Almost By Design
A hope-filled modern love story
The Redbud Hyphen is a literary magazine written by women from diverse backgrounds who are part of the Redbud Writers Guild. The following piece is the fifth essay for our focus on Love. Read more here about our exploration of the themes for 2026, which we will share this year through creative and reflective writing.
By Jenny Erlingsson
(Baker Publishing/Used with Permission)
LORD, LET THE PAVEMENT open and swallow me now. Or at least transport me back to five minutes before I agreed to do the Electric Slide.
Kenya couldn’t have put herself in a more awkward position if she tried. She gritted her teeth as the car drove over a bump. Her mom braced her, as if the pain in her ankle could somehow be stopped by clamping her arm like a vise grip.
Cha-cha real smooth, my foot. There was nothing smooth about her moves . . . ever. Yet her clunky steps had been on full display just a few minutes ago. One would think she’d somehow had a bit too much to drink, but she’d touched nothing all night except her cousin-in-law’s favorite ginger beer. What should she call John anyway? Did an in-law status even apply? Maybe the ginger bubbles had gotten to her head.
She still couldn’t believe how ridiculous this whole evening had become.
Heading to the hospital was a little dramatic, though, right? This was nothing a little tape-up and ibuprofen couldn’t fix. But that thought skittered away as tires over a pothole sent a new wave of pain through her foot and throughout her body.
She was going to be sick.
“This isn’t necessary,” she hissed through clenched teeth. But who was she kidding? Definitely not Justine Stewart. Her mother’s expression could boil potatoes. Kenya had heard the snap with her own multi-pierced ears, even skinning her knee as she rolled. The gasp that had spread across the dance floor when she landed told her all she needed to know. It was a shame this pretty gown had to suffer a rip in the process. And who knew where the five-inchfive inch heels that led to her demise were? Her mother had probably shucked them since she had said the gorgeous footwear was too much trouble for a wedding.
Was it worth it? Kenya sucked in a breath at another bump. Ah—maybe not.
She closed her eyes to avoid the expression on her mom’s face. Kind of hard to do much else, squished in the back seat of this Volvo. She took a deep breath and held it before exhaling. Mama’s expression only made her feel worse about this inconvenient shift of circumstances. Plus, she’d seen this look plenty of times before. A mix of annoyance and worry, and then more annoyance because something her oldest daughter had done made her worry.
How quickly things could change. She’d been hopeful after that tense phone call with Dedra and Evelyn. It had not been her best moment on the job, but something good would come out of that misstep like it usually did. But she hadn’t entered the dance floor to experience this. Spontaneity and a little bit of chaos she loved, but not of this variety. She frowned at the ankle precariously elevated on the console between the driver and passenger seats.
An arm covered in a pale-blue dress shirt held the wheel, muscles tense, as the driver tried to keep his arm from bumping her aching foot. His Italian-cut suit jacket was folded carefully under her ankle to prop it up.
What a sight she must have been for all those wedding guests. Kenya swallowed down the embarrassment that still lingered like a bitter taste in her mouth. How unfortunate that a lot of what the guests would remember of the reception was her spectacular fall.
She willed her thoughts to focus on the good parts. Her cousin and her new husband as the center of attention, just as they should be. Adanne was gorgeous in her mermaid-cut gown with sleeves looped over her shoulders, a Fayson brand dress that Adanne had picked out in LA. Even raised a few eyebrows as the guests Adanne had grown up with watched her shyness melt away in the arms of the one her heart loved. Hmm- hmm, Hope Springs would be talking about that kiss for weeks. And, oooh, child, if John’s face could tell a story . . . he looked all things grateful and adoring, his eyes sparkling as he looked at her.
Kenya grimaced when the car shuddered. How come she hadn’t noticed how many potholes there were in the vicinity of Hope Springs until now? And why did the DJ have to play her favorite song as soon as she stepped out of the kitchen? The easy lyrics beckoned her to join them in the line dance she’d been trying to perfect in front of her mirror. She’d been hesitant because, though she was the maid of honor, she was the event planner, after all. She needed to exude some level of professionalism. But who would have thought seeing him would push her right over onto the dance floor?
She opened her eyes. His hands still gripped the wheel with careful intention. Apparently, he’d been a last-minute addition as someone’s plus-one. She hadn’t noticed him during the ceremony, but he chose that specific moment to step out of the shadows—the same time she decided to step out to the music.
Amateur. Evelyn had pegged her with precision. Maybe her fall wouldn’t have been so bad if she hadn’t been showing off in front of him like a toddler. Kenya groaned, pressing her palm to her forehead like her favorite emoji.
“Is it hurting really bad, baby?”
Kenya nodded in response. Yes, Mama, my ankle does hurt really bad. And unfortunately, so does my pride.
The driver shifted, clearing his throat, and for the briefest moment it seemed like he would turn her direction. Thankfully, he glanced at her through the rearview mirror instead. No need for there to be a fourth disaster in the form of an auto accident. The third being the ankle that was the victim of her lack of concentration, too-high heels, and, yeah, wounded pride. The second was the scheduling debacle she hoped hadn’t ruined her career. And the first?
Kenya dared look up again, and to her surprise, those familiar dark-brown eyes were already on her. She cut her gaze away. Too bad she hadn’t done that quickly enough the first time she’d seen him last year. Because the first mistake, even more awful than her botched appointment and battered ankle, was thinking she could ever date someone like him.
Read more in Jenny’s book, Almost By Design
Jenny Erlingsson is an author and speaker of Nigerian descent. After twelve years of working in junior high and women’s ministry, and six years serving in Iceland, she currently makes her home in both Alabama and Iceland with her family. When she’s not running after her kids or ministering alongside her husband, she can be found writing romantic fiction and creative non-fiction to inspire deep faith in diverse settings, and encouraging writers. Her writings have been featured on (in)courage, Live Original, Velvet Ashes and more. And in the margins of marriage, motherhood and ministry, you might find her reading five books at a time with a side of Icelandic chocolate. Learn more at jennyerlingsson.com.
Writing for children is often misunderstood as simple or easy, but creating meaningful stories for young readers requires creativity, skill, and a deep understanding of play. This webinar examines common misconceptions about children’s literature and explores what truly makes a story connect with young audiences. Ideal for aspiring authors, educators, and anyone interested in children’s literature; this session offers practical insights into the writing process, and the impact stories can have on young readers.
About Our Presenter:
Award-winning author, Natasha Tripplett, lives in Northern California where she writes from a tree house perched in a sycamore tree. Natasha is a Jamaican Jewish American author who is passionate about cultural representation in children’s literature. She is the author of The Blue Pickup, Award-winning Juneteenth Is, Planted with Love, and Downtown Doors. Natasha bubbles with excitement over antiques, chocolate, coffee on the front porch, and cozy movie nights in front of the fireplace with her husband and four children. You can visit her at NatashaBooks.com. The cost is $15, and all proceeds benefit our Women of Color Mentoring Program.
Looking for more ways to support Redbud Writers Guild?
Pray for us as we write, speak, teach, create, and influence culture and faith in our communities as we follow Jesus
Subscribe to our member’s individual Substacks—click here for the full list of our members’ publications
Reach out to a few of our members with encouragement—go here for our full member directory
Buy our members’ books—check out the latest titles in our guild store
Subscribe to and and share The Hyphen with your friends
Give a tax-deductible gift, which allows us offset costs for our Women of Color Mentoring Program, fund member scholarships for writers facing financial challenges, and make it possible for us to continue to foster conversations on faith, writing, and culture through podcasts, social media, and The Hyphen.
Thank you for supporting the women of our guild.