The Girls of My Dreams

Verse 3

The ride to church is quiet. Unlike Umma and I, Appa does not appreciate the background noise of the radio. I never knew if this was a commentary on how loud our thoughts were or how at peace he was with his.

Because it’s just the two of us, he actually has to talk to me. "Looking forward to seeing your Nana?" he asks.

"I guess," I stare out the window of his truck. I imagine my brother's voice cracks turning into my father's bass. His chin hairs growing into Appa's five o'clock shadow. I shiver, wondering what else I’ll probably miss.

"When you get down there let me know if she still has that nasty brown colored carpet," he continues, "I love my mom but geez her interior design skills? That's not her ministry."

I laugh. I didn't know you could use the word to shade someone with the spirit until my father started using that phrase.

"I'd drive you down there myself," he continues, "But I'm supposed to be meeting with pastor in a little bit and then I have some counseling to do for a young engaged couple."

You would think a man who's only home every three months would spend more time actually at home but no. When my dad wasn't John Paul the Missionary, he was John Paul the Minister.

He keeps talking and I tune him out. I think about my dream. The details have faded the longer I've been awake, but my side still hurts from the laughter. And I can still hear her voice echoing the nickname that only Appa uses for me. Natty. Everything felt so real… Like it had actually happened...

"We're here, Natty," Appa pulls into the lot of our church, Sacred Heart. My church is traditional non-denominational, and almost everyone from my high school goes here, except of course, for the actual Catholics.

I follow my father into the large building, trying to ignore the gaze of the rest of the congregation. As people stop Appa to inquire about his most recent mission, it is as if I am in visible. Of course they know.... I think to myself. The only thing that travels faster than the gospel in a church is gossip.

We reach the entrance to the sanctuary, my charming boyfriend, James, stands at the door, greeting everyone. "Mr. Baker," he shakes my father's hand, "Miss Baker."

"Hi James," Appa smiles, "My wife?"

"Right this way," I lag behind as James directs us to the rest of the family.

"You look like a mormon," I tease him, taking in his converse, khakis, and short sleeve, white, collared shirt.

"Do I now?" he wiggles his eyebrows, "You'll need to go to the bathroom during worship."

He walks away and I take a seat next to David. He's on his phone scrolling through some Korean news app. When he's not on that, he texting some girl, not that I can read her name or anything, as it's in hangul. His whole phone is actually.

"How was the car ride?" He asks without even looking up.

"How you'd expect," I fidget in my seat without having my own cell phone to occupy myself.

The already dim lights drop and the band comes to the stage. "Are y'all ready to give God some praise?" The congregation calls out in response a chorus of shouts and yes's. I glance at David, who rolls his eyes as the smoke machine comes on.

In the chaos I stand and slip away to the bathrooms. On the way I feel someone grab my arm, pulling me into the baptism closet.

And yes, I make out with my boyfriend in the baptism closet.

"What was that about me being a Mormon?" he steals my answer away with kisses.

I giggle, "Dress like an i***t and I'll call you out."

"Reasons I love you," he kisses my neck, "Reasons I'll miss you."

"Please stop talking about it," I kiss him again. The more people talk about me leaving, the more I think about leaving. The more I think about leaving, the more I remember why. The more I remember why, the more I remember her.

The more I remember her---

"I'm sorry," James pulls away from me, "I can't help it. This is going to be our last church make out session for a while."

"Then don't use it thinking about me leaving," I kiss him again. The more I kiss him, the more I can convince myself everything is fine. Being with James let me think everything was normal.

And the converse meant that by leaving him here, I was admitting that nothing was.

***

After church Appa drives me straight to the bus stations as promised. David comes along too, but JP has youth group or something so he's stuck with Umma for the day.

"Call me as soon as you get there," Appa pulls me into a hug, "I'll miss you Natty-bratty."

"I'll miss you," I mumble into his chest. Not that I don't ever not miss him.

He lets me go and then I'm pulled into another hug by David. I inhale his cologne, trying to hold onto its familiarity. "Call me at every stop."

"Okay," he hands me my duffel. Appa kisses me on the forehead and hands me a wad of small bills, "Just in case."

"Thanks," I mumble. I sling my duffel over one arm and head into the terminal, glad to be away from them. The way everyone is acting, it’s like I'm never coming home. Then again--- Maybe I’m not.

I take a seat by myself and pull out my phone, filtering the world through my headphones.

"Mind if I sit here?" I look up and see my savior.

"James?" He takes a seat next to me.

"I figured you'd miss me," he kisses my cheek, "And also that your family wouldn't do you the courtesy of seeing you off."

"Double right," I lean into his chest.

"Did your dad do the thing where he hands you an absurd amount of money?" he jokes.

"Right again," I chuckle counting it out. Maybe it's dangerous to be counting money in a New York bus terminal. But oops. "Two hundred dollars."

"Nice," He puts an arm around me, "At least with your banishment you won't be apart of the rumor mill. You won't believe what the church ladies talked about today."

He goes on, distracting me with stories of the s**t congregation we're apart of. Church ladies. Deacons. Pastors.

"Bus 2231 to Boston," the intercom buzzes.

"I'll miss you," he hugs me. He slips a mini bottle of his soju into my back pocket, "Just in case."

We kiss goodbye and then I board the bus.

I take a seat in the first open row I find, putting my backpack in the seat next to me. Waiting for departure, I pull out my phone checking my insta. Before I can do it, I see that my page has been reported. Or more accurately our page has been reported. Because even though it was in my name, there had been as many photos of her as of me. Us at clubs. Candids of her. Not so candids of her. I was more often the photographer than the subject, but occasionally she’d think about me long enough to snap a photo.

I close the app. It hurts, but I’m not surprised. Typical that she would cut social media ties to me as well. Especially after what she did to me publicly.

"Mind if I sit here?" I look up at a young woman, maybe my age, but probably older.

"Go for it," I move my bag and slide over to the window seat.

She takes her seat, before saying, "Shame so many poor people can't afford anything better than a greyhound for travel. Broke college student vibes right?"

I laugh, even though that's not particularly funny, "I mean, more like cheap parent vibes but same difference."

She smiles, "You aren't in college?"

I shake my head, "I'm a senior in high school." If I ever get back into school that is...

"You seem so mature," she seems surprised, "I could of easily thought you were a sophomore in college. Shame you're so young."

Wait... Is she flirting with me? I blush at the realization.

"Not that young," my mouth says before my brain can okay it.

"Cute," she puts in her headphones, letting me know the conversation is over. f**k. I put my own headphones back on as well. In a perfect world, I would've graduated on time. I wouldn't have even been in the same grade as the Petrakis kids. I would be enrolled in college. And I would not be on the banishment bus to Boston.

This is not that world.

***

Four hours later, I'm stepping off the bus in Boston. I head into the vast terminal. I remove my headphones to pay better attention to my surroundings.

"Natalie!"

My grandmother, a severe looking woman with near white hair pulled back into a ponytail, stands up so I can see her. Like everyone else in my family, my grandmother is taller than me. I'm reminded of this fact as I get closer and she only gets taller.

"Nana," I approach her and she pulls me into her bony arms.

"It's like you get bigger every time I see you," she fusses, "Still dressing like a little boy I see?"

"Of course," I force a smile. So to recap, instead of my mother shitting on me, I now have my grandmother shitting on me. Perfect summer.

"How have you been Nana?" she releases me and we head out the station into the busy streets.

"I've been just blessed," she replies, "How was the ride? Nobody sat next to you or anything, right? No weirdos or foreigners?"

I bite back a comment about two thirds of her grandchildren technically being foreigners. "No ma'am."

She calls a cab and we climb into the back, "Once I get you settled you'll have to get a metro pass so you can get around. I'm not going to pay for you to be taxi'd everywhere."

"Yes ma'am."

"And don't think you'll be laying around the house all summer. You'll be helping out at my coffee shoppe," she continues. I stop listening at this comment. Knowing her, she'll end up yelling all this information at me later.

We arrive at her building, which looks exactly like the other ones on the street. Red brick homes, so close they might as well be touching.

As soon as the door to the apartment opens I'm hit with a wave of lavender, my grandmother's signature scent. I do a quick scroll of the space with my eyes. As a kid, I didn't like my grandmother's house because of how ancient everything seemed to feel. And now, as a teenager, I don't think that's changed.

"Here's your room," she gestures to the room closest to the door, "The one back here is my room and that over there is my studio. Stay out of there," I follow her around as she points at various parts of the living space. "This is the kitchen, obviously. I won't be home Thursday nights so it'll be your job to cook for yourself," she opens the fridge, "You can help yourself to anything in here except what's in this drawer," we move to the cabinet, "Or on this shelf? Got it?"

"Yes ma'am," I answer. I haven't heard anything she's said, but I'm tired of her talking to me.

"Good. Go settle in and I'll start dinner," she dismisses me.

I drop my bags in my new home for the next two months. Falling onto the bed, I'm caught by soft sheets that smell like my grandmother's perfume.

My phone rings and I answer it, "Yes?"

"Natty!" Appa's voice brings me comfort almost instantly, "Did you make it safely?"

"Yes Appa," I tell him.

"That's good," he asks, "Hey did you see the carpet? See what I'm talking about?"

"Yeah," I force a laugh, "Yeah it's still the same carpet."

"Ha," he laughs, "Well Natty, I've got another meeting so I'll be hanging up but I'm glad you made it. Tell your Nana I said 'hi'."

"Okay."

"I love you, Natty-bratty."

"I love you, too."

He hangs up and I continue laying on the bed, trying to feel comfortable.

"Natalie!" Nana opens the door, "I thought I told you to unpack! Look at you, just laying down!"

I sit up, "I was calling my dad."

"Dinner will be ready in ten," she keeps talking like I didn't say anything, "I want you unpacked by then."

She closes the door again and I resist the urge to scream.

One day down.

Too many more to go.