“So, Rebekah, what are you doing later?” Daniel asks me.
The clock on my phone reads 9:45pm. I squint at Daniel like he’s lost his mind. “What do you mean later?”
I blink three times, slowly. I planned on scurrying home and brewing a fresh mug of chamomile. I planned on stretching out the tendonitis in my wrists and wishing the cat sweet dreams. I planned on tidying my shoes and checking the status of my teeth. I planned on saying my prayers.
This was about the point I realized: I am a twenty-something grandma.
It started young, this special gift of mine. There are always those popular “Rebekah stories” that surface whilst entertaining guests over dinner, and the one about me wrecking my dad’s classic car is definitely at the top.
For Bryce and my anniversary this year, we took the town by storm.
Literally, there was a freak storm.
But it didn’t keep us from enjoying our weekend. We packed the car, threw on some extra layers, ran to Walmart (because neither of us owned an umbrella), and headed out to Balboa Island for a beautiful day of quirky shops and beachfront views.
Neither of us had ever been there, so my parents gave me the lowdown of where to take Bryce for dinner and ice cream and what places to see.
It was a regular Sunday afternoon. I was in church.
CHURCH, MIND YOU. CHURCH! GOD’S HOUSE.
It was after choir practice and I was helping put music away. I had my precious, immaculate, white, brand-new iPhone XR in my hand. I placed it on a bench, along with my music folder, and turned away briefly to kneel down and grab a stack of music off the floor.