Grace Alive (A Christian Romance)

Part 3

Chapter 2

“Zoe! Get out of bed, or we are going to leave without you!” my mom said at my door. I forgot today was Sunday. Oh man. It’s not that I don’t like church, it’s just that it’s early, and I’m tired.

“I’m up, Mom!” I said, so that she wouldn’t barge in and shake me awake. My mom is a morning person to the extreme. She wakes up at like four in the morning. I’m not even kidding. When I was a kid, she’d wake me and my older brother up and get us ready for school like three hours early. After awhile, she realized that, that was a terrible idea and let us sleep a little longer.

I thought about Jonathan, I missed him. He’d moved to Texas the first chance he’d got. He was married when he was 25 to this girl, who was really sweet. He’s the perfect son in my parents’ eyes, probably because his wife popped out three kids already. They only see them through Facebook, but my mom still gushes on and on about her little angels. Jonathan has only come back twice since being married—if that tells you anything about anything.

I stumbled out of bed and headed toward the bathroom. After showering, I went back into my room to pick out a respectable outfit. I chose a black, knee-length skirt, a sparkly white top, and a hanging black cardigan overtop of it. I picked out some black heels and did my makeup really quick. Dad would turn red if I put a ton of makeup on, but I finally got him used to me wearing some mascara and lipstick. I grabbed my purse that contained my Bible, notebook, wallet, and pens; then turned off my bedroom light. Let’s do this thing.

I rode with my parents since it saved gas. Our church was only like ten minutes away, but gas money was gas money right? Our building is breathtaking. Light on the Hill Church is nestled on this beautiful hill overlooking Lake Michigan. It has a bunch of windows in the sanctuary that give you a perfect view of the lake. Dad had all this professional stuff done to it, so that it felt like you were walking into a cathedral. We are non-denominational, so we get all kinds that come here.

My dad liked to be an hour early to pray in his office. I usually just wandered around bored. I know I could have slept in longer, but I needed to save up every penny I earned, for what exactly I didn’t know yet.

Jacob Whitmen walked in the door just a moment after we got there. Mom was dusting or something, so she didn’t see the look that guy gave me. He is so creepy. He’s twenty-eight, has slicked brown hair, and tiny eyes that always looked at me like I’m a piece of meat. It’s disgusting. I think he called dibs on me with God or whatever, because I swear that guy thinks he owns me.

“Hi ya, Zoe-doughy,” he said with a sleazy smile. He constantly calls me stupid nicknames that get under my skin.

“Hi, Jacob,” I said dryly and went to go find something to do. Maybe I could go take communion or something.

“How was your weekend?” he asked with this undertone of let’s hang out one of these weekends. I’m sorry, but this guy was creepy on steroids. The sucky thing is that my dad loves him. Jacob sucks up big time. More than once my dad nudged me toward Jacob’s direction to talk. Our conversations made me want to ram my head in the wall.

“My weekend was great,” I said without batting an eye. I adjusted my purse over my shoulder and fidgeted.

“Maybe next weekend, if you’re not too busy…” he started to say.

“I’ve got to work.” I tried to sound sad. I wondered if it was working. Probably not.

“Are you still writing that book of yours?” He sounded like he was mocking me. Was he actually making fun of me? It feels like people think I’m a failure and can’t accomplish a darn thing in my life.