Love, Loathing, and Limelight

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The church lady had a charming bungalow. She was there when I walked in, almost like she was waiting for me.

"Sara!" she said as she hugged me, and I awkwardly smiled. "So glad you could make it."

"Yeah, last minute, I decided I'd come just for fun," I said.

"Well, I've got some cake in there if you want any," she said. Of course, I wanted cake. Some people are particular about the way they eat, but I've never denied myself something I wanted. I only trained myself not to want sugar as much. But I didn't have any cake; I didn't deserve any. I hadn't been working nearly as hard as I used to in any area of my life, and I was not about to reward myself like that.

I know that Christmas parties are supposed to be a family affair. I know that everybody is supposed to meet at grandma and grandpa's house, and little kids are supposed to be excited to see their cousins, and everybody brings some kind of food, but grandma always makes the main course. Grandpa is supposed to dress up as Santa, and all the kids are supposed to open presents. I know it's supposed to snow, and everyone is supposed to go sledding. I know that Christmas parties for the people at my school consist of alcohol and inappropriate Christmas costumes, but I also know that my Christmas parties have always looked a little different.

My Christmas parties have always been Megan and me attending the nutcracker, even though I had already been in it, and then watching a Christmas romcom. It usually wasn't snowing, and I've never really believed in Santa. I never knew what a church Christmas party looked like, but it wasn't anything like what I thought. People who I believed to be stuck-up church snobs were exchanging heartfelt gifts with one another. Everyone was enjoying everyone's company, and for once, I felt like I was in a place of authentic fellowship. It was like everyone was there to serve each other.

"So tell me," she said, sitting down. "How's Megan?" I sat down next to her.

"Um," I said. "Well, we're uh, we're fighting, I think."

"Oh," she said. I don't think she was expecting me to give her the bad news, but it didn't seem to bother her. "Why is that?" Once again, I spit something out before I could apply the filter.

"Because she's irresponsible and shouldn't be raising a child." I regretted it instantly, and you could see it all over my face. The church lady looked disapprovingly. I had noticed she seemed to be traditional. I don't think she approved of me talking wrong about the woman who raised me. And I didn't approve either.

"Well, you're not a child," she said.

"True," I responded. "But sometimes I feel like I've raised myself. Or sometimes, I even feel like I've raised her. Like lately, it's just been so baffling how I've made it this far while living in her house. And I'm not pregnant. I'm still a virgin. I've never had alcohol, I don't party, and I've made straight A's. I mean, I'm nothing like her," I was spilling everything. "I don't even know why she still tries to bring me to church. She doesn't even stay awake during service. She's not what you think of when you think of church people." The church lady paused.

"Sara, let me tell you something," she said. "I had my daughter out of wedlock with a man I had a one-night stand with and never saw again. Am I someone you think of when you think of church people? No, I'm definitely not. But God turned that around for me, and I now have a wonderful relationship with my daughter."

"What are you trying to tell me?" I asked, confused but desperate.

"I'm trying to tell you that you were raised by someone who was less than qualified, but maybe God is turning that around for you and revealing to you the kind of person you want to be by showing you the kind of person you don't want to be." I had never considered crediting who I am to my aunt, considering we are opposites. I had never thought to credit my responsibility to her irresponsibility or my success to her lack thereof. She saw the gears turning in my head. "I've known your aunt for a little bit, and I've seen a side of her that you haven't. She may not seem like that 'church-going' type. But I promise you she prays every night that you don't end up like her and that you stay true to your dreams because she never had the chance to go after hers."

What are Megan's dreams? I had never stopped to ask. I know she's had various jobs, but they were all jobs that put me in dance class, bought me new dance shoes, and put me in a prestigious school.

"She gave up whatever dream she had because of me?"

The church lady sighed.

"You could look at it like that," she said. "Or you could look at it as if she did everything strategically right so that she could live her dream through you living yours." I began to cry. "You became her dream, Sara," she said. "She was never unqualified to raise you, just qualified in her own way," she said, and we both laughed. "Well, you better get going," she said, drying my tears and helping me stand. "Sounds like you've got something to fix. You have my phone number. Tell me how it goes." I thanked her, and as I left, I stopped a random girl I found near the door.

"Hey," I said. I'd learned how to read eyes because words had become unreliable, and her eyes told me she knew who I was and didn't know how to respond. "This is kind of weird, but- um, what's her name? The small group leader?" The girl looked at me, surprised but not disappointed for whatever reason. I guess she was just taken back that I was at a church party and wasn't there to be a bad influence.

"Oh, uh, her name's Jeannie," she said. I paused.

"Thanks," I half-whispered as I walked out the door.