Oliver sat in traffic, dying to get to his family, afraid to look around.
He had an ache deep in his skull – the ache of trying to wrangle equipment from suppliers seemingly dying on the vine.
These days, his import/export business felt like the worst bike he had owned as a child. He loved to go fast, racing his friends, but that one Franken-bike – six different colours, and a bell that sounded like a lazy clanking ghost… The chain kept slipping off the cog, and his foot would plunge off the pedal, dig into the dirt, and the sharp edges would tear into his calf muscle. Going fast was half-suicide.
His friends would race ahead, while Oliver tried to string the chain back on the cog, his shaking fingers black with gritty oil, his eyes blurry with tears.
Oliver felt the ache in his eyes increase slightly. He could not help but notice how few trucks were on the road. He well knew the black hole at the center of every city – all the resources it endlessly consumed – and all the trucks necessary to keep the city-dwellers alive, in their snow globe of splendid detachment, blissfully unaware of every calorie and joule necessary to supply their gritty aristocratic existence.
Oliver used to choose what to import, now he just – well, he spent his days trying to track down essentials in a wilderness of unresponsiveness. Along with his worse-than-useless bike, Oliver had also had a worse-than-useless tent that always collapsed in the middle of the night, dropping damp nylon onto his startled face.
We used to lift up, now we just hold up…
It was early afternoon, and the highway should have been packed with trucks, but Oliver had a depressingly clear view of everything around him – only mere cars… No “How Am I Driving?” signs, no rusted back locks or half-visible phone numbers, no Playboy mudflaps – nothing!
Just people inching their way to eat whatever the trucks delivered last, not thinking about when the trucks might be delivering next…
He turned on the radio, and the announcer was hurling useless sound and fury at yet another example of liberal hypocrisy.
Oliver switched to a Christian station.
“Friends, we have been planning for these days since we were born – preparing for the end times since we first drew breath! You see it all around you – you can’t deny it! Everything is slowing down – we are struck the slow-motion sickness of the great reset! People don’t return your calls, people won’t take your money, nothing works, everything is delayed, everything built quickly and cheaply has to be repaired slowly and expensively! All we do nowadays is play catch up to our former greatness! You know, folks, I took my grandkids to the Kennedy Space Centre last week, and you know what I saw? I didn’t see greatness, I didn’t see majesty, I didn’t see triumph, I didn’t see genius – I saw a museum, my friends! A graveyard of what we used to be, what we used to be able to achieve! Because when I was a kid, friends, I dreamed of flying up into space, gripping the edge of a porthole and seeing the sunrise over the Sahara Desert on the curved Earth below…”
Oliver heard a muffled thump as the host struck his table.
“And that’s what we were promised! The future was going to be the Jetsons, 2001: A Space Odyssey, Star Wars and Battlestar Galactica – space travel and singing robots and antigravity and cancer wands that only had to be waved over people’s unnatural lumps. This is what we were promised, this is what we expected – and what did we get instead? The great slowdown. The great decay. Not shining cities on a hill, but leaning towers of corruption being urinated on by drug addicts. Did we get jet packs? No! We got national debt and collapsing educational standards. I grew up in sunny beautiful California in the 1950s, folks, and let me tell you, my friends – I feel like that old man in 1984, you know the one that Winston Smith tries to get to tell about the life that used to be – in California, in the nineteen fifties, it was paradise! We could play anywhere, roam everywhere – totally safe, wonderful community, great friends – a perfect life! Even that vision of what we could be is fading and falling away. And we know why, we all know why, my friends, don’t we? The wages of sin are death – it is said plain and simple in that most good and holy Book. We have turned away from God, we have turned away from redemption, we have sacrificed our holy morality to the sin of the senses. We have lost our souls, and gained only loneliness and fentanyl. Listen…”
Oliver switched off the station. He saw a gap in the traffic and gunned forward without even checking his blind spot.
His mother waited at the bottom of the driveway, as she always did when he was coming home – and he felt an ache of love, looking at her deep eyes, lined face and grey hair.
He was late, and had to park nine cars away. She was already there and opened his door.
“Ollie!” she cried, half pulling him from his seat and hugging him tightly.
“Mom…” he murmured, kissing her cheek.
“Everyone’s here, I’m sorry traffic was bad. I hope you brought your appetite!”
He smiled. “Thanks mom, great to see you.”
“After the hug, the evaluation… Let me see you!” She stepped back, scanning him up and down with her grey perceptive eyes. “Not bad, not bad… We make ‘em good in our family!”
Oliver laughed. “And you’re looking well, too!”
“Ha! ‘Well preserved,’ that’s all I get these days, at my age!”
She led him through the comfortable well-lit backsplit home into the enormous backyard, where a score of adults and children milled about, drinking, eating, laughing and playing.
“Oliver’s here!” cried his mother.
Everyone turned, raised their drinks, and gave him a welcoming cheer.
His father Patrick appeared and put a beer in his hand. “Great to see you, son!” His handshake was always a little too tight, but Oliver never minded. “I hope you don’t mind, we had to start without you. You’d better dig in quick, though – we couldn’t get everything we wanted for the feast, first time ever I think!”
His mother frowned. “True – not enough potatoes, and I had to dig out an old cooking pot, couldn’t get a new one to save my life!”
“I’m sure it’s all wonderful,” said Oliver.
His father leaned forward. “Anything wrong?”
“No, why?”
“You seem a little… Everything okay?”
Oliver nodded, took a swig of beer, and walked down the back steps onto the neat green lawn.
A gaggle of kids were wrestling their way through a tangled obstacle course, watched over by Oliver’s sister Diane, who was cheering them on madly, unconsciously holding the slight rise of her belly.
Diane’s mildly portly husband William was herding the children along, growling and holding his hands out like claws as he chased them from the rear.
Oliver’s younger brother David came up and grappled him in a deep bearhug. “Oliver, fantastic, it’s been a while! How are you?”
“I’m good, David, how are things with you?”
“Oh, great, great! Going blind from screens, like everyone!” He laughed and swivelled his head. “I’m going to stare around, looking for your date.”
“Going stag – as always!” said Oliver – as David said the two last words at the same time.
“Seriously, Mr Monk – let Jennie set you up! You’re in the desert of the 30s, you’re perilously close to a steady diet of dating leftovers!”
Oliver hesitated, then smiled. “I can – talk about that with her…”
“It’s embarrassing, forcing all the younger siblings to carry on the family line!”
David’s wife Jennifer was on her way over, but got diverted by Kyle, her eldest child, who had tripped over something on the obstacle course. She waved and bent over him.
“Aren’t you hungry?” asked David.
Oliver shrugged. “I need to get the fumes out of my nose before I can eat.”
“I don’t get this ‘we need more people’ stuff – it’s like people never try to drive during rush hour.”
“Yeah, and it wasn’t even rush-hour…”
Oliver’s sister Diane ran up, jumping at him with a broad smile.
“Bro!” she cried, hugging him and almost spilling his beer. “Please heavens above tell me you’ve brought a date!”
Oliver smiled and shook his head.
She punched his shoulder. “Oh, and you were all ‘don’t work too hard, sis – have children, sis - don’t get sucked into a career and lose out on what’s most important in life!’ Well, Mr High and Mighty, why are you shifting the whole thing onto us?”
Oliver’s mother appeared at his shoulder with a plastic bowl of coleslaw. “Eat something,” she urged. “And Diane, leave him alone!” She leaned in. “Are you dating – anyone?”
Oliver paused. “I can’t use anything online, and there aren’t many women in my – field…”
“Come to our church!” she said.
“Are there any single women my age at the church? I thought they were all married off in their teens!”
She smiled and shook her head. “You’re such an old soul, it would do you good to have a young girl keeping you fresh!”
Oliver laughed.
David leaned forward and said: “Don’t let all these – beliefs keep you on the sidelines.”
Oliver put his beer down on a white patio table. “Dude, when I meet the right girl, nothing will stop me – I just haven’t been as lucky as you guys.”
“Ninety percent of luck is – preparation,” said his mother decisively.
“I agree,” said Oliver, taking a muscle flex position. “That’s why I’ve been working out!”
David laughed. “With what – marshmallows?”
Oliver growled and grabbed at him. David danced back.
“Don’t spill!” cried his mother, grabbing the bowl of coleslaw.
“How are the kids?” Oliver asked David.
“Whooo!” he cried as his wife Jennifer arrived. “Ask their new teacher!”
Oliver’s eyes widened. “Homeschooling?”
Jennifer kissed his cheek. “Oh yes, it was time. You wouldn’t believe the books I found in their library!”
David shook his head. “It was the kind of stuff we had to root around in dumpsters for, back in the day!”
Their mother covered her ears. “I hear nothing!”
“How are they adjusting?” Oliver wondered.
There was a slight pause, then Jennifer shrugged. “It’s strange – we were all so into our friends and peers and – tribe I guess, when we were that age, but there doesn’t seem to be anything – solid, in their groups… They just come and go…”
David nodded. “And after online classes for two years, everyone got used to talking remotely… And it doesn’t really make much difference – we didn’t have any play dates…”
Oliver nodded. “I never got the ‘play date’ thing, just – just go play, and come back when the streetlights come on!”
David laughed. “Remember that crazy cowbell you used to ring, mom, when it got dark?”
She nodded. “Got to call the livestock in for feeding.”
Jennifer’s eyes narrowed. “Social trust has – almost completely collapsed. Everyone used to have the same worldview, now it’s just a – mishmash…”
“I hear you,” said Oliver seriously.
“And your business is – going well?”
“Sure, it was really strong at the beginning of the pandemic, insane demand – but everything is just getting – slower and slower, it’s so hard to get anything these days…”
His mother said: “That’s true, I’ve seen that. The goods are fewer, but the bills are higher.”
From behind him. Oliver’s father said: “I’ve had to give up repairing things, just can’t get any parts.” His voice was unusually anxious. “Where does it end?”
“Oh, I’m sure things will turn around,” said David, glancing at Jennifer.
Oliver’s mother put her hand on his forearm. “What do you think?”
Oliver paused. “I think - it’s high time to get reacquainted with my nephews and nieces!”
Putting down his bowl of coleslaw, he strode over to the remnants of the obstacle course, scooping up shrieking children and hugging them in a wriggling mound.
After the obligatory high-fives and inquiries, he turned to Diane, the youngest of his siblings.
“Well!” he said, looking at her belly. “Congratulations!”
“It’s wonderful,” she smiled. “If Violete had been this easy, I never would have hesitated!”
“Oh yeah, that was tough…”
She arched her eyebrow. “Single again?”
“I’ve already run the gauntlet, thank you very much!”
“Seriously, though, you’re 31 years old!”
“Yes. You know I work with numbers, right?”
“Yes, and the number you are most addicted to is ‘10’!”
Oliver rolled his eyes. “Oh please don’t give me the ‘lower your standards’ spiel again.”
“Have you seen these websites, where you enter your ideals, and see how many women are out there? I ran your requirements the other day - you’re looking at fewer than 5% of women!”
He paused. “How are things with William?”
Her cheeks flushed. “Oh, great, wonderful!”
“And – should you have lowered your standards, or waited for him?”
“Oh come on, that’s always the… Oliver – are you waiting for perfection or making perfection?”
“What fortune cookie did that come from?”
“I think your standards are too high – and your beliefs… Why are you so concerned with divorce? We don’t have divorces in our family! We honour the Lord!” Diane leaned forward. “How is your faith, Oliver?”
He smiled. “My faith is – fine. Thank you for asking the most pointed question in the universe.”
Diane shrugged. “Hey, if we’re not looking out for each other, what are we doing? Do you have any prospects?”
Oliver took a deep breath, but knew he could not lie. “No.”
“You travel the world, you can’t find anyone? Just look – closer to home!”
“I don’t travel the world. You need to be vaccinated.”
She nodded rapidly. “Yeah, of course, sorry…” Her jaw tightened decisively. “But I have some time before the baby, and I’m going to make it my mission to find you someone – and if I do find you that perfect someone, and you don’t fall in love with her, I’m going to expect an essay as to why – single spaced, at least 20 pages!”
Oliver laughed. “Deal. I’m going to trust your deep knowledge of my soul to find me a match.”
Diane touched her belly, and her brow clouded. “But – they were out of diapers at the store today, Ollie. I don’t need them yet, but – when are they coming back?”
Oliver took a deep breath. “I’ll keep you posted. I have some inside knowledge – and let me tell you, when you find them, grab as many as you can! Or use cloth.”
Slight fear flashed across her eyes. “Way to comfort a pregnant woman, Ollie!”
He smiled. “Hey, if we’re not looking out for each other, what are we doing?”
Diane leaned forward slightly. “What do the – forums say? Is it time to stack food in the basement?”
Oliver shrugged. “I can only send you that link so many times – either you buy, or you don’t.”
“So, I – should?”
Oliver shook his head slightly. “I feel a bit like Chicken Little here…”
Diane frowned suddenly. “Oh my gosh, that’s why you’re not dating!” Her voice lowered. “Seriously, is it that bad?”
“Look, just – be prepared. All right?”
Diane’s hands drifted over her belly. “What on earth is coming?”
“It might be nothing – but if you get food, and you don’t need it, you just – eat your pessimism.”
“Send me that link again…”
“Oh gosh – is that Jayda?”
Diane followed Oliver’s gaze to a pale skinny young woman with upswept multicoloured hair, who was gesturing with great energy, her stringy biceps stretching across her arm bones.
“Yeah. Kind of a sore thumb here…”
“She has even more nose-rings…”
“Yes, and a new tattoo! Apparently, she’s determined to fight stereotypes by becoming one.”
Jayda’s head turned towards them accidentally, and her dark brown eyes narrowed. With a slight wobble, she charged over.
“Oliver!” she cried in a high nasal voice.
“Hey there Jayda - how are things?”
Jayda cocked her head. Oliver had a sudden memory. Twenty years before, in this same garden, when Jayda was five or six, she had crawled on his father’s lap wearing a princess outfit, and fallen fast asleep.
Jayda put her hands on her hips and tossed her high hair backwards. “Things are just peachy, thank you. How is the life of exploitation?”
Oliver smiled slightly. “You mean my business? Well, I’m still hiring people, and so driving up the wages of all workers. How is life as a government teacher? Enjoying living off the taxes of the working classes so you can inflict guilt on their kids?”
She laughed harshly. “Oh, you’re such a reactionary! Please turn and face the wall…”
“Jayda!” cried Diane.
“Oh, lighten up, Di! If we can’t laugh, why get out of bed?” Jayda’s head darted forward slightly towards Diane. “Sayyy, unless that’s an excess of pecan pie, looks like you’re growing another tumour!”
“A – what?”
“A tumour – a clump of cells that hijacks your body to feed its own growth!” She gestured at Diane’s belly. “Baby tumour…” Her hand drifted towards Oliver. “Grown-up tumour…”
“Are you drunk?” asked Oliver.
Jayda waved her beer bottle. “Oh, this peasant pig swill is just for appearances. I don’t drink, it’s the opiate of the masses!”
Diane snapped: “And Marxism is the opiate of the intellectuals!”
Jayda laughed. “Marxism – what 19th-century hole did you crawl out of? I’m an anarchist! I’m Marx long after Marx! I am the future made manifest – and the future is female, baby!”
Jayda’s mother Karen walked up cautiously, wearily. “Are you bothering your nice cousins, Jay?”
Jayda sneered. “The only ‘thing’ that should be bothering these ‘nice cousins’ is the complete lack of diversity in this Garden of Eden! It’s like an overexposed family portrait of the Osmonds!”
“Oh, give it a rest!” snapped Diane.
“You’re right,” said Jayda silkily. “Let’s not let any inconvenient truths mar this clan gathering…”
Is that ‘clan’ with a C or a K? thought Oliver, but said nothing. What’s the point?
Jayda patted Oliver roughly on his shoulder. “I kid you, Ollie – but you really are one of the most noble people here – gloriously childfree!”
Oliver’s eyes narrowed. “Stop talking like that in front of my sister!”
Jayda stuck out her lower lip. “Why, Mr Patriarch? You gonna spank me?”
“That’s enough…” said Karen emptily.
“I wish your mother had stayed childfree…” muttered Diane, then shook her head slightly and crossed herself.
At the head of a long half-cleared white table, Oliver’s father stood and clinked his glass with a spoon.
“Dessert is served! Apple pie, pecan pie, we’ve got a cherry pie – and this one, I don’t know what it is, but they all look delicious! But first…” He lowered his bald head and clasped his hands in front of his naval. “We thank you, O Lord, for the bounty placed before us. We ask you for the grace and virtue to love friend and enemy alike. We welcome Your trials, the trials to come, and hope that we can stay worthy of Your good graces. We pray that the hearts of those opposed to You can be opened by Your love, and our example…”
Oliver opened one eye. Jayda was staring defiantly at the old man. He almost expected her skin to start smoking.
“And we thank all those who labour in the distance to provide for us in the present. We thank Jesus for His presence at our table, for man does not live by bread alone. I wish to thank my wife of 40 years – her grace, courage and conviction have been my bedrock over the course of a long and wonderful marriage. I thank You for the health and happiness of my children, and all the rich blessings of a life lived in Your service. Thank you, O Lord!” He looked up and smiled. “Amen. Let’s dig in – who wants pie?”
The women bustled like butterflies, cleaning and tidying and offering. The children raced through the tiny forests of adult legs. Men chatted seriously, gesturing with emptying plates. The beauty of the fading day streamed golden light over the easy faces of the happy people.
A karaoke machine was brought out, and the men attempted various shades of Elvis, Mel Torme, Sinatra and, for the overly ambitious, U2. The women opted for Grease megamixes and Shania Twain.
Jayda tried screeching out a rap song, but her mother turned off the machine as the swear words came up on the monitor.
Oliver sat the children in a circle and led them in a game of “three-word story” - where each participant added three new words to an increasingly lengthy and absurd tale. The younger children added endless poopy digestive issues, and the older children inserted kissing. Hysterical laughter had the children bent over on the ground.
The sun set slowly, lengthening the soft shadows of the renewing spring trees over the gathering.
Even though it wasn’t Thanksgiving, the family tradition of giving thanks started as the sun was half-setting over the amber fences.
Oliver’s mother said: “When I was a bride, I was very nervous – I guess everyone is… And I remember so clearly walking up the aisle with my dear father, and my fingers were crossed behind my back, because I was so much in love with my fiancé – as I love him even more now – and I was just – tortured by wondering how everything was going to turn out, you know, my life… But I put my trust in the Lord, as I always do, and I wish I could send a message back in time to that blushing 20-year-old bride – so hard to imagine for you young folks – and tell her that everything has worked out – even better than she could have imagined! I love you all so much, and I thank you for sharing this beautiful life with me!”
Oliver’s father stood up and said: “It’s true what they say – the days are long, but the years are short.” He turned to his wife. “I remember you walking down that aisle as if it were yesterday! I can’t quite recognise the old people we’ve become, because our love still feels so young…” He blew her a soft kiss. “But - I am most grateful for the steadfast faith my family has maintained – especially my children – in these increasingly godless times… The devil feels at work everywhere, drawing people away from the one true faith, the one true path – dragging us down to the physical, the material, the secular…”
Jayda snorted restlessly.
“But you have all kept the faith, my children – and for that I thank you. I hope that I have set a good example, but I am far from the only example in this world, and you picked your way through the modern minefields to reach this beautiful garden, this happy place, with wonderful children and joyful marriages – and you have all done me so proud! Thank you.”
Diane stood and said: “I am so grateful for you both. Where I volunteer, there so many unhappy people – it comes with the territory, of course – and I don’t think they could ever really believe what happens in this garden, in this family… I show them pictures, and they say – nothing. They want to know where all our problems are, how we fight, what we fight about – and there’s really nothing to say, other than the fact that Oliver almost forgot my birthday last year – but we are Christian folk, forgiveness is a virtue, however hard it may be at the time!”
Oliver smiled at her. His eyes were full.
“And we are blessed, we are the proof of life of the life of faith. We are happy, we love each other, we love God, and our children thrive. With God, all is possible – but without you, mom – and you, dad – God would have been a whole lot harder to find, and for that I thank you. We all thank you…”
Overcome, she sat down.
The middle brother David rose and said: “First of all, I would like to thank everyone for not commenting too much on my attempt to grow a moustache. It’s what I pray for the most, but God clearly judges me as an unrepentant sinner… But seriously – I’m thankful for the fact that we don’t – as a family – just – grow up and move away… Shatter and fragment, like most do… I’m grateful for this day, this garden, this gathering. Dad – I’m so grateful that you helped me overcame my hesitation to do missionary work, because as you know it was over there that I met my wonderful wife Jennifer. Without Jennifer, I would never have met our two wonderful children, Kyle and Kayleigh. I’m grateful for our little hideaway of deep love and commitment, far from the shallow swords of a clashing world. And I’m grateful to God, for making all this – all things – possible!”
His wife Jennifer stood and said: “I don’t mean to sound prideful, but I know that God loves me more, because I’m constantly praying against that moustache!” She smiled. “I’m grateful for a family that took me – an orphan – so deeply into your hearts – all of you… I had a – scant and unstable home life, and I didn’t even know how much I hungered for a real family until you all – took me in. You had your reasons for doubt - my background is quite different, but you just – loved me, and showed me the way. I thank you so much – for everything…”
Overcome with emotion, Jennifer sat abruptly. Her husband’s hand covered hers.
The youngest brother Keith stood and said: “I’m grateful for my wonderful fiancé Iris, who is as pretty as a flower, and helps me see the light. I’m grateful that she let me take the lead in our relationship, and draw her away from the terrible temptations of a modern arts degree! I hope to serve her as a husband for the rest of my life, and can’t wait to be a father! Mom, I thank you for reminding me how – and why – to lead – and when to follow. And Iris – I thank you so much for accepting the grace of God into your heart. I’m just a lowly vehicle, but you really…” He sniffed and laughed. “You are teaching me as much as I’m teaching you – more, most days. Thank you for trusting me, thank you for believing in me, and I am so excited for our life together!” He reached out to his fiancée, but she shook her dark hair, tears in her eyes.
Oliver’s grandfather was helped up, and leaned forward, over the white tablecloth. “To heck with modernity, this is what matters! I thank you all for staying close, and I promise to put in a good word for you with the man upstairs – but hopefully not too soon!”
Oliver’s grandmother Betty said: “I know what Barbara meant, we are all uncertain about the future, when we are young, and want to know how everything ends. Of course we, as Christians, know exactly how everything ends – and how much of that is up to us! I am sad that all the prophecies are coming true, but that just brings us all closer to God…” She wagged her finger. “Lessons are going to have to be learned, hard lessons, but it will bring people back to the bosom of Christ. I thank you, O Lord, for your stern love, despite our wayward ways. And I pray most of all for Jayda,” said Betty finally, sitting down heavily.
Jayda tipped a glass ironically, her eyes glittering. She was encouraged to get up, but only slouched deeper into her plastic chair.
Oliver stood up, leaned forward and said: “I’m so grateful that people have stopped bringing up my marital status, that shows Christian humility and deep love!”
His mother called out: “Ladies, he’s available – help him find someone while he still has his hair – at this point, just about anyone!”
Oliver smiled. “Thank you, mother, I know that comes from a place of love… Seriously, though, I am glad that you all remind me, and I promise that I am neither a monster nor a monk – and that my standards are not too high! Quite high, of course, I am fairly wonderful, but I promise I will give any good woman a fair shake. I love you all, and I promise to – keep everyone informed, about what is happening in the world, to keep us all safe.”
Jayda’s mother Karen stood, brushing back the awning of her streaked bangs.
“We’ve had some tough years, Jayda and I – but this family has always stood with us, and we are eternally grateful for your kindness and generosity and acceptance… As you know, I judge myself far too harshly – that’s why it is so wonderful to be among people with such – open hearts. After Jayda’s father left, I was – I was tempted – by despair.” She shook her head, spreading her hands. “But you – you people, just wouldn’t let me be, wouldn’t let me stay in bed, wouldn’t let me – not wash, to be honest…” She gestured towards Oliver’s mother. “Marie, you moved in, basically, and talked to me every day about love and forgiveness and – taking responsibility, darn you! And you pulled me out of a dark place, I’ll be honest! You eventually convinced me to take Jayda out of daycare, and fight for custody against that – monster. And then you told me – I remember so clearly – you told me that I was responsible for choosing that monster, because I had not battled the monster within me, because of the – drugs and – bad decisions. And that you still loved me…” Karen’s voice faltered, and she smiled. “Despite my cursed name… And I’ve tried to – I’ve tried to be a good example, but I don’t think it’s been – enough…”
Marie got up. Karen half-ran over to her, and they hugged tightly. Marie whispered something into Karen’s streaked hair. All anyone could tell was that it was a repetitive phrase of some kind.
“Jayda,” said Marie, turning to the darkening faces. “We would so love it if you would talk.”
Jayda shook her head rapidly. “It’s so – great to see all this love, but I don’t have anything to say. At the moment.”
“Jayda,” repeated Marie in a lower voice. “Sometimes in life, it’s now or never.”
Jayda pursed her lips, fingering the base of her wine glass. “It’s all so – self-congratulatory. I don’t think I have the stomach…”
“Self-congratulatory?”
“Yeah – you’re all so – grateful for these wonderful things, but in my circle, where I move, people didn’t have these – wonderful things. Never did.” Her nasal voice rose. “You thank God for all these graces, but He holds these graces back from a whooole lot of people in this world, you know.” Jayda lifted her head defiantly. “And frankly, we’re all kind of sick of this self praise, like you are all so wonderful and so happy because God just loves you – but where was God when my dad was – doing what he did, to my mom? Where was God when my teachers showed up drunk at the daycare?” Her voice trembled with venomous passion, and she glanced at the open-mouthed children around her. “Where was God when I got – cornered at that party, when I was 14? You all had these – happy childhoods, I guess – so you think that God is good and kind and generous. You don’t love God, you just love your – origin stories. Those of us with different – stories, well I guess we have different heroes and villains…” Her voice suddenly rose to a shocking shriek. “AND WE’RE COMING FOR YOU, BELIEVE IT!”
Marie had been making her way towards the young woman. She leaned over, her curly hair falling past her red cheeks, and tried to hug Jayda.
Jayda jumped up, almost knocking Marie over. “Fat lot of good this does now!”
“We tried, we tried! We offered to take you, we got your mom into treatment, we kept your dad at bay…”
“BUT YOU LET HER MARRY HIM!” cried Jayda.
“We couldn’t stop her – she was on the other side of the country – we didn’t know, she didn’t tell us – we asked!”
“But you do everything for your family, everything for your community – why didn’t you fly out?”
Marie’s voice grew forceful. “Because there’s a reason you are here, Jayda! We never would have met you, you wouldn’t exist, if we had stopped it!”
“Why would that be so terrible?” demanded Jayda, averting her eyes.
Oliver’s father Patrick said: “Marie, listen to her. She might be – she might be with us because of our bad choices. A reminder of what we failed to do…” He turned towards the young woman’s set, angry face. “Jayda, we do love you, and we want you to be – happier. We don’t know how that can be achieved without accepting Jesus into your heart.”
“He’s too big for…” started Jayda, then stopped her words with great effort.
Richard said: “What do you need from us?”
Jayda paused, then her mouth twisted. “Just for all of you to get out of the goddamned way!”
Marie’s hands covered her own mouth.
Jayda jumped up and ran from the gathering, her awkward gait showing her agonising rage and vulnerability.
Her mother stood slowly. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, then turned to follow her daughter out into the darkness.
Next chapter: https://freedomain.locals.com/post/3462123/the-present
