“Okay, spill!”

I should have known Shiloh would be waiting up for me, every light in the living room blazing as usual. She’s on the couch in one of her satiny things that she wears to bed. Her perfect, auburn hair falls down her shoulders. Sex and the City is paused the second I walk through the door.

“Wait a second…what is that dress?!” she exclaims, staring down at it wide-eyed. “Did Rhys buy that for you? Oh, he’s definitely a keeper, Prynne.”

I laugh and wobble my way toward Shiloh and fall on the couch next to her. I can’t wait to get these shoes off again.

“Here, let me,” she says, grabbing one of my legs so the foot rests in her lap. “You probably have no idea how to undo these.”

I bite my lip, smiling as I remember Rhys doing the straps for me. Something about it was even more intimate and sexier than when he was standing next to me by the window as I pleasured myself. I feel about ten gallons of blood rush to my face when I recall that moment. No way am I telling Shiloh about that. In fact, I’ll just leave out everything in the hotel altogether, which would just lead down a slippery path.

“Okay, so…?” she prods, giving me a look of utter concentration as she expertly loosens the straps binding my ankles.

“Thank goodness,” I say, breathing a sigh of relief. “Those were killer.”

“Well, they obviously worked their magic,” she says, casting a speculative look at my new dress. “At least the man has taste. Speaking of which, don’t change the topic. I want details.”

“He took me shopping, at Belmont’s of all places,” I say rolling my eyes. “I know the gossip is going to spread like wildfire come Monday.”

“Let them talk,” she pooh-poohs. “At least he’s a guy worth talking about. Then what?”

“We went to dinner. It was lovely.”

Shiloh gives me a deadpan look. “You stayed out until,” she turns her head to the clock near the TV to check the time and brings her attention back to me, “well past one in the morning shopping and eating dinner? What was it, a ten-course meal?”

I check the clock myself. Good grief, has it been that long? The champagne buzz still has me feeling slightly light and happy. Light and happy enough not to regret what I did tonight. Yet.

“I thought not. So what else happened?”

“We just,” I shrug nonchalantly as I think of something to fill in the blanks, “talked. It was at a coffee shop.”

She stares at me, not saying anything for almost half a minute. I’m sure it’s an effective interrogation technique and under any other circumstance, I’d be uncomfortable enough to spill the beans.

I’ll die before telling her what happened. It’s hard enough to tell myself it happened. It seems surreal, especially now that I’m back in the familiarity of my apartment, sitting here on the couch as usual with Shiloh. It’s as if that hotel room was part of a dream, one of those weird, sexy ones that make you feel all tingly, but are perfectly absurd when you wake up.

“Okay fine,” she says with a shrug of indifference. “Keep it to yourself. If only these shoes could talk.” She lifts both heels up by the back and stares at them, as though willing them to reveal everything.

For one insane moment I imagine them doing just that. They did play a starring role in the evening after all. I stare at them with guilt, thinking I may have tainted them a bit. Poor shoes.

“I’m pooped,” I say, swinging my legs off her lap to sit up straight. “I’m off to bed. Thanks for waiting up.”

“It was more for my benefit than yours,” she says with a laugh. “Not that I got much out of you.”

“That’s all that happened!” I assure her as I make my way back to my room.

“If you say so!” she shouts after me.

By the time I make it to my room, Carrie and her gal pals from Sex and the City are back at it in the living room.

Back in my room I shut the door and try to maneuver myself out of the dress Rhys bought me. My room is big enough for a bed, a tiny little nightstand, and a stand-alone closet. That’s it as far as furniture. I don’t want to stuff the dress into my dirty clothes hamper, which has me wondering if it can even be cleaned in a machine. I check the label and sure enough, it’s dry clean only. The gift that keeps on giving. I hold it up and smile as I look at it. The good news is, I’ll probably never wear it again.

I imagine showing up in Rutherford, Missouri for a family reunion in this and the complicated heels Shiloh sent me out in. Talk about a heart attack. Everything my parents feared about my moving to New York would be perfectly confirmed in that outfit alone.

My face falls as that reminds me what night (or morning, at this point) it is. I lay the dress down on the edge of the bed. I’ll decide what to do with it tomorrow. For now, my Saturday night tradition continues.

I put on my pajamas and sit up against the headboard with my laptop. Before pulling up the site I want, I perform one little ritual. I reach up to my right eye and slide out the contact lens, transforming my iris from hazel to a rich brown. I do the same for the left eye, placing it into the case next to its partner. Usually, I reserve this for the final moment before falling asleep, just in case Shiloh or Caryn pop in and catch me, without knocking first. Saturday nights, I take the risk. Maybe it just feels kind of like a betrayal, doing this as Prynne Dawson instead of Faith Flanders.

The Christian Broadcasting Corporation thankfully makes its TV shows as accessible as possible. All the better to proselytize the viewing public. Thus, I didn’t need a cable service in order to view any of their shows online. And no show is more popular than the Flanders Flock. The religious overtones of the word “flock” were a no-brainer as far as marketing. Then, of course, there is that special variant of Christianity that the Flanders abide by. Flock as in birds, which ties in perfectly with the whole Quiverfull movement. Get it? Ha ha!

I turn the volume on my laptop down as low as possible. Thanks to the late night adventures of Eric and Caryn next door, I know the walls here are thin as paper. The last thing I need is Caryn, of all people, hearing what I tune into on Saturday nights.

I’m already two episodes behind, thanks to my getaway last weekend, during which I strictly forbade myself from watching. I start with last week’s episode, fully expecting to hear all about the happy news I was sent Wednesday night.

The familiar theme song starts up, driving me mildly crazy as usual. It’s a generic, upbeat tune that’s been played since the show began ten years ago. At the time, I was thrilled to be a part of such an adventure, especially since I was one of the reasons why the Flanders were picked specifically. How many other Quiverfull families had three whole sets of twins? I had no idea it would simply be more of the same, Faith Flanders getting lost in a sea of the other Flanders, only now it would be televised.

I watch the introduction, which has obviously changed since I was a member of the show. In the beginning, it was simply each of the fourteen members of the family introducing themselves, from Michael and Janice, my father and mother, all the way down to Chastity, the youngest. Even then, I didn’t get a moment in the spotlight, instead standing next to my twin as we introduced ourselves, “Faith and Hope!”

These days the intro is focused on the second generation of Flanders, already well on its way to going forth and being fruitful. Michael and Janice are still in the picture as two proud grandparents. After them, the theme music plays along to the roll call in order of birth: Marybeth, Samson, Daniel & David (Twins. My parents learned the hard way not to give any future twins such similar names), Sarah, Elijah, Hope (sans Faith, and who goes by the surname Walker these days), Grace & Ruth, Constance, Jacob, and, last but certainly not least Chastity, the baby of the family who is about to turn eighteen.

So far almost all the Flanders Flock have happily performed their duty with flying colors, partnering up and reproducing more of God’s children. Now, even Hope, having disentangled herself from the influence of that feckless twin of hers, is falling in line. Or so the world is about to find out?

Instead, last week’s show is the typical mundane fare, enlivened by some manufactured drama. Anyone who thinks reality TV is actually reality would be sorely disappointed to learn the truth. When I made the announcement that I wanted to go to college instead of getting engaged, there were scripts written about how I was supposed to reenact the announcement for the TV audience. My parents didn’t need to be coached on how to portray their disappointment in me. They aren’t as hardcore as some of the Quiverfulls, so they weren’t exactly opposed to one of their daughters going to college, but it did give them pause. It was one of the most widely discussed episodes.

Last week the show focused on David and his wife, Anne, who were worried about something terribly wrong with their toddler, Joseph. It’s dramatic enough to have me biting my lip with worry about my nephew, until I, along with the viewing audience learn it was nothing more than an ear infection. I feel irritated at having been duped into falling for the suspense.

Then, I realize that no announcement about Hope’s pregnancy was made. A smile comes to my face when I realize that she actually saved the news so I’d hear it from her first. Although I haven’t been in touch with any of them for almost five years, I’m sure she knows I watch the show to keep up with them.

I settle in to watch this week’s show, thinking maybe the pregnancy will finally be announced. I’m surprised to learn that there is no news about Hope’s pregnancy. This would have been the perfect episode for it, what with it being her birthday and all. It was bittersweet watching her husband, Luke, make her French toast the morning of.

Any thrill I get from learning that the secret is still between us twinsies (something tells me she has yet to tell the others in the family, we were always weird the way we knew things about each other like that), is immediately outshined when I learn what the latest episode is about.

As it turns out, the Faith’s Fall From Grace episode (note: not actual title) may have some new competition in terms of popularity—or rather, infamy. Chastity Flanders, youngest member of the Flanders Flock, has decided she wants to fly the coop, so to speak.

She intends on going to college…in New York City.

“Oh boy,” I whisper to the screen.