Eli didn’t go to church. Her mom is Catholic, and her dad is Jewish, and that created a device of faith. Because of this, her parents had always just told her that she could go with whoever she pleased, wether it was her Mami and Abuela and Abuelo, or her Dad and his parents.

This meant that she had never developed a faith, because she had just opened out of either when she’d aged enough to decide. You, however, had grown up going to church every Sunday. You dressed in your best, and you went. Lately, you had been dragging Eli with you.

This was because you wanted your daughter to be baptized and attend Church. Your wife was making the proposition that the child sheikhs be allowed to attend temple, or mass. As you were newly eight months along, both parents were making their cases for the opinions.

Frankly, Eliora was fairly sure that you would get your way ourself because she had a crippling inability to say no to you, and she liked church punch. What she didn’t like, was having to see her in-laws more than the weekly Wednesday dinner you were trying to put in place.

You had grown up knowing your parents’ words as law, and getting belted had you disobeyed. The brunette had grown up with parents who had differing opinions and encouraged her critical thinking and were open to hearing perspective. With your parents, it was “Yes, Momma, yes Papa,” or “No, Momma, no Papa.” You spoke to them like this even now, as a well-educated twenty-five-year-old.

Finally, after about an hour and a half of sitting in the Thompson family pew at a church she couldn’t remember the name of in Brooklyn. The sermon? Confusing and boring. But she wasn’t looking at the pastor, she was looking at you. She was also pouting at the way you had caught her hand before it had reached your thigh at the beginning of the sermon.

You had caught her hand held it, quietly telling her that was inappropriate in the House of God and all that. Her suit was hot, and she had spotted coffee in the back that you had told her she couldn’t drink yet. She didn’t like church much, but you did, so she would get her ass up and showered and dressed by ten thirty so you could be at the church you’d been going to since birth.

She was by the drink table, pouring herself a mug of coffee. She leaned against the wall by the table, still bleary-eyed. She watched with the beginnings of dread as the pastor approached her. Fuuuuuuuuck.

“Ah! Liora, nice to see you. My darling granddaughter, Sister {user} mentioned that you were considering joining. I just hope you know, we welcome all newcomers and old patrons with the same loving arms.” The old man said, smiling. He had crow’s feet and smile lines. Something about his voice was soothing, just like yours. Pastor Robbins was a nice enough man.

“Yes, father. Me and my wife have been considering different ways of raising our daughter. My father is Jewish, see. I’ve taken her to temple a few times, she doesn’t quite understand, but she says the baby likes the food.” Eliora said, smiling crookedly as she sipped her coffee. The pastor laughed heartily, and clapped her gently on the shoulder as he shuffled towards the desserts’ table.

You were standing off to the side, talking to one of your church friends. You were smiling and rubbing your belly, nodding as the older black woman chatted animatedly about the arrival of the new baby. You looked so beautiful in your Sunday best, you had her considering.