Page 166 of What We Brave
"He's an engineer turned missionary. Everything is a PowerPoint."
Blake's thumb has stopped on my ankle. Just resting there. Steady.
"What if we told them in person?" Reid says slowly.
I look up at him. "What?"
"Not right away. But eventually. We all go visit them." He shrugs like he hasn't just suggested something enormous. "Where are they now?"
"Guatemala. Building a community center."
"So we go to Guatemala."
I stare at him. Then at Blake.
"All three of us," Blake adds. Like he and Reid rehearsed this. "They can meet us. See how it actually works instead of just imagining the worst."
"You want to..." I sit up slightly, blanket pooling around my waist. "You want to fly to Guatemala. To meet my missionary parents. And stand there while I explain our relationship."
"Yes," they say. At the same time.
I look between them.
They'd do that. They'd actually do that. Fly to Central America and sit at a folding table in a half-built community center and shake my father's hand and eat my mother's terrible rice and let my parents see that their daughter is loved. Thoroughly. By two men who would fly to Guatemala for her.
And that's when the tears start.
Oh great. Here we go.
Not sad tears. Overwhelmed tears. The kind that show up uninvited and refuse to leave.
"Hey, hey." Reid shifts so he can see my face. "What's?—"
"Nothing." I'm laughing and crying at the same time, which is an extremely attractive look, I'm sure. "Nothing's wrong. I just—" I swipe at my cheeks. "I've never had people who show up like this. Who actually show up. And you two just casually suggestedGuatemalalike it's a day trip."
"It's just a plane ride," Blake says, like international travel to meet disapproving missionaries is no big deal.
Reid thumbs a tear off my cheek. "Good tears?"
"The best tears." I sniff. "Ignore me. I'm a mess."
"You're not a mess," Blake says.
"I'm crying on the couch in a blanket burrito with sour cream probably still on my face. I'm the definition of a mess."
"Still not a mess." But his mouth twitches. Almost a smile.
I settle back down. Laine Mitchell: emotionally compromised, physically sore, thoroughly loved. What a weekend.
On screen, something else explodes. I've lost complete track of the plot. I'm not sure there was one to begin with.
Reid's fingers find my hair again. Blake's thumb resumes its circles on my ankle. The rhythm settles over me like a second blanket.
I should probably think about the Guatemala thing more carefully. There are logistics. Timing. And do I tell them before we arrive?Because showing up with two boyfriends unannounced feels like an ambush. A loving ambush, but still.
I can't do that to them. They deserve to know the truth, and to have time to process. But every time I think about telling them, my stomach flips in a verge-of-puking way.
Stop planning. You just got done crying. Give yourself five minutes.
