Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father

I laugh, hard, but nervously, not having the time to explain that the kids who go here don’t generally become nuns. Just because I now hold that information doesn’t mean I have to spew it. It takes lots of context, and church history, and things I don’t actually have enough information on yet.

Taking a cleansing breath, I maintain eye contact with Mollie as I tell her everything about Roland. Well, everything that I know about him. Including his profession, last name, and the fact that this is all still a secret to my CU friends. Of course I include stories about all of them, too. My friends. Their language and behavior and beliefs are things I’ve shared with her in snippet form here and there, but once I’m on a roll I can’t stop. I don’t leave out my uneasiness about Joy or my love for Maggie, my RA. I spill every tiny detail into my declaration of I’m a Crappy Friend. I don’t know what is gossip or boarders on gossip, but it feels like the world’s longest exhale to tell Mollie every single thought and feeling I’ve had since stepping on campus.

And I do it all without swearing, even though I really, really want to.

I hold my breath at the end of my spiel, thankful that Mollie has remained stone-faced the entire time, save for a few eye-widening moments, but who can blame her? When she senses I’m through, she blinks rapidly, as if a bright light has just been blasted on her face.

“Your dad is the hot preacher guy?” is the first thing she says.

“Mollie!” I yelp. “Shh! And ew! Do you hate me, though?” I twist my face to brace for the emotional impact.

Mollie reaches across the table and grabs my arm. “This explains so much, Kennedy. Your parents were oddly quiet on the ride down here.”

“Ah, you were riding next to the giant elephant that is Roland.” I smirk, thinking of my ride to the coffee shop.

“Seems so.” She shrugs and sits back, crossing her arms. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks quietly.

I note that she hasn’t responded to my question of whether she’s mad at me. I move seats so I’m sitting next to her in the corner bench. Resting my head on her shoulder, I sigh. “I was embarrassed. Confused. Angry, hurt, nervous…”

“You and your expectations…” Mollie trails off.

“What?” I lift my head, eyeing her pointedly.

“You didn’t tell me about him because you were afraid that whatever scenario you have painted in your head wouldn’t turn out the way you painted it and that, somehow, you’d be wrong. You were too worried that you’d have to be vulnerable for five seconds in front of me. You’ve always done that, Kennedy. You’ve always stuffed your expectations down to avoid getting disappointed. Or being disappointed in front of someone.”

“Are you taking psych?” I mumble.

She laughs, her bony shoulder rocking my head slightly. “Yes, but you know I’m right. Admitting the freaking hugeness of this situation puts you in a really vulnerable place, doesn’t it?”

I shrug. “I guess.”

“You like him,” she states matter-of-factly.

“Roland?” I sit up.

She nods.

“I guess.”

“Stop guessing,” she commands.

“Yeah.” I sigh. “I like him. I want to learn from him. Not just about God stuff, but about family stuff. My biological family. He has parents and a brother and sister who each have kids. There’s this whole life I could be a part of. If he wanted me to. If I wanted to. I don’t know.”

Mollie wraps an arm around my shoulders. “This is big, you know.”

“I know.”

“Everyone at home thought you had a mental breakdown to choose CU over Cornell or Yale.”

“I know,” I groan, remembering the looks of shock and horror on the guidance counselors faces when I told them where I was going.

Mollie gets a twinkle in her eye. “Your mom must be losing her mind.”

I smile. “I think she’s got duct tape superglued to her head, honestly. She is being great about everything. As supportive as she can be, I guess.”

“What about that letter on your birthday, huh?” Mollie shakes her head at The Fifth Birthday Story, as I’ve come to call it in my head.

“Right? Seems cold for my mom, doesn’t it? She’d be more the type to knock on his door with me swaddled to her chest, breastfeeding or something, wouldn’t she?”

Mollie laughs so hard she starts choking on her drink. “Nailed it.”

We high five, but I’m compelled to ask her again, “Do you hate me?”

“Hate? No. I’m hurt, yeah. But you know what? That was way too much drama for my high school brain to handle, anyway. You really did me a service by not telling me.”

It seems half a semester of college has brought our friendship to a new level. One I’m grateful for, because I need Mollie more than I let myself realize.

“Jonah, too,” Mollie says as if we were talking about my friends at all just now.

“Jonah, too, what?” I ask, reaching for my drink.

“You like him, too. I don’t care what sorcery you used to get him and Eden together.”

I laugh at her turn of phrase, but turn serious quickly. “No sorcery. And I don’t like him like that. He’s just a really good guy. Too good, maybe.”

“You think you’re not good enough for him.” Mollie lifts her eyebrows in challenge.