Jamie
The woman who had given me the most painful hard-on in recent memory was standing before me. And she was my stepsister! I wasn’t absolutely certain that she knew that I had been the priest on the other side of that screen, but the way she was acting, fidgeting a little, flashing a nervous smile once in a while told me that she was, at the very least, suspicious. All I could think about was putting a serious dent into the case of beer I had brought over and trying not to focus on the woman who had told me that she liked to touch herself. But unfortunately, my dear old stepmom positioned me next to Eva at the dinner table, forcing me to not just think of Eva, but to inhale her alluring scent.
Like always, since I had been ordained, I said grace as we all held hands. My hand completely enveloped Eva’s and her eyes darted to mine, then to where we were connected. The warmth of her hand, the jolt of electricity that it sent to every cell in my body made me fumble through a prayer I could say in my sleep. Like a pervert, I wondered if the hand I was holding was the one she used to fondle herself, to pinch her clit and rub in deep rhythmic circles until she screamed. Who did she think about when she pleasured herself? A boyfriend? A celebrity? Marcia hadn’t mentioned that her daughter was married, but then again, they had been estranged for years. Until tonight, I had no idea what had caused the rift between them, but thanks to Eva’s confession, I was drawing some conclusions that were getting me hard . . . again. Right beneath the tablecloth. The prayer ended, thank God, and I released her hand. I then dug into my meal, though I had lost my appetite and my desire to throw back a six pack by myself. I was thankful that Nate was his usual chatterbox self and decided to take the lead and start dinner conversation.
“So, Marcia told us that you live in Philadelphia?” Nate asked.
Eva dumped a spoonful of green beans onto her plate and returned the casserole dish to the center of the table. “Yes, I live in old city on Asbury Street,” she said, now busying herself with some coleslaw. She didn’t look at me. In fact, she looked at everyone at the table, even her mother, a woman she didn’t want to be around, but me. I told myself that was for the best because if those sexy green eyes of hers drifted over to me, I thought I would combust on contact. But it still pissed me off. Because I wanted her to look at me.
I wanted her.
“Jamie, did you know that you’re sitting next to a celebrity of sorts?” Nate asked.
I couldn’t answer, and not because my mouth was stuffed with turkey and mashed potatoes. I was reeling from the realization that I, Father Jamie Curran, pastor of St. Bede’s Catholic Church, wanted to fuck the woman to my left.
My stepsister.
“Eva and her law firm were responsible for the takedown of those ten priests. Apparently, our stepsister is helping to clean up the archdiocesan riffraff,” Nate said, flashing Eva a smile. My cock relaxed a little at the news and I glanced over at Eva, but only for a second. Her gaze had been focused on Nate. She gave him what looked like an embarrassed smile and then returned her attention to her plate.
I had sensed her distrust of priests at the onset of her confession in church, but I had thought it was solely due to her mother and her Bible beating ways. But maybe there was something more behind her apparent distaste for Catholicism and priests in general.
“So, David, how did you and my mother meet?” Eva asked.
I had to give Eva credit. She was trying to have a conversation with a group of people she just met and with a woman she despised. I watched her smooth the cloth napkin over her lap while she waited for my dad’s response. Her fingers trembled slightly, and it was the first time she let on that she was more than a little nervous. She looked downright uncomfortable. I reached across the table and grabbed the bottle of wine and refilled her glass. She finally looked at me, and when she did, I saw appreciation in her gaze. I couldn’t help but smile at her before I returned the bottle and glanced across the table.
My dad covered Marcia’s hand with his. The sight didn’t disturb me. My mother had passed away fourteen years ago, and though I wished every day that my mother was still alive, that it was her hand my father held, I couldn’t dismiss how happy my dad seemed to be with Marcia. She made him genuinely smile, and he seemed to love to take care of and dote on her. But now, after hearing what Marcia may have been like prior to meeting my dad, I couldn’t help but think differently of her. The woman at my dad’s side had made her daughter feel dirty, that she was destined to burn in Hell all because her thoughts . . . and actions . . . weren’t exactly pure.
The incident.
What had happened to have made Eva leave? What was so unforgivable? I wondered if she would have told me if she had stayed and not bolted from the confessional. Why had she suddenly stopped her confession? Had it been too painful to remember? I remembered how breathless she had sounded just before she ran. Now that I knew what she looked like, I didn’t need to imagine what her lips looked like parted as her stuttered gasps left her body. I dropped my fork and it clanged against my plate. I needed to stop thinking about her.
“We met at the grocery store, actually. In the produce aisle to be exact. I had foolishly grabbed an apple toward the bottom of the pile and as if in slow motion, every apple came tumbling down to the floor. Your mother had been shopping and must have taken pity on me because she got down on her hands and knees and started helping me clean up my mess,” my dad said, smiling at Marcia.
I looked over at Eva, and I could tell that she was trying to process this sweet story, to make it somehow fit with what she knew to be true in regard to her mother. Eva’s left hand fisted the cloth napkin in her lap while the other reached for her wine glass. The fact of the matter was, it didn’t fit. Marcia was not the same woman. The Marcia I had gotten to know over the past two years was kind and warm and thought of others, so much so that she volunteered her time at the women’s shelter downtown. When she wasn’t doing that, she was volunteering at the pancake breakfasts and soup kitchens that her parish held for the town’s most needy.
Eva took a hearty sip of her wine and smiled at my dad. She didn’t want to be here, and I would bet everything I had, which wasn’t much since I was a priest, that it was taking everything she had to sit here and pretend to enjoy a meal with people she barely knew, her mother included. I finally spoke up and steered the conversation to innocuous topics, like the weather and the Eagles game that was due to come on in twenty minutes. To my surprise, Eva chimed in and said that she was an Eagles fan, but had to admit that she was more into baseball and that she much rather attend a Phillies game. Marcia had remained silent throughout dinner and dessert, though I caught her staring at Eva constantly. It was painful to witness. Watching a mother struggle, to not know how to talk to her own daughter.
Eva offered to help with clean up, but Liz, Marcia, and my dad wouldn’t have it and dismissed Eva, Nate and I to the family room. Nate turned on the television and found the Eagles game right before kickoff. He then excused himself to the bathroom, leaving Eva and I alone.
“I don’t believe this,” she said, her eyes boring into mine. “God really does have a twisted sense of humor. Because this . . . you . . . can’t be a coincidence.” She threw the rest of her wine back and swallowed.
I wasn’t surprised that she had revealed herself to me. In the short time that I knew her, I gathered that she wasn’t one to play games and she didn’t have time for bullshit. Before I could respond, Nate was back and asked if he had missed anything. It took me a moment to realize that he was referring to the Eagles. I tore my gaze away from Eva and looked up at the television to see that we must have turned the ball over because the Cowboys now had the ball on their own twenty-yard line. “Jesus, I was in the bathroom for less than two minutes, and we already screwed up?” Nate wheeled over, retrieved the beer he had left on the counter before he had gone to the bathroom, and took a few swigs.
Despite Nate’s welcome interruption, I could tell Eva was done. She had placed her empty wine glass on the coffee table and was heading toward the kitchen when I followed her. I grabbed her arm. “Wait. Don’t leave,” I said, keeping my voice low so my brother couldn’t hear. She froze on contact.
“It was a mistake coming here,” she said, matching my hushed tone. She ripped her arm free and continued into the kitchen. I waited a second, not knowing what to do and then followed her again, only to find her thanking my dad and her mother for inviting her to dinner. She didn’t offer up an excuse as to why she was leaving so suddenly, and neither my dad nor Marcia asked. They were probably just so grateful that she had come in the first place and didn’t want to press their luck. No fistfights had ensued, no shouting matches had taken place. Overall, dinner had been a success.
“Eva, I saw that you took an Uber here. May I give you a lift home?” my dad asked.
“Oh, no . . . that’s not necessary. I’m used to taking cabs or grabbing a ride from Uber since I live in the city. But thanks for offering,” she said, withdrawing her phone from the back pocket of her jeans. Jeans that hugged her ass beautifully. With her long wavy blonde hair trailing down her back, her haunted green eyes and a body that was built to seduce, she was the most stunning woman I had ever seen. But it was her voice that held me captive, that made me forget who I was . . . what I was.
That was the reason I had carelessly opened my mouth. “I can take you home. Asbury Street is only a few blocks from me. I needed to head out early anyway.” It was a lie. I didn’t have any plans tonight. But she didn’t need to know that.
“Sounds like a plan. What do you think, Eva?” my dad asked.
I could tell she was torn. Refusing the ride from me wouldn’t make much sense. But I also got the feeling that being in a car with me for a half hour was not something she was eager to do. “Um . . . okay. If it’s no trouble,” she said, barely looking at me.
I nodded and watched her say her goodbyes to my dad, Nate, Liz and her mother. She didn’t offer up any hugs as she said farewell and everyone, I assumed, silently respected that and knew why. It wasn’t realistic to believe that Eva would automatically embrace her new family and estranged mother. This was going to take time.
Once in the car I heard her exhale, and I glanced over at her. She was staring out the passenger side window, and I yearned to know what she was thinking about. I was just about to ask when she said, “I don’t know who I just had dinner with tonight, because that woman, that woman who maybe said two sentences to me, was not my mother. That wasn’t the same woman who raised me.”
Somehow, I knew she wasn’t looking for me to respond. That she simply needed to share her thoughts. So I shifted the conversation.
“When did you realize that it was me? That I was the one you confessed to?”
“The second you opened your mouth, the moment I heard your voice . . . I knew.”
“This doesn’t have to get awkward,” I said.
She chuckled. “Priests aren’t supposed to lie to those in their flock. Which means, Father, don’t bullshit me. In just a matter of hours, I told a priest about my tendency to masturbate only to learn over turkey and gravy that said priest is now my stepbrother. We are way past awkward.”
Her tone had a bite, but it was her words that pissed me off. “Is that all you see?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, looking over at me.
“When you look at me, do you only see me as a priest and the stepbrother who you didn’t even know existed until today? And don’t bullshit me, Eva, I’ll know if you’re lying.” Her eyes darkened and she gasped at the sound of her name, or maybe it was because I had cursed.
“I’m not allowed to look at you or think of you in any other way. Because that could be . . . dangerous.”
My cock hardened and my pants grew tight around my erection. I had no idea how I had the wherewithal to make it into the city without crashing my modest sedan. I barely heard her tell me that her townhome was the third one from the corner. I stopped in front of a well-maintained brownstone and put the car in park. She looked down at the bulge in my pants. “Yes, I think we’re way past awkward. In fact, this is downright uncomfortable.” She met my eyes for a split heated second and exited my car.