Page 2 of Anders and the Girl Worth Fighting For
I spent hours on those cookies to get them just right. I had shaped each one like an envelope and I had written the name of each woman in our church with the address for the church on them in royal frosting. That way, each woman had a cookie made just for her.
I righted the stamp box and arranged the cookies back on top. I carefully made my way into the church, using my foot to open the door after it closed behind Kaye.
Luckily, no one was in the kitchen when I snuck into it to put the cookies down before slipping into the attached bathroom to assess the damage my tears did to my face. Bill was always reminding me I was a reflection of him and I should look just right. He was right. What would it look like if I showed up covered in sweat, with smashed cookies, and running makeup?
“You’re a mess, Grace,” his voice sounded in my mind. “Howwould the congregation feel if the daughter of a deacon and the wife of a future deacon showed up looking like an unhappy disaster? What kind of wife lets herself look like this? Clean up. I deserve better.”
Clean up.
I stood in front of the mirror and stared at my reflection.
Clean up, Grace. How hard can it be?
Sweat matted my hair and turned the carefully curled strands into a frizzy mess. Black mascara ran down my cheeks from my tears, smearing across my face from where I had tried to wipe them away. Purple bruises showed under my ruined concealer, highlighted by my splotchy red too pale skin. If the person in the mirror didn’t move when I did, I wouldn’t have known who stared back at me. No wonder Kaye didn’t want to be seen with me.
I grabbed a paper towel and practiced smiling while I cleaned my face. By the time I’d cleaned off most of my makeup, my mouth turned up in a passable smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes. No one ever looked close enough at me to notice, though, so it would be good enough.
I pulled out the small makeup bag I kept in my purse and applied a fresh coat of mascara, hoping that would be enough to hide behind.
I couldn’t salvage the frosting so easily. I could scrape it off, but then the stain from the dye would still be there. I considered just leaving them in the kitchen, but I had worked so hard on them. I rifled through the drawers until I found a butter knife. I would have to just blend everything in. The frosting turned to a muddy gray color by the time I finished, but at least the names weren’t melting off. Maybe I could claim this was intentional.
I rearranged the cookies on the tray. I had to throw out a few that were broken or crumbled. It was a good thing I had to wipe away the names. That way, no one felt left out because I had tothrow their cookie away.
I set the mess of cookies down on the table at the front of the dining hall. There were only a few other options for desserts, so maybe no one would care. I went back to the kitchen to get my stamp collection and then took a few bracing breaths before I stepped back out and scanned the room, deciding where to sit.
When I had finally settled on a table in the back, MaryLynn, the woman responsible for today’s activity, waddled up to the microphone set up by the dessert table.
“Sisters! Thank you for coming today,” she said, bright and chipper, a contrast to the storm still raging inside me.
“We will be writing letters to soldiers overseas. Sister Kaye has found us an organization to partner with that will send your letters to a service member who hasn’t received a letter in a while.” Kaye stood at the mention of her name, waving at the small applause that followed as if she won an award for an internet search that anyone could have done.
“Keep it happy,” MaryLynn continued as she plastered a giant smile on her face to demonstrate, as if we would misunderstand the word happy. “Sisters Grace, Miranda, and Sarah have brought treats for everyone. Can we get another applause for their hard work?” The response was rather less enthusiastic than the already lackluster response Kaye received. They must have seen my cookies. “Sister Janice is going to pray for us and then feel free to help yourself to the desserts.” She finished her speech and sat down at a table near the front full with women that had children the same age as MaryLynn’s.
A twinge of jealousy ran through me as I considered the time they spent together on play dates and at birthday parties, an entire community I could never be a part of. I focused on arranging my card making kit, avoiding the pointedly empty chairs at my table despite several women making their way in while MaryLynn spoke.That’s ok. It’s ok. Really. This justmeans I’ll have more room to work.
“Those cookies are awful, Grace.” My mother’s voice came from behind me. “You couldn’t put a little more effort into them? What is that color, anyway? And a rectangle? Didn’t I give you a whole new set of cookie cutters for Christmas? I know you had something better you could have done.” She had finished her speech by the time she sat down. I braced myself for the company of the only person who could stand to sit at my table.
“Hello, mother,” I said in answer. I wanted to say something to defend myself. Something likeI did put more effort in, but it’s a hot day and the frosting melted and this is the best I can doorI didn’t see you bring cookiesorthey taste great, and isn’t that what matters?
I didn’t say any of that. I just took a deep breath and turned to smile at her.
“You brought the whole kit?” She waved her hand towards the box. She still hadn’t even said hello. “That’s a little much.” She had lowered her voice for that part. However, I saw several people throwing looks our way at this point.
“Well, the least you can do is share,” she said just before, to my horror, she waved Kaye over to sit with us.
“Kaye, darling! It’s so good to see you,” my mother said as she stood and gave her a kiss on each cheek. The smiles they exchanged were as fake as Kaye’s blonde hair. She didn’t even look at me as she sat down. I guess that’s fair. After all, she saw me having a complete breakdown in the parking lot not even thirty minutes ago.
Like a properly chastised child, I pushed the kit aside enough that others could use it. I did not want to share, not with Kaye. But then, that wouldn’t be very Christian of me. I really did have enough supplies to go around.
“How’s the nausea?” My mother asked Kaye. They hadn’t even lifted a finger to write any letters. I hadn’t been listeningto their conversation and was taken off guard when the question intruded in on my thoughts.
“Not easing yet,” Kaye replied, hand dropping to cup her stomach. “The doctor said that’s normal.” She brought her sweet tea up to her lips for a sip. I kept listening, wondering why she would talk to my mom about her nausea even as guilt settled in me at paying such close attention to a conversation that didn’t involve me. I dismissed the feeling. If they wanted a private conversation, they could have sat anywhere else.
“I was lucky,” my mother replied, her words dripping with superiority. “I was only nauseous for the first few weeks with Grace.”
Oh. Kaye was pregnant.
I gripped the texture plate I was holding hard enough that it creaked from the stress. I dropped it quickly, the sound of the plastic crashing against the table clanged loudly in the room. My mom and Kaye both looked at me before dismissing me and focusing back on their conversation. Jealousy raged through me again. I wished she would just go sit at the mothers’ table.
