Chapter 40 — Alexander

"But be honest. What did you really think of—of this whole church thing?" Katerina's tone as she questioned me was odd; almost shy, nearing the ballpark of self-consciousness as though fearing rejection. "What about it…stood out to you?"

I pondered this question for a moment as we waited for the others to get to the restaurant. My father, sitting across from Katerina and me in the diner booth, looked keen on knowing my answer as well. The combined weight of their expectations might have pressured me into brushing off the answer, rather than truly reflecting and thinking about what lines had rung true for me that morning. But…it was an almost pleasant and certainly liberating sensation, to express how I truly felt, which I had been doing a lot of lately, and especially around my fiancée.

"I suppose what struck me the most was..." I paused, trying to gather my thoughts. "Really, the whole thing was an utterly foreign experience to me. I haven't been in church since I was a small boy." My father chuckled at that. "It's odd to see New Yorkers being nice to each other. Of all things! But that's not the point I want to make. What stood out to me, is…to see so many people who are so very imbued with the love of Christ that they radiate it. To see that it—God's love—is a very real, living thing, and to feel it surrounding me..."

I swallowed thickly. "It was better than I thought it would be. As for the sermon, I would say that it was a very humbling experience. Seeing as you both know me fairly well by now—at least, I would hope that you do, Dad—you both know I do come off as prideful, and perhaps even all-knowing…It's humbling, as I said, to be told that there is a God who is so vast, so infinite, that you could spend your entire life seeking after him and never really know all of him. And yet He loves us so much that just trying to seek and know Him is a worthy pastime."

Katerina smiled, looking away for a moment to fish something out of her purse. My father, however, was beaming, literally shining with exuberance and joy that I hadn't seen out of him in years.

"I never thought I'd see the day—" he began, and then he choked, as though on a sob. Unaccustomed to expressing such emotion or seeing it in others—specifically in a brick-walled individual such as my father—I awkwardly took the tissue that Katerina offered me and in turn gave it to him. He blew his nose so violently that it caught the attention of a family two tables over.

"They've arrived." Katerina, to my surprise, stood up and waved at my sister from where she was leading the trio of our various siblings and relatives. Perhaps her atypical ebullience was an attempt to counteract the weight of the serious revelations that had just taken place.

"Oops, did we interrupt something?" my cousin asked. She looked far too eager for drama as she sat next to me on the red, leather cover of the bench.

"Nothing important," Katerina said breezily. "Right, Alexander?"

I looked at her in surprise and she squeezed my hand reassuringly under the table. Ah. She knew I was still mildly uncomfortable when discussing matters of faith and wanted to give me an easy out. Conflicted, I wondered if I should take it when a sharp, sudden sound pierced through the haze of my thoughts.

Black and white checkered tile squeaked beneath George's worn-out sneakers, while he slid loudly into the booth next to Abigail and my father, picking up a plastic-covered menu and surveying its contents. "It's 11:30. Is this brunch or regular lunch?" he asked.

My father looked far from approving at both his question and his outfit of ripped jeans and NYU hoodie that must have belonged to my cousin, both due to its too-small size and being lavender in colour. However, he said nothing, and I could see him biting his tongue to keep from judging a man who would, in two months, be part of his family.

"It's a meal. We dress for meals," my father extolled. Or not.

George looked down at his clothes with a disinterested apathy. "I'm fully dressed. If I wanted to wear a monkey suit, I would have gone to church."

"George, please," Katerina said, with the tone of a disappointed parent. I could almost envision her as a mother in ten years with that tone of voice, and the fact that it didn't scare me was a surprise and a relief. "Don't be so rude to the person who is responsible for housing you—"

"Should I grovel at his feet for lifting me out of poverty? Perhaps I didn't want to be rescued." I saw him wince, and when I felt the seat shift, I realized Georgia must have kicked him under the table. "Okay, fine. I'm sorry, sir, for not appropriately realizing or meeting your arbitrary dress code. Es-tu heureux maintenant?"

My father laughed. laughed! "I'm just playing with you, George. Wear whatever you like…but don't disrespect my niece's virtue and honour while you're under my roof." He gave the two of them a pointed look that made them shrink in their seats. "Now, let's order. I'm famished."

+

Over time, I came to realize that Katerina and I had more in common than previously thought. We both preferred to push aside emotions with work and to completely bury those emotions and dodge questions about them. She with a reserved politeness that seemed to be her trademark reaction to almost anything; me with a vastly different response that involved brusque and cutting remarks. We both preferred to spend a quiet night in than a louder night out with boisterous companions.

But at the very heart of things—we were more similar than we had realized. That thought cheered me more than anything—the idea that certainly, God had known what He was doing when He put us together in each other's paths. Although, I would have preferred a smaller wedding, with less of a controlling wedding planner—no matter what I may have said before about having three hundred guests.

"Hold. Still," commanded the tailor as he fussed with my incredibly gaudy, gold bow tie.

Why on earth had we decided on gold and black as colours? Why had no one stopped us so that I wouldn't have to look like some kind of cheap, unfashionable— I ended that train of thought. There were a lot worse things than having to wear an ugly suit to marry the woman whom I was certainly falling closer to love with every day. Even if the tie was tight enough to strangle me, at least it was only the tie that was gold, and not the entire suit, thankfully.

"You look like you're moments away from passing out, Alexander," came my future brother-in-law's voice.

My father was sitting next to him on the plush, tufted couch outside the fitting room at Michael Andrews' Bespoke, one of the most renowned men's tailors in New York. I stepped out into the wallpapered room, which connected to a studio that resembled a luxury bar with its black and white barstools and glossy counters. Books full of fabric swatches were all over the place; I had no idea there were so many different fabrics simply for the colour black.

"Yes, well, you'll be wearing something similar as a groomsman and since you'll be walking your sister down the aisle, so judge not. You'll be suffering with me," I said grimly as I adjusted my collar in the gilt-framed mirror.

"The two of you almost sound like brothers," my father rued, looking up from his copy of Prime, the business insider magazine.

"Yes, well… I grew up surrounded by females so I suppose I could use one," I said. George looked surprised and I regretted my words. "If you'd have me as a brother, of course."

"We're about to be related anyway, if not by blood by law." He stood from the couch, slapped me on the back with more strength than his wiry frame seemed to possess. "As I've said before…we're all one, too-dramatic, dysfunctional family now, Steele."

That was what God did, I realized. No matter the nature of our blood relatives and our relationships with them…in the end, we had a family in Christ.