“You’re awfully chipper today.” Dad points out, winding up the windows and turning on the air-conditioning.
I can’t help it. I smile as green trees and small cottages ship past us.
“It was a good day.” I say, pulling my handbag onto my thighs.
I barely held my secret for longer than a second when I arrived at work this morning and the squeal that rang around the store as I explained everything to Fiona in graphic detail was the cherry on the top of my sexually elated sundae. Though I glowed red when I asked her about the morning after pill, she barely batted an eyelid. Knowing I can’t exactly buy condoms, she offered me a bunch. I hesitated at first in fear of being caught with them, but I figured it was better than being caught by pregnancy. After this morning’s sexual encounter, I clarified with Caleb that unprotected sex isn’t something I feel entirely comfortable with. At first I think he was offended, but he played it off well. He claimed I was the only girl he’s had unprotected sex with. Whether or not that’s true, I don’t know. You think he’d at least be a little hesitant about diving in if it were something he’s never done before. Either way, he assured me he’s as clean as a whistle. I don’t really know what that terms means, to be honest.
“Was Oleg there today?” Dad asks with an eerie, casual tone to his voice.
My smile falters. He doesn’t like Oleg and I understand why. Oleg doesn’t exactly know how to respect boundaries. His choice of words when he met Mom brushed Dad the wrong way. Oleg doesn’t mean any harm he just doesn’t understand why somethings are unacceptable to say…like commenting on the curve of a woman’s backside and the plumpness of her bottom lip.
“Yeah. He was there.”
“I hope he respected your personal space…”
I snort. “Oleg doesn’t ‘rob cradles’ as he likes to put it and the guy is thirty-eight years old. I’m sure he has refined his tastes to MILFS and other mature aged women.”
“MILFS?”
I laugh, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Yeah. You know, mothers…who are attractive.”
Dad frowns, pulling in his thick eyebrows. “Okay, but what is a MILF?”
“I just told you.”
“MILF is obviously an acronym. What does it stand for?”
“You seriously don’t know?”
He shakes his head.
I clench my bag. “It stands for ‘Mother I’d like to…you know.”
Dad flinches, his face pinching into a scowl. “He’s going to Hell.”
My chest shakes with a laugh I’m unable to hold. The look on his face—the downturn of his lips and scrunch of his nose. I laugh the rest of the way home, unable to stop it until he pulls into our drive.
When the car rolls to a stop, I unclip my seatbelt and slip from the car. As I shut the door, I notice the white sedan parked out the front. Along the side it says: ‘Paradise Valley Catholic Church.’
My stomach sinks and flutters at the same time. Clenching my bag in my hand, I stroll toward the door with Dad by my side. He glances over his shoulder at the car.
“Father Andrews is here.”
I hum. “I wonder why?”
“I know he was picking up a few dishes for his charity ball, but that’s in a few days.”
I shrug. I don’t know anything about a charity ball. Dad fishes in his pockets for the house keys.
“Your mom tells me Caleb came around this morning.”
I swallow hard. “Yeah. He, uh, he was in the neighborhood and felt the need to share a prayer with us. Mom invited him in for breakfast.”
“He’s a little hard to read…” Dad mutters, pulling out a set of keys. “But he’s a good Catholic boy and a good influence on you.”
Well, I wouldn’t go as far as to say he’s a good influence, but he’s definitely not a bad person. I grin. Whether or not he’s good isn’t what’s important here. Did Dad just give Caleb approval? If I were to date him, will he actually be okay with that?
“You’re smiling.” He points out, slipping the key into the lock.
I try to stop it, but I can’t. “I just never thought I’d see the day you’d approve of any boy…”
“Don’t twist it, Cassia. I’m not approving a relationship between you and Caleb.” His jaw tightens. “I’m merely stating he is a good influence on your soul. Father Andrews tells me Caleb will go on to make a good pastor or priest…and you will only hinder that.”
I flinch and my eyebrows draw in. Is that…an insult? Why can’t I be a good influence on Caleb’s soul? Why is the finger of judgement always pointed in my direction? Swallowing, I drop my stare to my black flats. I’m such an idiot to think for a second I’d finally done something right.
“You’re still young. You’ll find a nice Catholic boy on pilgrimage somewhere, one who doesn’t want to be a part of the clergy.”
I snort. “Pilgrimage?”
If he knew me at all, he’d know I hate travelling…and I hate praying too. I hate being selfless and cautious. Honestly, fuck it all.
“Yeah. It’s where you—”
“I know what pilgrimaging is.” I snap, impatiently shifting my weight onto the one leg.
He turns the key and pauses. “Did I say something wrong?”
Oh, no. Not at all. You only managed to crush my heart underneath your fucking shoe! I bite my lip and shake my head. “No.”
With a tired exhale, Dad pushes the handle and the door opens. Stepping to the side, he gestures for me to go in. I step inside the house to see Mom and Father Andrews sitting on the leather couch, clutching cups of coffee. I quickly glance around the room, but Caleb is nowhere to be seen. My chest kind of…deflates. It’s weird.
“Father Andrews.” Dad greets him as Father Andrews rises to his feet. “Good to see you.”
They shake hands. It’s strange seeing Father Andrews in normal clothing—in a pair of jeans and a navy polo. Here I was thinking they practically lived in their all black getup with the robes over the top.
“Caleb’s not with you?” Dad asks, glancing around like I did moments before.
“Ah, no.” Father Andrews peers sideways at me in a way that stops my heart dead in its tracks. “He is a little…incapacitated…at the moment. I was pulling the memorial canvases out from underneath the stairs this morning when he came home. Sadly, he doesn’t handle this time of the year very well.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that.” I say, pulling my bag up onto my shoulder.
I gotta get out of this room before I combust. The way Father Andrews pins me down with his accusatory stare is unnerving. Either he suspects something or Caleb has had a meltdown and told him everything. Regardless, all I want to do is go upstairs and call him. He didn’t text me at all today. Not once. It’d be a lie if I said I didn’t check every ten minutes.
I go to walk off, but a choked sob from Mom pulls my attention to her and forces me to stay. Dad heard it too and rushes to her side. He wraps a comforting arm around her shoulders and pulls her in to his chest.
“Linda? What is it?”
“I…” She sobs again, covering her mouth with her palm.
Frowning, I inch closer, until I’m resting my hip against the back of the couch. Jesus, who died? Or maybe she ran out of flour for her upside down pineapple cake again.
Reaching behind her, she hands Dad a t-shirt. A white one. With a stupid moose on a skateboard drawing on the chest of it.
My stomach sinks. Oh, fuck. Heat burns underneath my skin, simmering my organs in their own fluids. He forgot his damn shirt? Fire scalds my cheeks, but I manage to keep myself together. Defensiveness will make me guilty. I have to play this off like I have no idea.
“Dad spill ketchup on his shirt again?” I joke, simpering awkwardly.
Mom swipes at her nose. “I found it in her room.”
Dad clenches the shirt and avoids my face. My belly cramps painfully, my fingers clenching the back of the couch. His silence is what’s terrifying. He’s almost never silent.
“My room?” I say, half laughing. “Of course. It’s Fiona’s.”
Mom shudders as she forces her tears back. Patting her eyes with a tissue, she glances up at me her blue eyes all doey and swollen. Light trails of mascara stain her cheeks and her hair is a mess.
Honestly, with the way she’s reacting you’d think I was their twelve year old daughter who got high on crack, lost my virginity to the senior football team, and fell pregnant with the second string quarterback’s baby. Chill the fuck out.
In other news, I’m going to kill Caleb when I see him. How could he be so careless?
“Fiona owns a boys t-shirt?” Dad asks, finally looking at me.
He doesn’t seem convinced. I ignore Father Andrews who watches me, his arms folded over his chest.
I shrug with a nod. “She packed loose clothing in her bag the night she came over to watch a movie.”
“A boys shirt?”
“Apparently.” I shrug again. “I don’t dictate what she should wear. It’s comfortable for her. It’s what she likes.”
Fiona is going to kick my ass when she finds out I’ve created a lie about her wearing men’s clothing. She’s quite proud of her designer collection of dresses and shoes.
“Marcus, did you want a coffee?” Father Andrews asks and I finally give him my attention.
He stares at me with his intense eyes although he addresses my father. It’s safe to say he recognizes the shirt.
Dad pushes himself to his feet and tosses Caleb’s shirt over his shoulder. “A coffee sounds good.”
He leaves the room and I loosen the grip I have on the couch.
Clever.
He knows my dad prefers to make his own coffee.
“Linda,” He turns his stare to my mother and I watch as his eyes soften. “You don’t happen to have any of those shortbread biscuits, do you? I just love those.”
Like a bunny, she bounds to her feet. “I sure do.”
On her way to the kitchen, she squeezes my arm and mutters a pathetic apology. I tell her it’s okay.
And I feel like shit doing it.
Sighing, Father Andrews strolls around the couch and I turn in his direction as he stops a few feet away from me. He slips his hands into his pockets and kisses his teeth.
“I do my very best to be the priest the people deserve and the priest God wants me to be.” He states, dragging his gaze from my feet all the way up my body to my face. “We don’t have to tell your parents, but you need to be straight up with me. I can’t help you unless I know the truth.”
I scoff. Bullshit. He’s pulling the same shit teachers do in school. They convince you tell them something and when you do they phone your parents. Not my first rodeo, old man.
“We don’t have to tell my parents?” I fold my arms across my chest. “They ask you a question and you’re obliged to tell the truth. You’re a priest. It’s a lie otherwise.”
He shakes his head. “Though we’re not in a church, I assure you your confession will be bound to me. Your secrets are not mine to tell and if I have to lie to protect my son, to protect my church…well, that’s something I’ll have to work out with God at a later date.”
I thin my eyes and analyze his face. He looks a lot like Caleb. Though some of the features they share are weaker on Caleb’s face because they’ve been watered down by the genes of his mother.
“I can assure you I’m not sleeping with your son.” I lie, my body coiling tightly at the memory of last night and this morning.
I can imagine his face if he were here right now…the cockiness, the amusement.
Butterflies flutter…
My lips try to curl…
I’ve got it bad, don’t I?
Clearly frustrated, Father Andrews brushes his hand over his face. I don’t know what he wants me to say? Yes, I’m banging your son. Yes, he makes me come like fucking crazy. No, he’s not a good boy. He’s actually Lucifer’s apprentice. The stories I can tell the Father…the lies, the cutting, the pain, the girls…his son is on a war path and it’s leading him directly to Hell. Father Andrews needs to stop playing and see it for what it is. It’s too late for Caleb and I don’t mind taking part in his adventure if it means he doesn’t have to do it alone. I like his company. He’s funny, and spontaneous, and completely inappropriate. He is my kind of person.
“The thing is…” Father Andrews says, scratching his head. “I was having a bit of trouble locating him during the early hours of the morning and then he miraculously shows up at your house for a prayer session before breakfast?”
“He’s enthusiastic.”
“About prayer?” He laughs. “On a Saturday, the only thing Caleb is enthusiastic about is sleeping until lunch. That I know for a fact. What I haven’t figured out is how he lost a shirt during prayer?”
“I already told you that’s not his shirt.”
Am I seriously getting interrogated by a priest right now? Father is fierce.
“He’s a good boy, my Caleb.”
Ha-fucking-ha. “So everyone keeps telling me.”
“When your mother called me and hysterically begged me to come over because you had gone off the rails I wasn’t the least bit surprised.”
I’m confused…is he calling me a whore? Is he allowed to do that? I frown at him. What an asshole.
“I was, however, surprised to see Caleb’s shirt clenched in her trembling hands when I arrived.”
I shift my weight on my left leg. “If you’re so sure Caleb is a good boy, then you have nothing to worry about. I’m telling you that isn’t his shirt.”
“I said Caleb is a good boy, but I feel I should mention he’s also lazy.” A smirk touches the corner of his mouth. “Who do you think does his laundry? Hm? God?”
I swallow. Is this fucking check mate? Did I just get check mated by a priest?
“Stay away from my son, Cassia. I’ve spent too many years keeping him on the straight and narrow and I won’t lose him now. You’re young. There’s still plenty of time to repent and change your ways. The church can help you.”
The church can help me? How? I’ve invested my faith in the church for months and still my parents don’t trust me. I’m done with the church. If my parents want me to keep playing good little church girl, I will, but it’s only until I gather enough funds to get the hell out of here. I want Paradise Falls in my rearview by the end of the month.
I inch closer to Father Andrews, until his eyebrows pull in with a frown.
“Change my ways?” I almost laugh. “I happen to like my ways just fine.”
Your son does too.
I clench my bag strap and circle the couch. Father Andrews watches me, his face void of any judgement, but I know it’s bubbling just underneath the surface. His son is the only piece of family he has left…there’s no way this doesn’t affect him emotionally. I grab Caleb’s shirt and tuck it underneath my arm.
“I should have this returned to Fiona.” I say, offering him a smile.
Without a glance over my shoulder, I storm up the stairs and lock myself in my room to have a complete mental breakdown.
You know, my usual Saturday antics.