“…after you take the right hand of fellowship, that’s when we’ll start you off on the usher board. That’s for backsliders and new converts. Then the hospitality committee. Then you can help raise money for the building fund, you know, by selling cakes, pies, and chicken sandwiches in the basement. Then you can move on to work in the prison ministry, join the junior missionaries, then the senior missionaries. You can sing in the choir, teach Sunday school, become a deaconess…” His muffled voice began sounding like Charlie Brown’s teacher as he rattled off one committee after another, one obligation after another. His eyes becoming brighter and brighter with each one. Mine growing dimmer and dimmer. I’m not even sure he knew when I stepped out of the study and into the awaiting town car. I crawled into the hotel for a good night’s rest, still without a clear choice for a husband. And since I couldn’t say amen, I simply whispered ouch .

Chapter 9

10:17 P.M. EST
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 8TH

15 DAYS, 21 HOURS, AND 43 MINUTES TO “E-DAY”

RRRrrring!”

“RRRrrring!”

“RRRrrring!”

I was determined not to answer the phone for fear that it was Gail. I still needed to find a husband, but I was tired and taking a much-needed and highly relaxing hot bath inside my hotel bathroom. And since the phone number on my phone was blocked, I really wasn’t trying to answer.

“RRRrrring!”

But what if it was an emergency? What if someone in my family had been hit by a bus and needed a quart of my blood to save their life? But then again, Sheree and I have the same blood type, so they could call her. Perfect. I’m not answering it.

“RRRrrring!”

But what if it was Curtis? What if he had had a change of heart? What if he had suddenly resigned from pastoring The Greater House of Deliverance Tabernacle of Praise, Worship, and Miracles and decided to start a new church? A more accepting and less judgmental church. A church where things like the way you dressed and the way you looked weren’t nearly as important as your soul. No, it’s not Curtis. And I’m not answering the phone. It can ring till Jesus returns. I’m not answering it.

“RRRrrring!”

It’s probably Gail and if it is Gail, she’s not going to stop calling until I answer, so I might as well answer.

“Hello, Gail.”

“How’d you know it was me? I thought I blocked my number.”

“You did.”

“So, girl, tell me for real…y’all doin’ it, ain’t you? I know ya’ll doing it. Y’all back in the study doing it, huh? Girl, I read in Jet magazine that this one preacher in Birmingham got three women pregnant in the pastor’s study. You pregnant?”

Gail had just catapulted the absurd to a whole new level. “No, I’m not pregnant!”