I slept deep and easy once I finally got home, which was rare for me. My phone chirped and I slowly rose from bed on stiff, creaking arms, blinking and groaning against the warm morning light. The phone chirped again. I slapped at it once, missed, and got it on the second try.
“Hello?” I croaked without bothering to check who was calling.
“Mornin’, Amanda!” Anna said in a voice that was excessively cheerful, even for her.
“Mm,” I groaned, stretching my back. “What’s up?”
“Oh, nothin’,” Anna said. “Just we’re about to head to church and I thought you’d like to come.” There was a strange pause, and then she quickly added, “Plus my parents wanna meet you.”
“Why?” I said, as I slapped my feet on the floor. “I mean, I don’t really go to church.”
“Didn’t you say you were Baptist?”
“Lapsed,” I reminded her. “I haven’t been to church since, like, middle school.”
“Oh,” Anna said, all her cheer gone. I paused. She didn’t just sound disappointed, she sounded worried. “But that’s just more reason to come, ain’t it?”
“Listen, thanks for the offer,” I said, “but I really don’t—”
“No, Amanda,” Anna whispered suddenly, “you really need to meet my parents. Like, really, really. Please?”
My stomach sank as I realized she needed me. I thought it over for a moment before saying, “Okay. I’ll get dressed.”
“Yay!” Anna said, all the cheer flooding back. “We’ll be there in a half hour.”
She hung up before I could respond. I sighed and dug through my luggage. I only had one church-appropriate outfit: a pastel-pink floral short-sleeve dress with a wide purple belt that used to be Mom’s, twenty-five years and ten dress sizes before. I stepped into the living room and found Dad at the kitchen table, rubbing his temples over a plate of greasy bacon. His eyes were closed and his skin was pale and blotchy.
“That’s not very healthy,” I said, wondering what happened to the Dad who ate salad for practically every meal.
“Hangover,” he replied, his voice groaning like an old door. “Greasy food helps.” He cracked his eyes and stared at me for a moment. “What’s with the outfit?”
“I’m going to church,” I said, leaning against the counter and checking my phone. Dad let out a hoarse laugh but cut it short when I crossed my arms and looked down.
“Oh,” he said. “You were serious.” He tore a strip of bacon in half and popped it in his mouth. “Sorry, it’s just I can’t imagine you sitting in with a bunch of holy rollers.”
“My friend Anna invited me. Why can’t you see me there?” I asked, though of course I knew why. I still believed in God, and for a long time my faith had been the only thing keeping me afloat. But I could never forget the day Mom had come home from seeing our pastor, red in her eyes from weeping and rage. I asked her what was wrong and heard a stream of curses, so strange in her normally sweet little voice, as she told me he’d had some suggestions: that I should be sent to a camp to fix me, that I should spend more time with a male role model, that I should maybe take some time away from the congregation until I found a way to fit in. We never went to church after that, though I did continue to pray.
“The text’s pretty hostile to people like you,” Dad finally replied, chewing slowly.
“But they don’t have to know everything about me, do they?”
“Just be careful,” he said. “This ain’t Atlanta, and it ain’t the suburbs. People around here seem nice, but you gotta be careful with who you trust.”
“I know,” I said flatly, feeling the scar above my ear. My phone buzzed and Anna’s name appeared above a message: we r outside
“My ride’s here. I gotta go.”
“Really, though,” Dad said. I turned as I was heading out the door and saw both bloodshot eyes open, a look of concern in his face. “Really. Please be careful.”
I took a deep breath and nodded, feeling a sudden, shaking wave of anxiety. “I know, Dad,” I said. “I will. Bye.”
I hurried downstairs, where the same van Anna had driven a few days ago stood parked outside the breezeway. I took a minute to actually read the bumper stickers this time, out of morbid curiosity: JESUS WAS A CONSERVATIVE, one read, and RIGHTS COME FROM GOD NOT GOVERNMENT; ILLEGAL ALIENS! EXACTLY WHICH PART DID YOU NOT UNDERSTAND? and I CAN’T HELP THAT I’M HOMOPHOBIC … I WAS BORN THAT WAY! I stood in place and swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. The side door slid open and Anna leaned out, smiling.
“Whatcha waitin’ for?” she said. “Hop on in.” A small copy of Anna with freckles and missing teeth leaned into view and waved excitedly.
I forced a smile as I climbed in the backseat, between a pair of short blond boys in matching white short-sleeve dress shirts. Their legs were both spread so far that their knees met in the middle and neither seemed interested in moving, leaving me to clamber awkwardly over them and squeeze myself in the space left over. Something touched my butt during the maneuver. I made myself assume it was an accident.
A rail-thin woman with blond hair sprayed into an updo that defied physics turned and beamed at me from the passenger seat.
“Anna, hon,” she said without breaking her perfect smile, “you’re being rude. Introduce me to your friend.”