Only Uni (22 page)

“My apartment Bible study had to cancel tonight, and I was thinking of going to the Singles Group meeting, and wanted to know if you’re going?”

“Yes. It’ll be good to see you there.” She didn’t mind meeting new people, but a guaranteed friendly face would make her more at ease.

She hadn’t seen the Tricolored Trio or the Weekend Warrior guys since she first met them a couple weeks ago, but the memory of their less than enthusiastic welcome still burned a little.

That’s okay. She knew she didn’t need everyone she met to like her. She knew it in her head, at least. It didn’t mean she was woo-hoo happy when that didn’t happen.

Griselle insisted on driving and picked her up in a comfortable sedan that was clean enough to eat off the floor mats. Trish said a sincere prayer of thanks that she hadn’t exposed Griselle to the years-old french fries scattered over the floor of her little SUV, and the mound of tissues overflowing her car trash can — a plastic Safeway bag. Not to mention the food crumbs decorating the upholstery.

The church was ablaze with lights, and not only the social hall where the Singles Group met. “Is there another ser vice going on?” Trish took perverse pleasure in the fact Griselle’s car door stuck a little.

“No, but there are other Bible study groups that meet here.” She activated the car alarm and led the way inside. “There’s the men’s group, the Working MOPS group, the youth group . . .”

The Singles Group seemed larger tonight than it had been on Sunday, with people scattered around the brightly lit social hall in clusters as they caught up and schmoozed.

Griselle actually hesitated a little in the doorway. Trish blinked. She didn’t think someone as perfect as Griselle would be shy. Well, here at least was somewhere Trish excelled.

She twined her arm in Griselle’s and plunged into the room.

The first cluster of people near the door were the geeks — er, smart guys she’d met her first time in church. “Hi Jaspar, Willie, Gerard. Do you guys know Griselle?”

“I’ve seen you around, but you don’t come to Singles Group very often, do you?” Willie gave a sweet smile. That was the most Trish had heard him speak.

“No, I usually have a Bible study at my apartment on Wednesday nights.” Trish was suddenly glad Griselle was who she was — she didn’t make these nice guys feel like geeks.
Stop it, stop thinking of them like that.
They were nice, smart, socially handicapped — er, no, that sounded kind of rude. Um . . . socially inexperienced young men.

Certainly nicer than the Weekend Warriors, who’d gathered together again and seemed intent on ignoring her even though they were only a couple feet away.

Then she noticed that one of them — he wore an Yves Saint Laurent shirt — glanced over and did a double-take at them. No, more specifically at Griselle. At
all
of Griselle, from her shimmering hair (Trish had to get her hair care secret from her on the drive home) down to her sandals peeping from the hem of her flowered skirt.

What a slime! Which had nothing to do with the fact that his perusal completely bypassed Trish, who knew she ought to lose about ten pounds but certainly wasn’t an eyesore.

At a break in the conversation, they said their goodbyes and went to mingle with other people. Yves Saint Laurent Shirt followed them with his eyes, which caught the attention of his buddies, but Griselle was clueless and Trish wasn’t about to enlighten her.

Trish tugged Griselle to two women who looked friendly. They smiled at them at least, unlike the Tricolored Trio of girls — Blondie, Redhead, and Brunette — who stood nearby and looked away quickly. Trish knew some girls did that because they were shy, but she didn’t think that was the case with the Trio. If Griselle weren’t with her, she might have felt up to exerting herself and crashing their pink party just to annoy them.

Oh, she was so obnoxious. Lex must be rubbing off on her. Or maybe God needed more time for the “new creation in Christ” to kick in.

“I’m Marcy, this is Emmy. Have I seen you at church?” one girl asked Trish.

“I only started going a couple weekends ago.”

“You haven’t come out to lunch with the Singles Group?” Emmy, the tall girl, blew her silky brunette bangs out of her eyes.

“Not yet.”

“You should come with us this Sunday.” Marcy nodded, making her brown curls jiggle by her cheeks.

“You look familiar, but I don’t remember seeing you in service.” Emmy’s eyes nearly crossed as she stared at Trish in concentration. “Where do you sit?”

“Don’t you remember her?” The silky voice grated along Trish’s shoulders like a rock against a serrated knife.

Except the question wasn’t directed at them, it was overheard from the Tricolored Trio standing nearby. Blondie was leaning into her friends as if she were telling a secret, but her voice carried clearly. “She was the one two weeks ago who was trying to raise the roof during worship.” Blondie tittered and her friends followed suit.

Marcy’s cheeks bloomed a pretty English Rose red. Griselle looked confused.

Emmy turned around to glare at the Tricolored Trio, then stepped into the awkward silence staunchly. “I was so envious of someone who worshipped so . . . uh . . . fearlessly.”

Fearlessly. Well, that was one way to put it.

“Hey, guys, let’s get seated and start the meeting.” At the front of the social hall, Ed and Olivia had set up their guitars.

Cool. Trish hoped for a chance to talk to Olivia later.

She and Griselle sat near the front, but to her dismay, Blondie and Co. sat behind them. “Hi there. Trish, right?” Blondie cooed. Like she hadn’t been making jokes at her expense.

“Hi Blondie — I mean, Katy? Kaitlyn?”

“Kassie.” She glared so hard, her thick curling lashes met and obstructed her blue eyes. Or possibly blue contact lenses, because they were way too jewel-colored in this sick fluorescent lighting.

Suddenly, the joy Trish usually had in worship dissipated, like an Airborne tablet in a glass of water.

She sat during worship, feeling miserable. She didn’t want to sit there, but she couldn’t feel the urge to stand like she usually did.

Ed gave the message, talking about submitting to God in hardship — yeah, yeah, rely on God, she already knew that — and then they were done. Refreshments had magically appeared in the back of the hall.

Olivia appeared in front of Trish just as magically. “What happened?” Her voice was short of a screech.

Trish blinked, then closed her mouth to end her goldfish impression. “Huh?”

“Oh, honey, did they get to you?” Olivia’s dark eyes melted with concern.

“Uh . . . do you know Griselle?”

“Hi, Griselle, sweetie. My nephew’s in your class.”

Griselle nodded and beamed. “He’s such a good boy.”

“Now stop trying to change the subject.” Olivia pinned Trish with a look sharper than a C-major-seventh.

She shrugged.

“Was it the worship music?”

“No, not at all.”

“Then what?”

“What are you talking about?” Griselle flipped her gaze between the two of them.

“Unashamed worship. Which someone has forgotten how to do.” Olivia’s tone was dry.

“I just . . .” Trish sighed. “ . . . want to be liked.” Whoa, whoa, wait a minute, she hadn’t intended to say that.

“By
those
girls?” Griselle stopped short of pointing at them, where they stood a few feet away.

“I know, I know, it’s stupid. I don’t know why, I just lost the desire.” Trish hunched in her seat.

“Oh, honey.” Olivia reached out to cover her hand with her golden-brown one. “You shouldn’t be someone you’re not.”

“But the person I am isn’t very nice.” Trish stared at her feet. “Or rather, the person I was. When do people become made new?”

“In heaven,” Olivia said.

“As soon as you accept Christ,” Griselle said at the same time.

Trish blinked at them.

“Both.” Olivia smiled.

Griselle cast a look around, then pulled down the neck of her navy turtleneck to expose a few inches of her collarbone.

Except Griselle’s collarbone was covered in a riot of color. Tattoos. And a piece of a rather dirty word.

She pushed her neckline back in place. “I understand about the person you were. Are.”

Trish couldn’t talk. Sweet, perfect Griselle had a cuss word tattooed on her shoulder.

“I left my mom’s church because I couldn’t stand how people treated me. Not badly,” Griselle hastened to add when Olivia opened her mouth. “Just so overly
concerned.
”

I feel like a prostitute.
Trish could think it in her head but not say it.
Not just because of Kazuo, but all the other guys I slept with, too.

“Jesus set us free.” Griselle grasped Trish’s other hand. “Remember that even if you don’t feel like it.”

Prostitute.
“I don’t fit in — ”

“Honey, be transparent, and the ones who matter will fold you in.” Olivia squeezed her hand.

“That, or you recognize real quick who won’t.” Griselle pursed her mouth.

They meant to be reassuring, but Trish wasn’t ready yet to give or receive love. It was easy to just be friendly, to get used to this new community of people.

At some point, she’d know what part of the old Trish was acceptable here.

EIGHTEEN

T
he smell assailed her as she walked in. A combination of urine, vomit, applesauce, and bleach. The bleach reassured her.

Old person smell. Nothing else quite like it.

No, that was mean. Was she getting cynical? Shouldn’t she be turning into someone nicer? Someone God would actually like?

Christina, the director of the church outreach program at Katsu Towers, guided Trish through the sign-in at the front desk and upstairs to the third-floor rec room.

“Hi, Mr. Amberley.” Christina had a perky smile for the man sitting in a wheelchair and staring into space. Or at least, down the length of the hallway.

Trish didn’t speak until they’d gotten out of earshot. “Does he hear you?”

“Does it matter?”

Good point.

They entered a large room with huge picture windows. Several elderly residents did various activities, some reading, some playing board games or cards, and a large contingency of old women crowded around the TV set.

“Go around and say hi. If they don’t want to talk to you or don’t respond, don’t take it personally. Hi, Mr. Lee.” Christina turned to talk to a man near the window drawing on a pad of paper.

Trish wandered closer to the group near the TV. What were they watching? It wasn’t English. It sounded sort of like Japanese but not quite. She had to tiptoe to peek between the gray heads clustered together.

On the tube, a gorgeous young Asian woman gave a resounding slap to an equally good-looking young Asian man.

The audience — the live one — erupted into cheers and cackles.

The young woman spat a line of the not-Japanese foreign language at the man, then stormed out of the room.

The audience clapped as she slammed the door.

“What is this?” Trish squinted at the TV.

“K-drama.” One woman in a wheelchair looked at Trish as if she were mentally unstable.

“K-what?”

“Korean soap opera, dear.” A woman with dark hair and very long white roots sat on Trish’s other side and gestured to the TV set.

“You all speak Korean?” Most of the women were Asian, but some were Caucasian, and one was Hispanic.

An Asian woman with a red sweater tittered. “Of course not. We read the subtitles.”

The TV had a commercial on. Trish hadn’t even noticed the subtitles earlier. The show came back on, but it was the ending credits and a sneak peek at the next episode, which involved a lot of beautiful women and handsome men. Several ladies sighed, and the group started to break up.

“That’s it?”

“There’s another show we watch that airs tomorrow.” The red sweater woman clapped her hands. “That one has the cutest doctor — ”

“Do you think they’ll arrest Hyun-Ki?” One woman brought her hand to her chest. “How awful that would be.”

“He did it! What are you talking about?”

“He did not! It looks like he did, but I think he was set up.”

“I think that mysterious woman in blue set him up.”

“But why would she do that?”

Trish helped one woman to her feet so she could get into her walker. “You ladies are really into this.”

“Oh, only some of us.” The woman jerked her head toward the red sweater woman. “Last night, she wouldn’t take a call from her son. Said he knew better than to phone her between eight and nine.”

Trish giggled.

“You laugh at me, but you’re jealous.” Red Sweater gave an arch smile. “I’ll think fondly of you all when I’m on my K-drama cruise next month.”

“Oh, you.” “Listen to her talk.” “She’ll probably get sick on the boat.”

“K-drama cruise?” Trish wasn’t sure she really wanted to know.

“It’s rather interesting.” The woman maneuvered her walker. “They take you to the island where they film several of the soap operas.”

“Do you get to meet actors?”

“No, I don’t think so. Although Millie went on a K-drama cruise last year and got an autographed picture of one of the actors. She treats it like it’s an Academy Award.”