“Kianna, you have such a pretty face, honey.” Miss
Bertha examines me as she leans on her tennis ball capped walker.
“If
only you could lose weight.” Reaching out, she pats my ample tummy.
My
mouth turns to cotton. Oh, no she didn’t!
I
want so bad to respond, but words fail me. Heat creeps up my neck and floods my
cheeks. Tears sting the back of my eyes as I glance around the church hall to
see if anyone noticed this mortifying exchange.
“You
know, a pretty girl like you could have any man she wanted if she took care of
herself.” Miss Bertha squints her eyes, as if she’s analyzing the amount of
effort it would take to make me truly suitable. “Your blonde hair and brown
eyes are actually attractive.”
Actually
attractive…I’m not sure if that counts as a compliment.
“I’m
sure you’re right.” I mumble, clamping my mouth shut on what I want to say—you
mean old biddy!
Miss
Bertha shuffles forward and for a moment, her skirt looks like it is harboring
a pack of wrestling puppies. And she thinks I need to lose weight? Isn’t
that like the hippo calling the elephant fat?
I
look for something to distract the nosy busybody. It’s Sunday night at Christ’s
Covenant Restoration Branch, my church home since I was a baby. I thought a
missionary service would be the one place I was safe.
Wrong.
I wish Jason was here. My best
friend since childhood, Jason Payne is like the big brother I never had. He
always knows what to say or do to make a situation better, but he’s out of town
and I’m on my own.
“Did
you enjoy the missionary slides?” I ask, as the line moves again.
I
want nothing more than to run away, but it would only give her more ammo. I
hear her walker click as she moves forward a step with me.
“Oh,
yes. The last set especially touched my heart. Jim is such an angel to be
ministering to all those children in Africa. Brings tears to my eyes.” The
fore-mentioned drops slide out and ride the wrinkled crevices in her cheeks.
Jim
Noble is the hottest missionary I’ve ever laid eyes on. He also happens to be
the sweetest. He attended the same
church youth events with Jason and me for years and we all stayed good friends.
That was before Jim grew into his ears and before his family moved to the
mission field. It doesn’t matter. He’s not interested in me romantically. To
him, I’m a friend. Like I am to every other male I know.
“He
is a good man.” I agree. “I think it’s amazing how God is working in the
communities over there.”
Her
head wobbles in agreement. “Too bad he doesn’t have a wife to help him. He’s
such a catch; I can’t imagine why he isn’t married yet. I told him so too,
tonight.”
I
bet you did. “I’m sure he’s waiting for the right person.”
I see
Jim across the fellowship hall and feel a stab of sympathy. No one leaves a
conversation with Miss Bertha unscathed.
“You
might find he’d look your way if you slimmed down.” She eyes my hips and raises
an eyebrow.
I
bite my tongue. Oh, Lord. Get me out of here before I say something
terrible.
“Pardon
me, Miss Bertha. I see someone I need to speak to.”
I slide
out of the refreshment line and speed walk across the room, ignoring the
surprised and probably hurt look aimed at my back. Remembering the wrestling
puppies, I slow down and fight the urge to smooth my shirt down over the back
of my slacks.
Heaven
help me, but I can’t take anymore of Miss Bertha’s supposedly helpful advice.
I’m fat and I know it, but patting my tummy in the middle of a packed social
hall is about the rudest thing I’ve experienced yet. Following it up with an
attempt at conditional matchmaking, well, that’s par for the course.
A
crowd still surrounds Jim, but he sees me, and waves. I’m surprised he notices
me. I return his smile and wave back. Several of the women look surprised at
the exchange. I can see the wheels turning in their heads, and after getting
Bertha-d, I can’t bring myself to go over there.
Not
that any of them would be hurtful. It’s just the opposite. Some of the women
think being single is the only requirement for a successful relationship and
they will push me toward anything with testosterone and a bare ring finger.
Chicken.
I kick myself for letting Miss Bertha’s comments bother me so much, but they’re
hard to ignore —mostly because, despite her tactless delivery, she’s right.
*
Walking
to my car, late August heat billows off the black top like a humid oven. I pull
open the car door and slide behind the wheel. My cell phone vibrates from the
seat beside me. I pull the phone out of my purse and check the caller ID.
“Hi,
Jason, I’m glad you called.”
“Miss
me?” His deep voice echoes with humor and immediately brings lightness to my
heart.
“Every
day.”
“Are
you crying?”
“No.” I hesitate, “Not anymore.” I can’t lie
to Jason.
“What
happened?” He waits patiently in silence while I pull my thoughts together.
“Honestly, I got Bertha-d and I’m really
emotional right now.” I give him a brief outline of the night’s events.
“I
wish I could be there with you. I’m sorry I’m going to miss your birthday, but
as soon as I’m back, I’m all yours.”
“Thank
you, Jase.” I lean back into the head rest and close my eyes. “I’m feeling a
bit better already.”
We
say our goodbyes and I drop the phone back into my bag.
I feel calmer, but the questions and
insecurities are still there. Jesus, If
you have a plan to show me, now would be a good time.
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