First Time

3

EMILY

Sundays are my favourite. I wake up in the morning to the smell of delicious cooked breakfast. Mum always goes all out with bacon, eggs, sausages, beans, toast, pancakes, sweet muffins and fruit salad with yoghurt. We eat and pray together then get ready for Sunday service at church. Our new church in Watford is pretty much the same as our old one in Kensington. Mostly made up of the elderly and the most devoted Catholic families. Except, in this church, there's the Sandersons. The perfect, blonde hair blue eyed family made up of Minister Boris Sanderson, his wife Gina and their children Tim and Chloe. They are the apple of the church's eye and made the greatest effort to make us feel welcome. Last week after service, they invited us to have Sunday dinner with them after Tim apparently told them "all about the pretty Christian girl who just started at his school". The dinner was delicious but the conversation was awkward, filled with embarrassing anecdotes of the children, Mr Sanderson preaching about values and weird, creepy smiles as they listened to our answers to their prying questions. Though I left the dinner feeling more exhausted than refreshed, my parents were thrilled to have made new friends.

So, as I help mum prepare our dinner today after service, it's no surprise that she's singing the Sandersons' praises again.

"Wasn't Minister Sanderson's sermon just faith inspiring today?" she swoons as she places the deliciously golden turkey on our dining table.

I follow behind her with the roast potatoes which I'm sure will be crispy on the outside yet soft and fluffy on the inside. My mum's roast potatoes are always perfect.

"Yes, the way he reasoned on the scriptures about greed was just excellent. I saw a few men hide their Rolexes," my dad jokes.

Doesn't he own like ten?

"Everyone knows you don't wear flashy jewellery to church," he adds as if to absolve himself of any guilt.

He sits down at the head of the table as mum and I join with the rest of the food. We hold hands as dad blesses the meal then he carves the turkey as mum shares out the vegetables. We hum and hmm as we enjoy dinner. Then after a loud gulp, my dad starts a conversation I hadn't expected.

"Isn't Timothy Sanderson such a wonderful young man? He would make a fine Christian husband for a lucky woman one day. Don't you think so Em?"

My half chewed mouthful slips down my throat in shock and I gulp some water before I choke.

"John, it's a bit too early for that don't you think?" mum steps in seeing my shock.

"I'm not suggesting they get married now. I'm just saying, he is a great potential. I mean, we were much younger than they are when we met," he explains.

Oh no, God please!

"What do you think Em?" he asks again.

"He's been a good friend to me these last couple of weeks," I say weakly.

That's the best I could think of.

"Well you know what they say...a good marriage is built on the foundations of a good friendship," he smiles at me.

I smile back wearily then look to my mum for help with pleading eyes. She catches my silent scream and starts telling dad about a one her patients that she is seeing who suffers from severe depression after a traumatic childhood of abuse. As they talk, I eat quietly and fall into deep thought. I wonder what falling in love feels like. Tim would seem to be a perfect match for me and yet, I don't think I'm in love with him. I don't feel anything when I see him or talk to him. Or maybe I just don't know what being in love feels like. Maybe I do love Tim and I just don't know it. When I read of people falling in love and feeling butterflies in their tummy, I always wonder how that feels like. Is it like a stomach ache? Or heartburn? As my mind wanders, I stumble on the memory of the boy I saw outside WFC. I remember how hot and tingly I felt in the car when I saw him. Had I been hot because of the weather? Or was that love? But how could it be? I don't even know him.