Splotch |splaCH| informal noun; a daub, blot, or smear of something, typically a liquid: a splotch of red in a larger area of yellow. – The Oxford American Dictionary.

Chapter nine; splotch

Sunday mornings aren't exactly my finest hours.

You see, something about the smell of oatmeal and the sound of soothing worship music makes me super irritable. It's not something I would openly admit to my mother seeing as we should be praying and spending time with the Lord in preparation for the two hour service and after-church chit chat. But I just can't bring myself to be in a good mood and appreciate my mother's overly cheery demeanor and my brother's usual refusal to go to church.

Not that we expect him to. He hasn't step foot in a church since our father died but that doesn't stop mom from pushing the subject in hopes to get him back on track. Not that you need to go to church to be a Christian. With the whole "we are the church" thing and everything, which I totally believe, don't get me wrong.

But something I tend to do on Sunday mornings is get forgetful which causes us to be late. Like a few weeks ago when I completely forgot to curl the other half of my head and almost ran out the door with half a head of curls and my purple rainbow pajamas my grandmother bought me for my sixteenth birthday. So...not exactly my greatest moment.

And just last week I forgot I was supposed to switch out the washer and dryer so we could both have clean clothes for church. My mom had informed me that she was taking a quick shower, made a point of writing what to do on a pink sticky note, and placing it on the refrigerator.

I never liked pink.

So, long story short, we had to wear slightly damp clothes to church and by the time we got home we smelled like must and stale fabric softener.

And I can't help but feel like I'm forgetting something really important as I make myself a steaming cup of tea, the feeling nagging at the back of my neck like an insect.

Do I have clean clothes? Check.

Have I brushed my teeth? Washed my face? Put my contacts in? Check, check, and check.

I shrug it off and take a sip of my tea, my face wrinkling when bitterness hits my tongue. I forgot to put sugar in it...and cream. That must have been it.

I add the missing ingredients to my tea and lug myself upstairs to do my makeup.

I do full faced makeup like I usually do for Sunday service, before pulling the straightener out of drawer and lazily flattening my crazy bedhead. I usually don't straighten my hair because, personally I think it looks ugly on everyone, but I need it to be straight for when I put it into a high ponytail.

I grab a strand of hair from the ponytail and wrap it around the hairband, covering it up. I pin it at the back and base of the hairband and grab a can of hairspray, spraying it into my hand and flattening it over the hair to get rid of the fly away(s) to give it a chic and elegant look.

I make a face in the mirror before winking at my reflection and walking out of the open bathroom door, ready to change out of my grandma bought PJs and into my brand new pantsuit. The navy blue and soft material had immediately caught my eye.

It was also on sale so...score.

My heart jumps in surprise when I bump into a hard figure, patting my forehead as I pull back in fear I've messed up my makeup. I blink several times when I come face to face with a rather amused looking Arthur.

That's what I was forgetting.

"Arthur." I say, still recovering from the shock. "Would it be completely offensive if I told you that I completely forgot you were coming to church with us?"

He frowns, his dark brown eyes moving skeptically over my face as if he thinks I'm joking. "Yes." He says almost cautiously, "that would be extremely offensive. But I'll forgive you if you help me."

I raise a brow. "With what?"

He gestures down to his outfit and I only now pay attention to his appearances and – geez – he smells fantastic.

Stop.

I mean, he smells okay...for a friend who is strictly a platonic acquaintance and I'm only saying this to state a fact and I'm not at all swooning at how good he looks because, come on, friends don't swoon. I don't swoon. Nope...never.

I clear my throat awkwardly. "You look...nice." I comment on his kaki skinny jeans and dark green tight fitted button up shirt. The sleeves are rolled up revealing his usual fancy and plain looking watch along with a brown leather bound bracelet. "I mean, it's an improvement." I joke, trying to lighten the atmosphere which is probably only heavy on my end.

"I'd be more comfortable in a smock."

"You're such an artist." I roll my eyes and head into my bedroom, leaving the door open as to not upset my mother.

"Thanks I guess?" He glances around the room and strolls over to my closet, fingering through my clothes which are neatly hung up on color coordinated hangers.

"Woah – what do you think you're doing? Did my mom see you come up the stairs?" I ask, glancing warily out the door as if my mom will pop her head in angrily at any moment.

He cocks his head to the side as he examines a yellow sun dress on a yellow hanger. "Who do you think told me where you were? We talked for a bit as well. Your mom is a genius with a paintbrush. Did you see the one of you?" He throws his head back with a groan and my brow rises. "Ugh – completely genius."

"Yeah she says Ray and are the hardest to perfect on a canvas and that's why they're always the best – what are you doing exactly?" I walk closer as he scrunches his nose at a blue pencil skirt.

"Oh, you know just looking through your clothes...what are you planning to wear? Just so I can have an idea of what I'm supposed to wear." He looks at me out of the corner of his eyes and I hold back a laugh.

"It's church, not a wedding. I think what you're wearing is perfectly fine. And if you must know, I'm wearing this." I reach in front of him for my pantsuit and he leans back to give me space.

I pull the navy blue material and hand it to him. He holds it out in front of him and scans it with his eyes before looking over at me and then back at the outfit.

I stand there silently before he hands the pantsuit back to me on its blue hanger.

"It's nice." He nods.

I raise a brow and take it from him, draping the suit over my arm. "Just nice? It's brand new and I got it on sale."

"I said it's nice, what more do you want from me?" He kneels down and peers into the closet. I huff roll my eyes.

"I don't know...what are you doing now?"

He picks up a baby blue strappy high heel, looks it over and sets it back down. "Hmm? Oh, just looking at your shoes."

"You're...looking at my shoes – okay I need to get dressed so if you could just...scoot out the door that'd be fantastic." I tell him, patting his shoulder.

He stands and smiles innocently at me, his brows eyes twinkling, before thrusting the pair of shoes he had been looking at and then reaching into the closet and coming out with the yellow sundress he had been inspecting moments ago.

"What? What are you doing?" I ask, confused.

He shrugs and scratches the arch of his brow. "I think you'd look good in yellow." He says nonchalantly before walking out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

I look down at the two outfits in my arms and sigh.

It wouldn't hurt to try it on, right?

Five minutes later, I stand in front of my mirror in the yellow sundress and baby blue heels. I would have never thought to put the two colors together in such a way but now that it's on I can't believe I haven't thought of it sooner.

The spaghetti strapped dress fits snugly around the bodice and flows comfortably down to very top of my knee. The V in the neck dips elegantly but not seductively and I bite my lip to contain my smile. I actually look really...pretty.

Of course I've always known I wasn't ugly but every girl loves to look in the mirror and be reminded of it. And, turns out, Arthur was right. I do look pretty good in yellow.

I walk over to my desk, pulling the lid off of my jewelry box and pulling out a necklace with a single blue diamond on the chain before placing it around my neck and trying to clasp the two sides together.

I fail each and every time I try before sighing, letting my tired arms rest. For some reason, holding my arms up like that whether I'm doing my hair or putting on a necklace, it seems all the strength in my arms just drains out.

I decide to just skip to earrings and deal with the necklace later, grabbing a pair of matching earrings to go with the necklace. The set had been a gift from my mom a few Christmases ago. I grab a spare journal and bible off of my desk as well before heading out the door.

As I walk down the stairs, I take my hair out of its ponytail and shake my hair around with my hands before pulling half of it up into a small messy bun and leaving the rest tumbling down my shoulders.

I make it to the bottom of the stairs, glancing around the living room, my eyes landing on the boy sitting on the couch looking quite comfortable with his head resting gently back, his arms tucks under themselves. I smile at his closed eyes and consider waking him up but think better of it when I hear movement in the kitchen.

I take one last look at Arthur before walking into the kitchen, a yawning Ray standing before me. As I've said, it's rare I see him this early in the morning. Especially on a Sunday.

"Are you coming with us?" I ask nonchalantly as I reach for a mug in the cabinet.

He doesn't say anything as he pours himself a cup of coffee and I can't help but notice that he's started to drink it black. I didn't know that. Then again, there are probably a lot of things I don't know about him.

I wait for him to hand me the pot but he ignores my outreached hand and sets it back into the coffee machine. I sigh, picking up the pot myself and tipping the mug, watching the dark liquid fall into the ceramic cup, steam rolling off in a cloud. Giving up on getting any sort of response from my brother, I open the refrigerator and take out the Half and Half creamer.

After finishing up in the kitchen and reminding Ray to load his own cup into the dishwasher, I make my way back into the living room to find Arthur exactly where I had left him.

"You'd better wake him up. We leave in ten minutes, okay?" My mom nods her head towards him from her place on the stairs and I nod with a closed lip smile.

I settle the hot cup in my hands and walk over quietly, sitting next to him carefully.

His eyes open suddenly and he lifts his head, looking around for a moment as if he's in a daze before his eyes land on me. "What? What's happening?" He asks.

I laugh lightly and hold the cup out to him. "Here. I didn't know how you like it so I just put some creamer in there if that's okay." I stutter nervously.

He gives me a small smile and takes the cup from my hands. "That's fine. Thanks." He nods at me and takes a sip of the drink, breathing out softly with his eyes closed.

"Well um...we're leaving in about five minutes. Just so you know." I tell him.

He nods silently and continues to nurse on his coffee as if it's a life source. Which, on Sunday mornings, it might as well be.

"Are you...planning to drive with us or...?" I drift off in question.

With a tip of the head he drains the remaining contents of his mug, my eyes widening. He looks over at me, looking very much more awake than moments ago.

"Do you want me to?"

I pause, looking over his shoulder to see my mom watching us from the kitchen with a smile. "Uh...do you want to?"

He cocks his head to the side, for a moment reminding me of a confused puppy for a split second. "I asked first. It's only polite that you answer my question before you ask one of your own." He winks.

I roll my eyes. "I don't care if you come with us or not. Drive in your own car for all I care. I was only asking."

He watches me for a second. "Or...you could ride with me. If you want to that is." He offers.

I pause, not knowing what to say and looking to my mom for any indication that she's heard his offer. Before I know it, he has turned to look at my mom as if he's known of her presence the whole time. "I do need someone to help with directions. I've never been there." He tells her.

My mom considers this, looking at me once before shrugging. "I'm fine with it, Lovely, and he does need someone to direct him to the church. It's not very far I think you can help just fine."

"Mom I –"

"Thank you Pam." Pam?

"No, Mom I really don't think –"

"We'd better be on our way, Love. Tell your brother not to eat the pie in the fridge okay?" She interrupts me. I sigh angrily before obeying.

"Mom says –"

"Not to eat the pie in the fridge. Yeah, I know...I heard." Ray snaps from the kitchen.

I glare at him and turn on my heel, marching straight out the front door and to the black Wrangler parked in our driveway. I close the passenger door behind me and buckle my seatbelt in complete silence.

"Are you okay?" He asks.

"I'm fine." I wave him off, keeping my eyes straight ahead but I can feel his eyes on me.

He clears his throat and we soon hear the familiar sound of an engine rumbling to life. I mumble simple directions as we drive, trying to shake off the horrible mood that has settled itself uncomfortably in the pit of my stomach.

He doesn't say anything more until we pull into the church parking lot.

"Look, I have to confess something." He turns in his seat to look at me.

This catches my attention. "What is it? Please tell me you're not in love with me." I joke, trying to lighten more of my own mood and to make up for my cold behavior.

He rolls his eyes and looks straight at me. "You're not my type, believe me."

I raise a brow at this with a smirk. "Not like that." He snaps.

"Okay, what do you want to tell me?"

"It's nothing too bad it's just – well I was talking to your mom and she told me what happened...to your dad. I'm really sorry. I can't imagine what that must have been like for you." He finishes sincerely, the morning light coming through the windshield and hitting each of the freckles across his nose in perfect synchronization.

My mouth opens but nothing comes out. I lick my lips, nodding at him and smiling to keep from getting upset.

He looks like he wants to say something but decides against it. We sit in silence before I finally break it.

"Could you...help me with something?" I ask shyly.

He nods, obviously thankful for the change of subject. "Yes, of course."

I open my hand to reveal my stubbornly difficult necklace. He looks at me confusedly and then down at the necklace.

"The clasp is impossible." I explain with a shrug.

He laughs and gestures for me to turn around. With difficulty, I turn my body until my back faces him. He laughs again and reminds me that I have not given him the necklace. I laugh as well and reach back to give it to him. His fingers brush mine as he grasps the chain.

The coolness of the gold settles on my skin but the warmth of his fingers is far more prominent. He seems to be at my back for hours but it's only a few seconds before he fixes it and pulls away.

"There." He smiles softly. "I told you."

My eyebrows furrow. "Told me what?"

His eyes crinkle along with his smile, the two going together like peas in a pod. "You look good in yellow."

I let out a small laugh and open the passenger door, sliding out of the car with my bible and journal. I frown down at the journal, missing my real one. Missing the comfort it gives me. I️'m not sure why I️ picked up this one.

"Wait up!" Arthur calls from behind me, his car alarm beeping once in affirmation. I slow down, waiting for him to catch up.

"Hurry up, slow poke." I tease. He waves it off and jogs to my side.

We make it to the entrance of the church but he pauses before he opens the door. I turn to look at him, about to question his hesitance but he beats me before I can speak. "Should I be afraid?"

I place my hand on his arm and his line of sight lands on my fingers and back up to my eyes. "No, you shouldn't, everyone will be very welcoming. All I ask is that you don't expect us to be perfect. Just because we go to church and love God doesn't mean we don't mess up." He nods and I smile softly. "You have nothing to worry about, okay? Now come on we're going to be late."

He lets out a long breath before opening the door, allowing me to enter first. "Here we go." Here we go.

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