itself simultaneously. It’s hard not to imagine what it would be like if Dad was here instead, and it was him teaching James how to throw and catch and taking him to his first Junior game.

Mom opens the window and calls, “Kids! Dinner’s ready!”

James drops the football and bolts to the house, shouting, “Mama, Nick taught me how to throw a football!”

I wait for Nick as he walks over to me. “Hey,” he says. “Didja see him?”

“Uh-huh,” I answer, ruffling his hair. “You’re a pretty good teacher.”

“Thanks,” he says, pleased. “He’s a natural. I really did mean it when I said he could be quarterback.”

“Yeah,” is all I say. I wonder how Jase would react to that. He was always convinced that my father’s obsession with football was borderline dangerous, and was adamant about not having James be raised the same way he was. Football was my life, whether I wanted it to be or not, he said to me one night, when I was visiting him in California. No matter where I went, no matter who I was with, it all just stemmed back to that. No one even cared about anything else, and that’s unhealthy. I don’t want James to feel like that, you know? I want him to like what he wants to like and not just be known as “the football player” like I was.

I must have a strange look on my face, because Nick furrows his eyebrows. “You okay?”

“Hmm?” I say. “Um, yeah. I’m fine.”

For the second time that night, he doesn’t look convinced, but before he can push I say, “Come on, you must be hungry. Let’s go eat.”

“Okay,” Nick agrees, and I take his hand and lead him inside, going in front of him so he can’t see me blink away the tears that are trying to form in my eyes.

Dinner goes surprisingly well. Mom says nothing when Nick slides into the seat next to me, or when he cheerfully tells me I have sauce on my face and wipes it off with his thumb. And if she notices Nick and me nudging each other’s knees under the table, trying to make it more painful each time, she doesn’t bring that up, either.

Instead, she asks Nick about college, and what he wants to major in. I already know that Nick wants to study Sports Journalism as well as play football, and although he’s not entirely sure where yet, he really liked the University of Oklahoma and from the looks of it, they liked him too. I know all of this and more, but I listen anyway.

“Well,” Mom says in that voice, the I’m-about-to-brag-about-my-child voice. “Julianna wants to major in Business Economics and Urban Studies. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“Yes ma’am, she did tell me that,” Nick says, smiling at me. “I think that’s a great choice for her.”

“Why?” I say, confused.

He shrugs. “Math and stuff. You’re good at that. You’re like a genius.”

“Am not,” I say, flushing.

“You kidding? You could study like, Quantum Physics or something. You’re real smart.”

“Shut up.”

“Language.” Mom points her fork at me. “And be nice.”

“Yeah, Jules, be nice,” Nick mumbles, smirking. I kick him under the table.

Mom serves pie for dessert and we eat it with ice cream and watch some game show on TV. I think it’s dumb, but Nick laughs at every bad joke the host makes and eats about three pieces of the pie. Mom catches me glancing at him more than once and doesn’t stop smiling for the rest of the night.

Finally, around 9 o’clock, Nick stands and stretches. “I should probably go. School night and stuff.”

“Isn’t senior night this Friday?” Mom asks.

“Yes ma’am.”

“That’s lovely. Maybe we’ll come.”

“Yeah!” James says enthusiastically.

“I would love that,” Nick says sincerely. “Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Carter, it was delicious.” He crouches down so he’s at eye-level with James and holds out a hand for him to fist-bump. “Good job today, Jamie. You’ll be quarterback in no time.” James’s eyes light up.

“It was good to see you, Nick. You’re welcome anytime.” To James, my mom says, “And as for you, mister, it’s way past your bedtime. I only let you stay up because Nick is here. Now come on.”

“I’ll walk you out,” I say quickly.

“Okay,” Nick agrees with a grin. Mom winks at me as she leads James out of the room. I stick my tongue out in response.

Nick and I walk out to his car, but he doesn’t get in. “So,” he says, facing me. “What’s the verdict?”

“Huh?”

“I asked you if you weren’t loving me coming over for dinner, and you said you’d let me know as the night goes on. Well, the night’s gone. Did you love it?” He raises his eyebrows at me, smiling, and I roll my eyes.

“What was that?” he asks when I mumble an answer. “Sorry, I didn’t quite hear you.”

Glaring at him, I say a little louder, “Yes, I loved it.”

“Well, now,” Nick says, pinching my cheek and making me squirm away from him. “Who would’ve ever thought?” He opens his car door. “You’ll have to come to my house next time. Only when Mariah’s home, so you can be geniuses together.”

“For the last time, I’m not a genius,” I say, embarrassed. “It’s not like I’m valedictorian or whatever.”

“You are to me,” Nick says, laughing when I groan.

“Shouldn’t you be leaving now?” I ask.

“What, no good night kiss?” Nick asks innocently. Sighing, I stretch up on my toes to give him a kiss, smiling when he leans forward again to give me one more smaller, chaste one. “Good night, sunshine. See you tomorrow.”

“Good night,” I say. I watch as he drives off before going back inside, where Mom is cleaning up the dessert. Wordlessly, I join her.

We don’t speak for a minute before she says, “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” She nudges me.

“Nah,” I answer, smiling a little. “Not bad at all.”