{"id":68,"date":"2013-12-04T19:56:54","date_gmt":"2013-12-04T19:56:54","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/kimchurch.com\/author\/?page_id=68"},"modified":"2013-12-11T20:16:51","modified_gmt":"2013-12-11T20:16:51","slug":"excerpt","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/kimchurch.com\/author\/book\/excerpt\/","title":{"rendered":"Excerpt"},"content":{"rendered":"

Dear Byrd,<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n

This is how I told your father.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

We climbed up on his roof. We could see the ocean, wrinkles of light in the distance. I was wearing a billowy cotton skirt. I wanted to look soft, unthreatening, unselfconsciously pretty. I wanted your father to love me. My legs were pale, not used to sun in winter. I had painted my toenails lavender. I wanted him to be a little sorry he hadn’t loved me all along.\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n

The roof of his apartment was flat, asphalt. All grit and sparkle.<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n

He was glad to see me, he said. He didn\u2019t ask why I\u2019d come back.<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n

He unfolded an orange blanket from his sofa bed and we laid out our picnic: smoothies, crinkle-cut fries from his favorite stand on the beach, canned peaches from his kitchen, and barbecue I\u2019d brought from home, packed on dry ice. So much food. I had to make myself eat. I chewed slowly, counting each bite, the way you\u2019re supposed to, though I couldn\u2019t remember how high to count. \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n

A warm breeze ruffled my skirt.<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n

Your father offered to spike my smoothie, but I covered my cup with my hand.<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n

I wish I could tell you we were young, inexperienced, not yet grownups or ready to be. That’s the story you’re expecting, isn’t it?<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n

We were thirty-two. We\u2019d grown up together. Everything about the afternoon\u2014our picnic, the roof, the sun, the salty air, your father’s pilled orange blanket, him sitting close and warm beside me\u2014had been coming all our lives.<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n

After we\u2019d eaten, when I couldn\u2019t put it off any longer, I told him my news, the news I had carried across the country to deliver in person. I thought if I could see him when I told him, I would know what to do.<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n

I was delicate, telling him. Artful, as I\u2019d practiced. So artful he didn\u2019t understand at first what I was saying. He blinked like the sun was hurting his eyes. The big white\u00a0California\u00a0sun, dazzling, warm even in February.<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Dear Byrd, This is how I told your father. We climbed up on his roof. We could see the ocean, wrinkles of light in the distance. I was wearing a billowy cotton skirt. I wanted to look soft, unthreatening, unselfconsciously … Continue reading →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":9,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"page_book3.php","meta":{"footnotes":""},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/kimchurch.com\/author\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/68"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/kimchurch.com\/author\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/kimchurch.com\/author\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kimchurch.com\/author\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kimchurch.com\/author\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=68"}],"version-history":[{"count":8,"href":"https:\/\/kimchurch.com\/author\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/68\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":110,"href":"https:\/\/kimchurch.com\/author\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/68\/revisions\/110"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kimchurch.com\/author\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/9"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/kimchurch.com\/author\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=68"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}