Chapter 29, part 1: Confidante

Later that evening, Brad came in his Sentra to pick me up. He was heading up to Mansfield to celebrate his birthday, and he invited me along so I could meet his parents.

“Do you have everything you need for the long weekend, babe?” he asked.

“Sure do. You don’t know how much I’m looking forward to this.”

"So you’re excited to meet my folks, huh? I must not be the only one who thinks we have something special here.”

“Yeah, but it’s more than that. I just got into a little argument with my sister and it’ll be good to get away from campus.” The weekend away would give me time to study Brad too and see if Kirsten’s words had any merit.

“What’d you two fight about?”

"You, actually. She says you’re not good enough for me.”

Brad scoffed. “She doesn’t even know me. Where does she get off? I’m sorry to tell you this, sweetie, but your sister is a witch with a b if you know what I mean.”

“Watch it.”

“Just telling it like I see it.”

“Let’s just drop it, ok?”

I didn’t like to hear such harsh words against my sister, but I hated arguing more. I wanted to stat our weekend on the right foot.

Brad put his hand on my knee, moving it in slow circles gradually up my thigh. What would happen if I didn’t stop him? Once again I wondered how far was too far. The call to purity rang clear as a bell through my brain and a shame spiral began anew. Lost in a world of self-condemnation, I hardly said a word to Brad.

“You’ve been unusually quiet since we left Elkridge,” Brad commented as he navigated the car through the hills along Route 13. “Still angry that I called your sister a name?”

“Not really. Well, maybe just a little. Actually, there’s something else on my mind, but I don’t really want to talk about it. Don’t worry. It’s not a big deal anyway.” I fell back into silence, continuing to stare out the window.

“Could have fooled me. I’ve never seen you this down. Could it be that you’re nervous about meeting my parents?”

“Nervous? Why?” I gave a half smile. “Parents usually seem to like me.”

“Is that so?”

“Sure, what’s not to like?” I tried to fake a fuller smile.

“What is it then? Out with it. If we’re going to get married one day, you have to be able to tell me what’s bothering you. Please don’t make me guess, it drives me crazy.”

So he did have marriage on his mind! I remembered the still small urging to talk about my secret shame with someone. Maybe Brad was the right person … especially if he wanted to marry me. I started and stopped several sentences, looking for the right words.

“Just spit it out already,” Brad said.

“I’m sorry, but this is difficult for me,” I said, hating the whine in my voice. “I don’t know how to say it.”

His knuckles went white on the steering wheel. “You want to break up with me.”

“What? No, don’t be silly. I’m going with you to meet your parents and tell them we’re in love. Why would I break up with you?”

His hands relaxed but his body remained taut. “Babe, just tell me. I don’t like these kind of games.”

“Okay, I’ll try. Did you ever read Romans chapter seven? ‘For the things I want to do, I don’t do and the things I hate, that I do?’”

“Vaguely. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, we’ve been studying it in church the past few Sundays, and it just sums up what I’m going through lately. There is a sin that I keep going back to; even though I promised myself I would stop. I was doing really great for a while, but yesterday … well, I didn’t flee from temptation, and I fell into this sin again.” My voice broke. “I’m so ashamed.”

"What are you crying about? You’re seriously freaking me out. Are you a drug addict or something?”

Suddenly my tears turned to giggles.

He clenched his jaw and turned away.

“I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you, I promise. It’s just that,” I broke up laughing again, “drug addiction is so far from what I was trying to get out. I was simply shocked you got that out of it. I’ve never even been offered drugs. I wouldn’t know the first thing about where to get them or how to use them.”

He began to laugh along with me. “Wow, you really scared me there for a minute. I don’t know what I was thinking. You, on drugs! Ha! You’re so absentminded half the time as it is, you’d lose your head if drugs were added to the mix.”

How ditzy did he think I was? At first I thought his jokes about having my head in the clouds were good natured, but this time it hurt. I straightened up and squared my shoulders. “Brad, that’s not fair. Besides, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about those type of comments. It hurts my feelings when you talk like that,” I said. Did he just roll his eyes? “I know I can be forgetful, but you don’t need to harp on me about it every chance you get.”

“Gee, babe, loosen up will ya? Learn to take a joke. I’m not used to dealing with someone who’s so sensitive.”

I folded my arms and didn’t reply.

“Here we go!  Don’t pull a silent wounded act. Just talk to me. So if it’s not drugs, then what?”

I stammered some more, but finally got a coherent sentence out. “I like to read romance novels, or sometimes stories like that online, and well … I’ve never told anyone this before,” I whispered.

This time he did the laughing. “Oh my word. I can’t believe you were so worked up about that.” He laughed again, more derisively. “You really had me going there, thinking it was something serious.”

“You don’t seem to understand. It’s wrong. It’s disgusting. I’m sinning against my body. The Bible says to lust is the same thing as committing adultery.”

“Babe, don’t you get it? That’s just the crazy talk of a repressed society. Your parents or your pastors—or more likely both—taught you to be ashamed of your sexuality, but there’s absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. It’s natural. Didn’t God say all creation was good? You’re beating yourself up for nothing, overdramaticizing everything as usual.”

Brad turned up the car stereo and I turned inward.

Chapter 29, part 2: Questions

Confession was supposed to good for the soul. So why did I still feel so bad? Something about Brad’s response to my secret reminded me of Jonas’s words.

Brad’s sharp voice interrupted my thoughts. “Giselle, I asked you a question.”

“What?”

“You’re barely listening to me. I don’t get it. Don’t tell me something else is bothering you. Why can’t you just relax like a normal person?”

“I am perfectly normal. Why does it bother you so much that I have something on my mind? If you absolutely must know, I was thinking about something Jonas said to me the other day.”

“That loser? What did he want other than to try to get in your pants?”

“Don’t talk like that. I don’t know why you think those things. We’re just friends, that’s all. Jonas warned me.”

“Warned you. That sounds ominous. About what?”

“About you, I guess. He said he went to high school with you, and he knew what you were really like. That you had a reputation as a player, that you broke hearts all over the county. He said I should be careful or you would break my heart too.”

“Heh. Well, maybe he did hear those things in high school. I was popular with the ladies, sure. Too bad for them, they all turned out to be psycho. All clingy, needy, whiny and annoying. I’m lucky I found Wendy junior year.”

“That’s funny—Jonas said that you treated her worst of all.”

“Now that’s just a flat out lie. Malicious. Low.” His eyes darkened with anger. “You saw how Wendy and I were still friends when you went with me to my old church. Do you think that if I really hurt her that bad she would even speak to me?”

“So why did you break up?”

“I don’t really remember.” He stared ahead, jaw tight again.  He couldn’t even look at me.

Suddenly I regretted bringing the whole thing up. Love keeps no record of wrongs. If I loved him like I told Kirsten, why was I digging around in the past? “Sorry I brought that up.”

“Yeah.”

I took off my light jacket and hugged it to my chest. After miles of lushly treed countryside, the landscape opened up to tiny farms dotted with old-fashioned equipment. A horse and buggy trundled down the southbound lane.

“Look at that, Brad!”

“Yes, there are Amish along this stretch of 13. They’re cute as long as they’re not slowing me down.”

Love is not easily angered, I reminded myself. Let it go. For just a moment, I met the eyes of the young girl in a white bonnet who held the reins. I marveled at her quiet dignity. But wait. Love also perseveres. Love rejoices with the truth.

"Jonas said Wendy dumped you because she caught you with some other girl,” I blurted.

“What the heck!” He smacked the steering wheel and punched the stereo power button, killing the music. “What did I just finish telling you? Don’t you trust me? I can’t believe you would even give Jonas and his stupid theories the time of day. It’s so obvious to anyone with eyes in their head that he has a crush on you. He’s just filling your head with lies about me so he can have you to himself. Besides, I thought we went over this territory with Zoey this summer.”

Cowed by his sudden anger, I apologized again. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I never should have brought it up. I do trust you. I love you.” Still, there was one more question I had been pondering since Jonas’ warning. Might as well ask it now while he’s already mad. “Brad, can I ask one more thing.”

“I’d rather you not, but I don’t suppose my preference will stop you, will it?”

I winced at his biting tone, but plowed ahead. “What exactly did you mean when you said you were popular with the ladies?”

“You want to know if I’m a virgin,” he said flatly.

“Right.”

“No. I’m not. Sorry to disappoint you, Miss Perfect.”

My heart sank. He was right, his response didn’t line up with any of my expectations or ideals. Since thinking about doing it and actually doing it were the same by God’s standards, I wasn’t perfectly pure either. But I still always pictured being my future husband’s first real encounter. God, I silently prayed, it’s so clear to me that you’ve given me this man to marry. Help me forgive him for the sins in his past. I resolved never to tell Brad of my disappointment. It would only hurt him; only make him doubt God’s love and my love.

Brad’s next words were softer, vulnerable. “You’re awfully quiet. Are you disappointed?”

“No?” That wasn’t convincing at all. I rushed to restate it more firmly. “No, really, it’s okay. I forgive you. It’s in the past, right? Besides, like I said, God looks at our hearts and not just our actions. A sin is a sin, and I’m no better than you when it comes to that kind of immorality.”

“I wish you wouldn’t talk like that. Forget condemnation and shame. Just accept yourself. So what if God created you with a higher sex drive than other girls? Lucky for your future husband, is what I say.” He squeezed my knee. “We’ll just have a better sex life than the rest of those prudes.”

I blushed and put my hand over his. His tolerant words flooded me with relief. It sounded so appealing, but was it true? God had created my sexual urges, so they couldn’t be bad? Had I really been feeling guilty over nothing?

As the car sped past hills blanketed in glorious fall foliage, I became increasingly hopeful that there really wasn’t anything wrong with what I’d been doing and feeling. I began to daydream about Brad and I getting married. I tried to be extra agreeable for the last hour of the drive to make things up to him.  

Chapter 30, part 1: Meet the Parents

Eventually we reached the residential streets on the south side of Mansfield. Brad pulled the car up in front of a row of snug townhomes, each fronted with a large porch.

“Happy Birthday, Braddie Laddie!” called a short woman with permed blonde hair. She waved as she gracefully stood from a swing on the last porch. She looked elegant in a flowing purple satin tunic over tight black jeans. The hand she waved at us held a lit cigarette.

“Hey, Ma,” Brad called back.

“Why don’t you come over here and give your mother a hug?”

“In a minute, Ma. Let us get the car unpacked first,” Brad replied, then rolled his eyes at me.

“Don’t think I didn’t see that, young man,” Brad’s mom said as she minced toward the car on stiletto heels. “Giselle, you probably have your hands full keeping this one in line. Hi, I’m Vivian. Brad told us to expect you.”

She extended her hand. I set down my bag and gave Vivian a warm hug.

“Well, aren’t you sweet? I’m sorry Braddie here is so rude. I promise it’s not how I raised him.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Vivian. Brad has told me so much about you.”

“He has, huh? Now, why don’t I believe that?” She let out a honking laugh. “He was far too happy to be getting rid of us when we moved up here, isn’t that right, Braddie?” Vivian reached up to pat Brad’s back, then turned to me again. “Not that I begrudge my baby a little independence, you understand.”

Brad tensed at his mother’s touch and shot her a dirty look, but she didn’t seem to notice.

She cackled again in her gravelly voice. “Well, I’ll leave you two alone. Give you a chance to tell my son what you really think of me, eh?” She winked and squeezed my arm before turning to go.

When she reached the porch, Vivian turned and called back, “As soon as you two are settled, Walter and I want to take you to dinner at Sullivan’s in town. Braddie calls it the Blue Hair Restaurant. Isn’t that cute?”

“Braddie Laddie?” I whispered to Brad as soon as Vivian disappeared inside the blue door of the townhouse.

“That’s me!” He winked and hoisted up both our bags.

Saturday morning after breakfast, Vivian announced that she was taking us shopping.

“Braddie’s birhtday is coming up, and he told me you just had yours, Giselle. I like to spoil my kids. Let’s go to the outlet mall and get you both new outfits.”

Her generosity amazed me. “Wow, that is so kind. Thank you!”

Brad rolled his eyes. “Yeah, she deserves the mother of the freakin’ year award. Shopping is the last thing I wanted to be doing this weekend.”

Vivian looked hurt, but didn’t say anything.

“I’d really like to go. C’mon Brad, can we?”

He sighed as if resigning himself to a horrible fate. “Sure. Why not.”

At the outlet mall, Brad followed us around sullenly while Vivian and I looked for the perfect outfit for me. Vivian shook her head at all the girly tops and skirts I picked to try on.

“It’s cute, but not quite right for you,” she said. “Let’s keep looking.”

“How much longer is this going to take?” Brad asked as we left the fifteenth store.

Finally, Vivian asked if she could pick something for me. She held up an dark orange shirt dress with military details. “How about this one?”

I hesitated. “That’s not my usual style. I’ve never worn that color either.”

“Just try it. I think you’ll be surprised.”

When I came out of the dressing room, Brad whistled. “Whoa, Giselle. That’s hot!”

Vivian grabbed a chunky necklace and a straw bag from the accessories rack. “The perfect finishing touch.”

She guided me back to the mirror. I hardly recognized myself. Framed by the outfit, my curls suddenly looked exotic and bohemian instead of just a frizzy mess.

“How did you know?” I asked.

“Energy profiling,” Vivian explained. “Your face—”

“Mom, no one wants to hear about that New Age crap.”

“Maybe later,” I said. “Brad, guess it’s your turn now.”

“I’m starved. Let’s eat first.”

I wore the outfit out of the store. As we walked toward the food court, I pulled Brad aside.

“The way you talk to your mom really bothers me. Why are you so rude to her?” I asked.

“Just saying what I feel.”

“Yeah, but we’re supposed to honor our parents. And it is hard to be around the tension between you two. I think you should apologize to her.”

“Now?”

“Why not? I’ll wait here. You can catch up with her and have a moment alone.”

“Okay, okay.” He kissed me. “My little conscience.”

Chapter 30, part 2: Off Balance

That night Brad and I flipped through cable channels, waiting for Saturday Night Live to come on. Vivian and Walter had long since gone to bed. We settled on a B movie to heckle. Brad stretched out across the couch and rested his head in my lap. I started to run fingers through his hair.

“Braddie Laddie, huh?”

“You called?” He lifted his head from my lap and propped himself up on an elbow across my legs, his back to the TV. “Ridiculous huh? I’ve asked mom a thousand times not to call me that. Only she’s too stubborn to give up on the old baby name.” He rolled his eyes and picked up the remote to flip through the channels again.

“Brad, I thought we talked about that.”

“What?”

I looked at him pointedly.

“Oh, right. Honor your mother and father and all that jazz. Well, she’s not here to hear it, so it doesn’t really matter, right?” He sat up with a lopsided grin that I did not return. “Hey, at least I cleaned up my act for a while after you confronted me this afternoon; don’t I get credit for that?” He made an exaggerated show of getting into a kneeling position, prostrating himself at my feet. “Please, Reverend Mother Giselle, not another lecture! I beg for mercy.”

I finally gave in and smiled at his antics. He climbed back on the couch and softly kissed me. I wrapped arms around him and kissed him back with increasing passion.

After a few minutes lost in a world of sensation, I turned my head. “Let’s not get carried away.”

He resumed his position, sprawled across the couch, head on my lap. I stroked his hair once more.

“Really, Giselle, I am grateful you said something. I’ve really tried hard to forgive my mom after all these years, but treating her like crap is such a habit … I didn’t even realize how bad it still was.” He sat up and leaned in for another kiss as he whispered, “She told me to thank you. She really likes you. But who doesn’t, right?”

I returned the kiss with a peck. “Look, it’s time for SNL to start.”

“Actually, I’m going to head up. Want me to help you make up the sofa bed?”

“No, I didn’t sleep that well on it last night.”

“There’s room in my bed upstairs,” he said with a glint in his eye.

“No, I’ll be fine down here. The couch cushions will probably be more comfy with a few blankets.”

“Okay. Well, see you in the morning.”

Sleep remained elusive. No matter how I tossed and turned, or rearranged the cushions and the blankets, I just couldn’t get comfortable.

“I should have made Brad take the couch,” I muttered to myself, wondering why he hadn’t offered.

Well, he had offered to let me joined him upstairs. Why had I turned that down? It was innocent enough, wasn’t it? We could just snuggle and sleep.

I headed for the stairs.

A creak of a door stopped me in my tracks. I saw a light come on and heard Vivian’s raspy voice.

Like a frightened rabbit I dove back to the couch and pretended to be asleep in case Vivian came downstairs.

As I lay there, I wondered what I would have done if I made it up to Brad’s room and something did start to happen? Could I have stopped it? Did I want to?

***

I woke up at eight to a silent house. Vivian and Walter came downstairs around nine, and I offered to help Vivian make breakfast. As it approached nine thirty, I crept up the stairs and cracked the door to Brad’s bedroom. He rolled over and pulled the covers back over his head. Not wanting to start the morning mothering him, I gave up and went back downstairs.

Still, I nursed a bit of a grudge against him for leaving me to fend for myself with his parents. I felt so awkward. But soon my unease dissipated as Vivian regaled me with stories about her little Braddie Laddie as a boy. We sat at the kitchen table nursing cups of coffee. Walter sat a few feet away in one of the room’s two recliners, smoking and watching ESPN.

Brad finally dragged himself out of bed at ten, and came down still wearing his flannel pajama bottoms and a white undershirt. He looked so cute and rumpled that my annoyance with him melted away.

Vivian jumped up from the couch. “Braddie Laddie, you sleepyhead, you’re finally up. Sit down. Let me fix you up a plate of flapjacks and eggs.”

“Thanks, Ma.” He smiled at me and squeezed my shoulder. “Good morning, beautiful. Sleep good?”

I nodded, and leaned over to kiss him when he settled into the chair next to me. We held hands under the table.

"I wish you had been sleeping in my bed,” he murmured in my ear, and nibbled my earlobe. I thought again of my words the night before. “Let’s not get carried away.” For a moment that was exactly what I wanted, to be carried away on a flood of all the passion I’d bottled up out of guilt.

“Brad, you missed it,” Vivian called from the stove. “I was just telling Giselle some baby stories about you before you walked down. I bet it was your burning ears that finally woke you up.” She cackled at her own joke.

Brad scowled at first, then suddenly brightened. “Ma, now that we’re on the subject of old memories … I thought you might tell me again how Grandpop proposed to Grandma.”

I shot him a questioning look. Was he that serious about me?

“I’d love to. It’s so sweet of you to ask.” Vivian beamed at him, then sighed as she slipped into reminiscing.

When she finished the story, Brad cleared his throat. “Do you still have the Grandma’s old ring?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I was hoping I could give it to Giselle.” What? What?! Did I just hear him right?

Vivian looked as shocked as I felt. “Wait. What are you saying?”

“What do you think I’m saying? Giselle and I are on the road to marriage.” He gave my hand a squeeze under the table and winked at me.

“Walter, get in here. You need to hear this.”

Walter shut off the television and came to the table.

“Now, let’s talk this through,” Vivian continued. “I can see you two have a special relationship, but why talk marriage so soon?”

Yes, why? Why did he spring this on me? Everything was moving so fast. Too, I hated being caught in the middle of an argument like this.

“What your mother’s trying to say, kiddo, is that you’re too young to be committing to something like this. Why don’t you try living together first?”

“Right, look at your sister Casey and her boyfriend,” Vivian agreed. “They’ve lived together in Exeter for seven years, that’s longer than a lot of people stay married.”

Walter and Vivian switched from a lecture to an interrogation. When were we planning to get married? What would we do to support ourselves? Where would we live?

Brad defended his right to make his own choices so vigorously, it seemed he missed the moment when Vivian gave up.

“Fine, fine. You can stop defending yourself,” she said. “I still think you’re making a mistake, but it’s your mistake to make. I’ll go get the ring.” She ran up the stairs and returned with a burgundy velvet box. “Giselle, I hope you didn’t take offense to all this. We really do like you. I’d be happy to have you as a daughter-in-law one day, but please, wait until you two have had a chance to grow up a little bit.”

“I understand,” I said meekly. How could I say I was as surprised at this as she was?

“Thanks, Ma, Pop.” Brad set the box on the table as he stood. “We’ve got to get ready to go pretty soon. There’s a speaker on campus later today that Giselle really wanted to hear. I’m going to take a shower and pack. Giselle, be ready in thirty minutes, okay?”

***

Most of the drive home was silent. Even when we stopped for lunch and milkshakes, I made no real effort at conversation. The only words I spoke to him the rest of the trip were to ask him to pull over for an emergency stop at the restroom.

As we pulled up to the curb next to the German House I let out a long sigh. “I wish you had talked to me first instead of putting me through that.” It was the longest sentence I had spoken to him since we left Mansfield.

“What do you mean? I thought we were on the same page. When we did that marriage role-playing assignment, it seemed obvious to me that we’re meant to be together. I thought you’d be happy I got the ring for you.”

“It’s just going so fast.”

“Listen, I didn’t mean to imply that we’d be getting married tomorrow. This is a someday kind of thing. There are a few steps in between.”

“So you bought into all that stuff they were saying about shacking up?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth. I never said anything about agreeing with them.”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming,” she said.

“Well, you have to admit, what they said about a trial period made sense. What’s the rush, right?”

“I guess.” I got out of the car, closed the door and leaned through the window. “Listen, I know I said I wanted to see that speaker, but I’m not feeling too well. I think I’m just going to go up to my room and take a nap.”

“Giselle, don’t be like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re punishing me for my sins.”

“It’s not that. I can see why you might think it is, but it’s not. I’m just worn out from the long weekend, and my stomach is still bothering me.”

“That’s my girl. Do you want me to come up to your room and tuck you in for your nap?”

I hesitated. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

“C’mon, you can trust me. No hanky panky, I promise. Just a little back rub for my best girl.” He gave me his most disarming grin, and I reluctantly agreed.

He lay down next to me on the bed, rubbing my back, nuzzling my ear. Before too long, I no longer felt sleepy and started returning his kisses. He ran his hand down my side and pulled me against him, then moved it slowly up under the bottom of my shirt.

I felt like I should stop him, but hesitated. When we first started seeing each other again I had sworn to myself I wouldn’t let the situation last year repeat itself. But each time we were together, Brad tested the limits, and I let him go a little further before I told him to stop. I knew he didn’t agree with my beliefs in this area. He had said he refused to believe that God condemned something that was so natural and felt so good. Could I believe that too and let him have his way with me?

Finally I crossed arms in front of me. “Brad, don’t,” I murmured between kisses. “I don’t want to cross our line.”

How narrow was that line really? What was the difference between what we were doing and the real thing?

Before I could answer my own questions, Brad abruptly broke our embrace.

“I’ve overstayed my welcome,” he whispered as he stood up. “You are supposed to be napping, remember? I’ll come by later and we can go to dinner together.” He leaned over and kissed my forehead. “Sweet dreams.” 

Chapter 31, part 1: CSF Leaders Meeting

I awoke from the nap with a sense of dread, a niggling fear that something important had been left undone. I left my room and walked as if in a trance down the hall toward the bathroom I shared with my two upstairs housemates. A splash of cold water on my face would clear my senses. At the end of the hall were two doors. One led to the bathroom. Behind the other I heard more strongly the thump of bass that had awoken me, and then the sound of the handle turning.

Zoey emerged, looking startled to see anyone in the hall. “Hey Giselle, aren’t you usually out meeting with your group of holy rollers on Sundays?”

Adrenaline cleared my head faster than cold water ever could. “Uh, yeah … what time is it?”

“About quarter till five.”

I was very late. The CSF leadership regularly met on Sundays at 4:15 to pray and plan the group’s activities. We sometimes ate dinner together afterward. How could I forget? As I threw on a sweater and jacket and rushed down the dilapidated stairs and across the street to Paxton Hall, I wondered again if the group would be better off without me as a leader.

“Giselle, glad you made it,” Rev. Reynolds said as I tried to sneak into the private party room at the back of the dining hall. The eleven other CSF leaders turned to look at me.

“We’re trying to decide what to do about Breanne,” Becky said.

“Ian shared at the beginning of this meeting how she prayed the sinner’s prayer and said she wants to follow Christ,” Dwayne Jurgen said. “I was surprised to hear it because I saw her this weekend walking across campus with that woman from the grocery store. Suffice it to say they were behaving in a way that made it pretty clear that she hasn’t truly repented of her sinful relationship. Until she does, we should make it clear that she’s no longer welcome to attend our functions.”

“She’s a baby Christian,” Ian said. “Don’t we all still have thorns in our side or pet sins that we have a hard time conquering? How can we hold her to a higher standard?”

“Of course, we are all sinners here. That isn’t the point,” Becky said. “The difference is that we recognize they are sins and are daily repenting of them. Someone needs to call Breanne to that same type of ongoing repentance.”

“Who here knows her best to have that kind of conversation?” Rev. Reynolds asked.

All eyes turned to me.

Based on our last conversation in Bible study and her suspected reunion with Lori, I felt pretty sure Breanne believed committed same-sex relationships weren’t condemned in the Bible, and that those who thought otherwise were ignorant bigots. How was I going to tell her she was wrong, when I wasn’t even sure? No matter how much better I’d gotten at confrontation in the past few months, I knew I couldn’t do it.

“It’s true that I’ve been her friend since freshman year,” I said, “but Ian is the one who led her to Christ. I think he may have more of a standing to say something to her at this point.”

“It’s probably inappropriate for a man to have that kind of conversation with her,” Becky said.

“I could do it, but she really values your friendship, Gigi,” Ian said. “I think it would be more non-threatening coming from you.”

“All right then, we’ll follow the Matthew model of confrontation,” Becky said. “First Gigi will talk to her privately, then you can take Ian along for a second confrontation if necessary, and if she still refuses to repent, we’ll confront her as a group.”

Ewan Finley interrupted, “I think we’re jumping the gun here. Can’t we give her space to discover God’s will as He reveals it to her?”

“Ewan may have a point,” Rev. Reynolds said. “Also, I’m just the adviser and don’t get a vote, but I think you all should consider that this is an opportunity here to reach out to a marginalized group. There are other gays on campus that will be watching closely to see how we handle this. Everyone will really. All the kids in fraternities and sororities, people who think they party too much, drink too much, have too much sex to be saved … they’ll all be watching to see what grace really means to CSF.”

“You know her spiritual condition best, Ian. What do you think?” Becky asked.

“A harsh confrontation would definitely be the wrong move,” Ian said.

“I can’t imagine Gigi being harsh with anyone,” Becky said. “But we can’t be silent about this and have it taken as tacit approval. Gigi, will you do it?”

I reluctantly agreed.

“The talk with Breanne has to happen before the next Soulfire,” Becky said. “We’ll be praying for you to find the right words.”

Chapter 31, part 2: Confrontation Confusion

My stomach twisted in knots. How was I going to do this?

I walked down to the Volleyball House as soon as the meeting ended. The sooner I got it over with, the better.

Amanda sat on the sofa. “Hey, Gigi, what’s up?” she said. “We haven’t seen you much lately. Guess you’re pretty busy with Brad, huh?”

“Yeah, you know how it is... Breanne around?”

“I think she’s up in her room studying.”

“Thanks.” I climbed the stairs and knocked on the door. “Breanne? It’s Zella. Can I come in?”

Breanne opened the door and embraced me. “Zella! I’m so glad to see you! Did Ian tell you the good news?”

“He did. That’s actually why I’m here.”

“Oh?”

“Actually, the other CSF leaders wanted me to come talk to you.”

“Why?”

“One of them saw you with Lori the other day, and was concerned.”

“Concerned about what?”

“That you and she are back together,” I said.

“What if we were?”

“Are you?”

“It shouldn’t matter.”

“Some of the leaders think it does.”

“I knew it. All this, it was too good to be true.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lori and I aren’t back together at all. Yes, we’re friends again, and I have been talking to her down at the grocery store. When I took a walk with her across campus on Saturday, I was telling her about my decision. She doesn’t understand it at all, said I was only opening myself up to a world of hurt. I guess she was right.”

“Breanne—”

“I can’t believe this. When I started coming to CSF, I felt so accepted. Everyone was encouraging me to get to know Christ’s love and grace. And now that I’ve found it, my every move is scrutinized and cast into doubt? Everyone has struggles, Ian said. I thought being a Christian meant we could support each other along the way.”

“We can. I’ll just tell the other leaders what really is going on and you’ll be welcome back.”

“What do you mean, welcome back?”

“I shouldn’t have said that, never mind.”

“They were going to kick me out? I have to be perfect or else get lost? What a bunch of hypocrites! If that’s how they really are, now I’m not sure I want to come back.”

“What about your faith?”

“What about it? CSF doesn’t have the monopoly on following Jesus. I’ll find my own way.”

***

“How did it go with Breanne?” Ian asked me Tuesday afternoon.

I heaved a big sigh. “Awful, just as I thought it would.”

“So she is back with Lori after all?”

“No. I think I went about it all wrong. She was so offended, all she heard was judgment and rejection. She said she’d rather not come back at all than have to jump through hoops to prove she belongs.”

“I should have spoken up more strongly against this whole confrontation idea in the meeting,” Ian said. “I just hope whatever fragile faith she had isn’t damaged beyond repair.”

“She did say she could follow Jesus without CSF.”

“That’s true, but fellowship is important. We’ll have to be really intentional about spending time with her.”

As the semester wore on, every CSF leaders meeting seemed to bring another heated debate.

Ewan Finley dominated most of the arguments as the most vocal proponent of breaking down the barriers between CSF and the rest of campus. “Most students think that CSF is a bunch of stuck-up prudes,” he said at a meeting in late November. “We need to do a better job of following Jesus’ example.”

Rev. Reynolds interjected. “Ewan, I like what you just said about following Jesus’ example,” he said. “But everyone seems to have a different idea of what Jesus would do if he were here today. What do you think is the right answer? Can you give me specifics?”

“Well, remember, Jesus hung out with the tax collectors and prostitutes. So, I think we should encourage our remaining active members to break out of their Christian cliques, go to parties and basically, get involved in every aspect of campus life. For one thing, it would be a lot more fun than our stale movie nights and field trips. But more importantly, I’m beginning to see that it’s the only way we can shine our lights in the darkness. How will anyone know we love them and God loves them if we’re hiding in a bubble? They’re not going to come to us. We have to go to them.”

"I completely disagree,” said Becky. “God’s been speaking to me a lot lately, and last night I had a vision. I’ll spare you the details, but the point was that our problem is that we’re too worldly already. Why should anyone want to know Jesus if he doesn’t make a difference in our lives? We’re not holy enough, not different enough. We’re called to be a city on a hill, not part of the riff-raff in the gutter. In the world but not of it.”

“But Jesus hung out with tax collectors and sinners. He didn’t think of them as riff-raff,” said Ewan.

“He was a special case. He was the son of God,” Dwayne shot back.

“And aren’t we supposed to be like Christ?” said Ewan.

The debate continued going in circles. My head spun with contradicting theories of what God wanted. Becky thought God told her in a vision that CSF was too worldly and Dwayne agreed. Ewan seemed just as confident as that God was telling him CSF was too isolated from the world.

I could see some truth in both their positions, but they couldn’t both be right, could they? If God were real and operated like I’d been taught, would he really be giving different messages to different factions of people? Probably one or both of them were fooling themselves. But if that were true, then how could I ever know for sure what God really wanted from me? Zoey’s words on the train in Europe came back to me. Did He even care what we did?  

Chapter 32, part 1: Yield

On a snowy night in December, I looked up from a short story written in German. I couldn’t remember anything from the last few pages. I sighed and rolled my head around to relax my shoulders. Stretching out on the bed, I let the book fall across my chest.

How long had I been rereading the same paragraph? Dr. Eberhardt had assigned the selection for German class as an example we could study before crafting our own compositions, the semester final project. From what I struggled through so far, the story seemed interesting, but I couldn’t get lost in it like tales in English.

It was after ten and my eyes were heavy, but my mind was too full for sleep. The infighting in CSF had only gotten worse, and attendance sharply declined. Would the group survive the internal controversy? Too, I wondered how could I repair things with Kirsten, who hadn’t spoken to me since my birthday. And most importantly, what was I going to do about Brad?

We’d come closer and closer to having sex, and I still didn’t know if I was ready. In the heat of the moment, I told myself that God didn’t care what we did. But if I really believed that, why did I always feel so guilty after we fooled around? Then again, if we’d done “everything but,” as Brad liked to put it, what difference would it make if we did this one more thing?

I set the book on the adjacent desk and scooted off the bed. I took out a notebook. Perhaps I could channel these swirling emotions into the cathartic release of writing. Once the words hit the page, I could walk over the fears and worries they represented like Alice in Wonderland did to the deck of cards. Maybe I could even use my German-English dictionary to turn it into raw material for my assignment.

A bleak wilderness covered with impenetrable shadows stretched before Mathilde. She picked her way through the thorny landscape, but no matter how carefully she moved she could not avoid the stinging pricks that wounded her heels and scratched her calves. Behind her was a frozen land, cold and deadened with snow and ice. Past the brambles were the shifting sands of an endless desert, a land different from the one she had left but no more alive.

I smiled grimly at the melodrama of those sentences. Even if I could begin to translate such drivel into German, I wouldn’t make Dr. Eberhardt read one thousand words of that. I crumpled the page and threw it away.

I dialed Brad’s number. “I’m so stressed I can’t think straight,” I said when he came on the line. “Do you mind if I walk over to your place and just hang out for a while? I could really use a shoulder massage and some mindless TV to help me unwind.”

Of course he didn’t mind. As I walked the streets of Elkridge, I sang my new favorite show tune from Jekyll & Hyde, giving a bravura performance to the trees. A nearby community theater had put on the show and Brad had surprised me with the soundtrack after taking me to see it the week before. “Bring on the Men” had caught my ear. Each note rang out in the clear wintry air. I relished the bawdy, naughty fun of the lyrics. Life was so much sweeter when I embraced my sensual nature.

It was suddenly all clear. My pleas for protection from temptation and redoubled efforts at purity never worked, not because I was a worthless, wretched sinner, but because God simply didn’t care whether or not I got hot and bothered. God created me with the ability to become aroused. It didn’t matter one whit to Him whether it was because of a dream I had, a story I read or the way Brad touched me. Maybe God even smiled at me delighting in His creation. The Bible’s warnings against fornication and lust must have been for another time and place, to protect a fragile and backward society.

The line of thought was growing more compelling, but I still felt misgivings about letting Brad have his way with me.

Brad met me at the foot of his street, handsomer than ever in his Elk River letterman’s jacket. We walked hand in hand the rest of the way toward his basement apartment, snow crunching underfoot. He took my coat, sweater and gloves and had me sit in front of him on the floor. He began to massage my shoulders.

“Holy stress ball, Batman, you really are tense. Why don’t you take off your shirt so I can really get into these muscles here? There now, just relax and let it out. What has you so worked up?” he asked.

I sighed. “It’s CSF. I hate to see what’s happened to it. Everyone’s taking sides with Becky or Ewan, and attendance is way down.”

“It kills me to see you like this, so down, so tense. Why don’t you just quit?”

“How can I quit? I made a commitment to them.”

“You’ve done more than enough for them, is what I say. It’s kind of overkill to have twelve Cowhands or whatever anyway. It’s no big deal if you lose one resume builder, right?”

“I guess,” I sighed.

“Here, why don’t you come and sit on my lap so I can reach these knots in your lower back better,” Brad murmured in my ear.

As soon as I landed in his lap the massage was forgotten. We slid into a series of passionate kisses that ended with him lowering me to the couch. The lyrics from the song I’d been singing echoed in my head. Why wait another minute?

“Brad.”

“Hmmm?” came his muffled reply as he started to nuzzle my neck.

“Let’s not stop this time.”

He pulled us into a sitting position and held me at arms length. He searched my face as he took my hands in his. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I said. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, babe.” He kissed me tenderly and led me to his bedroom.