Eventually, my father makes his way over and sits down next to me, a peculiar look in his eyes. He’s staring like he’s got something to say, an amused smirk just barely visible at the corners of his mouth.
“What?” I question.
“I see the light of the Lord in you tonight,” my father informs me, a compliment I’d take to heart if not for the fact that this loving message feels tethered to something I don’t understand.
Seconds later, Mom is setting down an enormous dish of spaghetti before us, steam rolling off the bright red sauce as it floods our nostrils with a robust aroma.
“Luke!” my mother blurts playfully. “Give her a moment!”
My dad smiles and leans back in his chair, still eyeing me mischievously.
“Okay, what’s going on here?” I glance back and forth between them as my mother takes her seat.
My query goes ignored as our conversation takes a sudden intermission, Luke and Lisa reaching their hands out to take my palms in theirs as we lower our heads. Nobody has to say a word as the three of us fall into our nightly routine.
We offer our prayer in unison, eyes shut tight as these words bounce from our mouths in a familiar cadence. “Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Bless us so that we may know our place in His kingdom as servants. Bless us so that we may give service to the Lord and the righteous lambs will be spared when the scale of ends meets the scale of means. Bless the Kingdom of the Pine for lighting the darkened path that our Shepherd walks. Amen.”
I begin to lift my gaze, but before I get the chance my father launches into an additional blessing. He’s clearly caught the spirit this evening. “And bless the Prophet Cobel, for the wisdom he has bestowed. Bless the Four Tenets that guide us. But, most of all, bless our beautiful daughter on this important day. Amen.”
“Amen,” my mother and I respond in turn.
The three of us lift our gazes once more, taking a beat before getting to work and dishing out some pasta.
Lisa can’t help chuckling to herself. “Most of all,” she repeats, shaking her head. “Don’t get cute, Luke.”
She’s referring to the part where my father placed my blessing above that of the Four Tenets and the Prophet Cobel. This is bad form and I’m a little bothered by it, but we’re playing it fast and loose tonight.
All I can do is refrain from pride and do better when it’s my turn to lead.
Out of respect, I run though all Four Tenets in my head, with a particular focus on number three this evening.
Respect—I will honor when I do not understand,
Integrity—I will believe when I do not witness,
Service—I will strive when my sin is heavy,
Excellence—I will persevere when my body does not.
“So,” Mom begins, curiosity overwhelming her tone and elevating it into a playful singsong frequency. “How was your date?”
I raise an eyebrow as I stab the mass of noodles before me, utterly confused. I begin to twirl my utensil. “What date?”
“With Isaiah!”
I can’t help laughing. “At the falls today?” I question. “It was fun, but that wasn’t a date. We’re just friends.”
The cold chill I’d felt earlier immediately surges through my body, causing my hand to seize up and my body to shift awkwardly in the hard wooden chair.
My parents exchange glances again, as though passing some unspoken relay baton between them. My father clears his throat for a moment, ready to take over.
“He’s a handsome guy, don’t you think?” Dad suggests.
I shrug. “I mean, sure.”
Mom butts in, unable to wait longer than a single question and answer before leaping back into the fray. “You don’t like that?” she demands to know. “You don’t want a boyfriend?”
I can’t help the barely audible scoff that escapes my throat.
We all love Jesus in the Darling household, but my parents are typically the ones who hoist this flag the highest and elevate my faith on a daily basis. I’m thankful to have two spiritual warriors consistently by my side, and through their pious diligence I’ve come to carry my own innate parental severity.
The idea of them actually encouraging me to have a boyfriend is shocking. I suppose my recent twentieth birthday could be the marker that set them off, but the turn they’ve taken is so alarming I’m left wondering if it’s a trap.
“I think I should be focused on school right now,” I offer, hoping this is what they want to hear.
My mother reaches out and places her hand over mine, causing me to return a fresh spool of spaghetti to the plate.
“Honey,” she begins softly, “the Lord wants you to start a family. You’re a woman now, and finding a partner is a very important part of His plan. I know we’ve been a little … strict about this before, but you should know it’s okay.”
I’m not sure how to react, staring down at the table before me.
My father clears his throat, a sign he’s about to launch into a brief diatribe of religious theory. “You know, when Tobias Cobel established the Four Tenets he did so in a way that was pretty genius. A lot of people see him as a man of faith and entrepreneurship, which he was, but he was also a family man.”
“Tenet number four: Excellence,” my mother chimes in. “I will persevere when my body does not.”
I already know where they’re going with this, but I honor the moment and listen respectfully.
“To live on,” Dad continues. “That could mean your spirit ascends to heaven, or a business you’ve built keeps turning a profit. It could also mean your family line lives on.”
I nod. “Understood” is all I can think to say.
“You like Isaiah, don’t you?” my mother pushes, repeating her initial question. “Bill and Anna tell us he’s really into you.”
I now realize any denial regarding this supposed date will promptly be discarded and we’ll be taking another spin around the maypole. Clearly, there’s an answer my parents want to hear, and if I hope to enjoy this plate of spaghetti I’ll have to give it to them.
Still, I refuse to lie. That’s a sin.
“Today was good,” I reply, stretching my enthusiasm as far as it can possibly go. “Isaiah is really … nice.”
Immediately, the tension in my mother’s hand softens. She releases her grip as both of my parents sit back in their chairs, finally allowing me a moment of rest.
I don’t look up as I eat, but from the corner of my eye I see them watching with absolute satisfaction. They’re not even touching their food, just allowing the gratitude to wash over them as though I’m a toddler who finally learned to walk.
Eventually, the evening kicks back into gear and my parents plunge into their food. It seems my simple answer was just enough to satisfy whatever they were looking for.
Still, a host of questions continue to linger in the back of my mind. Why were they talking to Isaiah’s parents about our day at the falls? Everyone in Neverton is pretty closely knit, especially members of the congregation, but as far as I knew Bill and Anna didn’t have a strong rapport with my folks.