The Promises We Keep (Made for Love Book 1) (71 page)

“
I kissed her,
”
I repeat with a nod.
“
Until she heard me loud and clear.
”

“
Beckham, I
’
m not so sure a kiss from you makes anything
clear
right now. Don
’
t you think the act might make things more confusing?
”

I sigh as I think over her question. I only consider it for a moment because I know that neither of us was confused after that kiss. I needed it just as much as she did, I could tell by the way she responded to me instantly. That, however, is something I
’
ll never be able to explain
—
the only person who knows what I mean is the woman that I kissed; and the look in her eyes when I pulled away
…

“
Trust me, mom, there
’
s nothing else I can do to make this situation
more
confusing. That kiss was an answer. Everything else? Everything else is just a giant ball of questions that I am no closer to understanding today than I was five weeks ago.
”

“
Have you been praying about it?
”

Now
I scoff, completely incapable of holding it back.
“
Are you kidding?
”

She reaches for the towel that
’
s draped over my shoulder and dries her hands before draping it over her own. She folds her arms across her chest, mimicking my posture, and she leans her hip against the side of the sink.
“
Tell me about it, then.
”

“
I pray about it all the time. I got a
journal
. I
’
ve even met with Pastor Doug
—
I feel like I
’
m doing everything I possibly can to figure out what God wants with me.
”

“
But I thought you already knew that,
”
she says, challenging me.
“
It
’
s why you broke up with her in the first place, isn
’
t it? Because you didn
’
t feel at peace with moving forward with your relationship.
”

“
Yeah,
”
I say with a shrug.
“
But I need to figure out
why
. Pastor Doug thinks it
’
s a trust issue.
”
When she smiles at me, I stop speaking.
“
What?
”

“
Give me your hands.
”
Her smile grows wider as confusion tugs at my eyebrows. When I don
’
t obey, she gently reaches for my hands and positions them so they are held out between us.
“
Curl your fingers into your fists.
”
This time, I do as I
’
m told, curious as to where this is going.
“
We serve a sovereign God, Beckham. It is our privilege to
know
Him. He does not
owe
us anything. Lucky for us, He
wants
to shower us with blessings
—
not just life but
everything else
that comes with it. His love is
that
great. But a relationship with God is a two way street. In a relationship you give and you take. Are you following me so far?
”

I
’
m not sure where she
’
s going with her miniature Sunday school lesson, but I comprehend everything she
’
s said thus far, so I nod my agreement.

“
Good. Okay. Now
—
He has already
given,
so we should expect nothing less than for Him to take.
Thankfully
, He doesn
’
t ask for the impossible. All He wants is our love
—
and you know what they say about love? It
’
s a battlefield. Sometimes, despite the love that connects us to Him, life just
happens;
it
’
s confusing and frustrating and hard. Sometimes it
’
s earth-shatteringly heartbreaking and the
why
is a mystery. It sucks and it's not always fair. I know. You might not ever get to know
why
it felt right to break up with Addie. Perhaps the only thing you
’
ll ever be sure of is that you thought it was the best thing for you.
”

What she
’
s saying sounds familiar. I think about the napkin that
’
s tucked inside of my journal and I remember what Pastor Doug said about God not being interested in me
understanding
what He
’
s doing. I don
’
t like what my mother is saying now any more than I liked what he was saying then.
“
But, mom
—”
She shakes her head at once, silencing me without further argument.

“
God is teaching you something. I believe that. You felt that you and Addison needed to take a break and you acted on that feeling. He isn
’
t going to waste this opportunity. But, if you believe He
’
s asked you to give something up, you
’
ve got to actually give it up.
”

“
I did! Do you know how much it sucks being
friends
with her?
”
I bite my tongue, fully aware that I
’
m on the verge of throwing another temper tantrum
—
only it won
’
t be any more satisfying or helpful spouting off my frustrations to a person than it is unloading on God. It doesn
’
t change anything.

My mom pulls me from my thoughts as she grips my wrists, drawing attention to my closed fists.
“
You
’
re so concerned with the
why
that you refuse to let Him have it fully. Have you ever stopped to think that maybe the
why
is too
big
for you to understand? To you, this season is everything. To God, it
’
s a blip in time. Just like we aren
’
t previewed to the future, maybe right now you aren
’
t allowed any answers.
”

I stare down at my hands and shake my head. I don
’
t know if I
’
m shaking my head at myself, at my mom, or at God, but I know that the act is derived from an eye-opening realization.
I haven
’
t let her go. I broke up with her, yes, but I haven
’
t let her go. And that kiss? It was me dragging her along with me
—
which makes me an ass. I don
’
t regret that moment, seeing as how it said all I couldn
’
t say, but it didn
’
t change anything between us. That
’
s not fair to her.

Do I really have to let her go even more than I already have? What will happen if I do? And what does that mean,
let her go?
I still want her. I still love her. God
—
what is the point of all this?

Oh. Right. You don
’
t care to explain
why
, do You?

“
I don
’
t want to talk about it anymore,
”
I mutter, pulling my hands from out of my mother
’
s grip.

“
Beck
—”

“
I
’
ll finish the dishes,
”
I assure her, reclaiming the dish towel as I block her access to the sink.

“
Beckham
—”

“
Mom, please? I
’
m done talking about it.
”

She reaches up and squeezes my shoulder before kissing my cheek.
“
Okay.
”

I exhale slowly when I hear her retreat from the kitchen, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I know that I should take this moment of solitude to commune with God
—
to just talk to Him and be honest about what I
’
m feeling, but I don
’
t feel like talking to Him right now.
Besides, He knows exactly what I
’
m thinking and feeling anyway. He can have all the answers from me He wants. It
’
s me who
’
s left in the dark
.

I wonder if avoiding the situation entirely counts as letting it go, because that
’
s what I want to do. I have other things I can focus on. For instance, lining up more opportunities to pad my resume for med school. Volunteering at the hospital is great, but I can do more. I can also try and get a head start on my applications
—
that
’
ll impress my advisor in August.

Of course, thinking about medical school makes me think about Addie. Will she come with me wherever I go? Might we be together by then? Or
—

Too many damn questions. No answers.

I can
’
t think about it anymore.

So I won
’
t.

After a night of restless sleep and two
—
okay, two and a half
—
plates of Ray
’
s amazing barbecue, I could really go for a nap. The weather is nice so most of us are outside on the deck
—
us
being the family and close friends of Shannon Grant, the birthday girl. Looking at her now, as she stands in a group of women
—
my mother included
—
I
’
m really glad I came. Shannon means a lot to me, and not just because she
’
s Addie
’
s mom. After five years of hanging out in this house, and family dinners, and shared holiday celebrations, I know that I
’
m welcome here with or without Addie. Not to mention my relationship with Ray. I
’
m pretty sure he
’
s always liked having me around, even if it
’
s just to be another guy in the house. I
’
ve done my fair share of projects with him, helping out with his
honey-do
list every now and again.

I shift my focus to their daughter, who sits beside me at the head of the patio table. Her legs are curled up against her chest, her hands folded on top of her knees. Her black hair is half up and half down, resting against her shoulders. She
’
s engaged in conversation with the person on the other side of her and whatever they are talking about is making her laugh. The sound makes me smile.