by Sarina Bowen
“Why not?”
“Can’t walk in there with you yet. Maybe not ever.” The bed is right there. I’m still embarrassed.
“It’s okay—I’m stopping on the way home for eye bleach,” he says.
Then I laugh. The tension inside me breaks, and I keep on laughing.
“Who’s going to carry it up the stairs with you?” Griffin huffs as we ease the dresser up onto the porch.
“Roddy,” I gasp, still laughing.
“I can’t believe the first guy you’ve ever dated happens to be named Rod,” Griffin says. “I suppose it could be worse. Dicky, maybe. Or Hammer.”
It’s very difficult to carry a piece of furniture while laughing. We have to set it down just inside the door, so I can catch my breath.
Before he goes, Griffin wraps an arm around me. It’s half-wrestling maneuver, half-hug. “I still get to tease you, punk.”
“But not during dinner today.”
“Yeah. I saw nothing.” He gives me a manly squeeze. “Jokes aside—this is good, though, right? Sometimes we worry about you being kinda solitary. Although, not this morning.” He chuckles.
“Yeah, it is good. But it’s still private.”
“Is it ever going to be public?”
“Doubt it.”
“Okay. I sort of get it. See you in a while.” He whacks me on the back one more time and lets himself out the front door.
“Thank Ruth for the dresser!” I call after him.
“You can thank her later. Don’t bail, because you’ll be putting me on the spot.”
“Okay,” I say before shutting the door.
Although bailing sounds pretty good right now. What the hell have I done?
Roderick
The whole time Kieran and Griffin are outside, I’m a wreck. First, I pace the living room, hoping to somehow develop X-ray vision so I can see them through the oak front door. When that proves fruitless, I clean up the kitchen instead.
Finally, when I’m back to pacing again, they reappear in the driveway. I see Griffin grab Kieran into a hard hug and pat him on the back several times before releasing him.
Only then can I breathe again. I would never wish a sudden, unplanned outing on anyone. But hugging is a good sign.
I hide in my room when they come inside with the dresser. When Griffin finally leaves, I come bursting out of there. “Are you okay? That was… I’m sorry.” I babble. “Do you feel any better after speaking with him?”
“Fuck no,” he says, trudging into the living room to flop down on the couch. “What a mess. Griffin isn’t going to tell anyone. But he’s, like, Mr. Honesty. So I’m basically forcing him to lie to his wife and our entire extended family on my behalf. It’s a disaster.”
“So don’t force him?” The words slip out, even though I know it’s the wrong time to make this point. Kieran is in shock right now. He’s not ready to hear that staying in the closet is a choice.
The horrified look on his face is proof of that. “Roddy, I’m not you.”
“I know you’re not,” I quickly agree. “We’re walking different parts of the path.”
“That doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he says. “It doesn’t matter how nice Griffin was to me just now. The timing is terrible.”
A very familiar panic begins to percolate inside me. “You feel this way right now because you had a scare. But once you have a little while to get used to the idea, you might realize that it’s not so terrifying to show people who you really are.”
“Not happening,” Kieran snaps. “That is not how it works for me.”
His sudden anger is so shocking that I spend a long beat trying to figure out how I made him so mad. And I’ve got nothing. “Look, I know your family is important to you.”
“You don’t know the first thing about it,” he says icily. “Griffin isn’t the problem.”
“Then tell me what is,” I fire back. He only scowls. “I’m not trying to paint some rosy picture for you. I promise you that. But your cousins love you. One of them is bisexual, for fuck’s sake. Your dad is kind of a dick already. Is he really going to get any worse if he knows you like men?”
I take a badly needed breath into the silence that follows. I don’t know how we got here, arguing about whether or not Kieran can come out. This whole thing is probably my fault. I should have locked the door after I got his Christmas present out of the car. And I shouldn’t pressure him. Especially on Christmas, for fuck’s sake.
“Rod,” he says tiredly. “It’s almost time to go. I have to go find a nice shirt to wear.”
“Make sure it’s a really straight-looking one.” It’s a cruel thing to say, and I know it. So cruel that his eyes widen in shock. He waits for me to explain myself, or at least laugh it off somehow.
But I don’t. I just sit back against the couch cushions and close my eyes. “You should go, so you’re not late.” That’s as conciliatory as I can manage to be.
“Are you ready to go?” he asks quietly.
“Yes.”
He gets up and climbs the stairs, while I sit on the couch feeling like a complete shit. Kieran had a stressful moment with his cousin, and instead of listening, I threw a tantrum. I pushed him away, because I’m terrified that he’s going to end up like Brian—trapped in the closet, with me in there with him.
It’s not an idle fear. Kieran clearly isn’t ready. This is all new to him.
But not to me, unfortunately. Nothing about this is new at all. And I promised myself I wouldn’t end up here again. I promised.
Kieran comes back down the stairs a few minutes later, wearing a nice blue button-down shirt that I cannot even compliment because I was already an ass about shirt choices. “We’re going together, right?” he asks. “Driving two cars is a waste of gas. And everybody likes to save gas.”
I listen to this rambling bit of logic, and it hurts my heart. If I’m going to be in a relationship, it has to be with someone who doesn’t need a solid alibi for sharing a ride with me.
And while I know that Kieran isn’t ready to come out on Christmas, I can easily picture myself sitting on this same couch next Christmas, with the same fancy cake waiting in the kitchen, asking myself how another year has gone by in our secret relationship.
I take a deep breath and do the difficult thing. “Kieran,” I say quietly. “I’m not in the right head space to go with you today. Can you take the cake I made and just tell anyone who asks that I need to catch up on my sleep? Or that I have a headache?” It’s not even a lie. I can feel a headache blooming behind my eyes.
“What? You said you were coming. Everyone will be there.”
That’s the problem, isn’t it? I’ve been trying to make a life for myself in Vermont. But every single person I know in this town is related to Kieran, either by blood or through my job. I’ve done it again. I’ve painted myself into a corner by falling for a man who requires me to hide how I feel.
This is all my fault. But it’s still going to hurt both of us.
“I shouldn’t have agreed to go,” I say as gently as possible. “I don’t want to spend the day pretending that you and I are just roomies who split the heating bill. Not on Christmas.”
“Oh,” he says, and then frowns. “But this morning you said you were excited to go.”
“Yeah,” I admit.
“What did I do wrong?”
I try on several answers to that question, and they all sound petty. You won’t hold my hand under the dinner table. After two whole months of exploring your sexuality, you’re not ready to change your life. “It’s not you, it’s me,” is what I come up with. “I’ve faked my way through many social gatherings before. I just can’t do it today.”
His forehead wrinkles, and I’m sure he wants to argue the point. But in the end, he says, “Okay.” And then he turns around and walks toward the backdoor, where his coat is waiting on a hook.
I follow him with the cake I made, so he won’t forget it.
“If you cha
nge your mind…”
I nod quickly as I hand over the cake. We blink at each other for a second. It’s the first awkward moment between us in a really long time.
Then he goes. I stand there in the back hall, listening to the sound of his truck’s engine warming up. After a minute he backs down the driveway and leaves. Still, I don’t move. I wait until the engine sound has completely died away. I don’t know what I was waiting for, anyway. I was definitely not waiting for Kieran to stop the truck, walk back into this house, and grab me into a hug.
I was not waiting for him to say, I’m sorry you’re sad, and I love you. It’s definitely too soon for that second thing, if not the first.
But now that he’s really gone, I’m faced with a whole empty day. I’m probably going to spend part of it binging TV shows on Kieran’s computer.
First, I need to give myself a task to feel good about. I start cleaning. The bathrooms are first. Then I vacuum the living room and clean out the refrigerator. I turn on some music.
My dining options are pretty limited, given the fact that I thought I’d be eating Audrey’s cooking today. So that’s a little depressing. But I pour myself a mug of coffee and decide I’ll worry about food later.
The house smells like cleaning products and determination a few hours later when I see a man walk up the driveway. He looks familiar, but I can’t quite place him. He approaches the backdoor, and I spot his collar. He’s the same priest whom I briefly met at the Shipleys’ party back in the fall. The one who said that my parents were his parishioners.
I feel a sudden, soul-deep chill. Did something happen today? To the Shipleys? Or—wait—to my parents? I yank open the door.
When the priest smiles at me, I feel a powerful wave of relief. “Roderick?” he says cheerfully. He’s carrying a covered dish in his hands. “Sorry to drop by unannounced. But I brought you something, and I wondered if we could have a quick chat.”
“Well…sure?” I’m still a little confused, but I gesture him inside. “I have coffee, if you want a cup. But that’s about it. It’s been a busy month of seasonal baking, and I took the day off from that.”
“I would love a cup of coffee!” He wipes his shoes on the mat that I bought at Goodwill for three dollars. “And I know just what you mean. Christmas Day is peak season for me. I give more than one service, and then I drive around visiting a lot of people. In the evening, we throw a communal dinner.”
“Right. I heard about that.” The damned dinner is the reason Griffin showed up at our door today, starting all the trouble. See? Church is dangerous. I knew it all along.
And isn’t it weird that the priest is paying me a friendly visit? Is he here to proselytize? Or could he be, like, a creepy priest?
“I swung by the Shipleys’ an hour ago,” he says, tossing his coat onto Kieran’s empty hook.
“You really do get around.” I lead him toward the kitchen and take a clean coffee cup out of the cabinet.
“Well, Audrey’s cooking is pretty spectacular. A man’s got to eat, even on the busiest day of the year. And then I heard that you were feeling a little under the weather, so I brought you a plate on my way back into town.” He lifts the lid on the dish he’s holding, and I see a thick slice of spiced ham, a wedge of potato and cheese gratin, a selection of vegetables and a polenta-looking dish that I might need to taste to properly identify.
“Wow.” What an incredible kindness. The scent of a home-cooked meal rushes up at me. And—this is mortifying—my eyes get hot. “Thank you.” I take the dish from his hands and look away.
“Hey now,” Father Peters says softly. “Christmas is a glorious day for half my parishioners. And the hardest day of the year for the other half.”
“Only half? Shit,” I curse. To a priest. “Sorry.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t be sorry. Put that in the microwave for sixty seconds and get a fork. I’ve eaten my weight in that ham already. You really don’t want to miss it.” Then he takes the empty coffee mug I’ve fetched for him and fills it from the carafe himself.
And that’s how I end up eating Christmas dinner with a priest. “Is this stuffing flavored with water chestnuts?”
“I think so,” he says. “And cranberries. How’s your headache?”
“Miraculously recovered. I just wasn’t up to crashing a big family dinner today. I wasn’t in the mood.”
“I see,” he says, sipping his coffee. “And no last-minute invitations were forthcoming from your own family?”
“They don’t even have my phone number,” I point out. “But I don’t dwell on it. Not at all. I hadn’t even thought of them today.” Or I wouldn’t have, anyway, if I hadn’t fought with Kieran. But home alone in this empty house, I managed to think about everyone I ever tried to make love me. My parents. Brian. Kieran. The whole lot.
That’s what happens when you dive too deeply into your own misery.
“It isn’t right,” Father Peters says quietly. “I inquired about you to them.”
The fork pauses on its way to my mouth. “You don’t have to do that. In fact, it’s easier on me if you don’t.”
“All I did was invite the conversation. I told your parents that my door was open to them if they wanted to discuss their relationship with their son.”
“How would that even work?” I ask carefully. “The Catholic church does not approve of me.”
He tips his head side to side, as if weighing the idea. “Technically speaking, the Catholic church disapproves of actions, not people. Although most of the congregants who walk through my door have done some things that the church dislikes. Birth control, for example. Or divorce. But that doesn’t matter to me. I am not a walking rule book. And I don’t disapprove of you at all. And I don’t judge you, either. That’s not my job. My job is to love you as one of God’s most sacred creations. And I am very good at my job.”
My fucking eyes fill with tears. “I’m having kind of a hard day,” I say by explanation.
“I can see that. But so am I, because I’m expecting two hundred people for dinner in forty minutes. So I need to do something.”
“Go, go,” I say waving him toward the door. “I’ll be fine.”
“Sure you will be. But I meant that I need to ask you a favor. Would you come and help me serve two hundred meals for a couple hours? You may not approve of the rolls. We buy them frozen. But we could use an extra set of hands. And it seems like you already cleaned your house from top to bottom, so…”
I laugh. “This was all one big recruiting mission? You are slick.”
“No, I’m innocent.” He spreads his hands and smiles at me. “But we are always shorthanded. And you’ve finished your supper.”
I look down at my plate and see that he’s right. I’ve hoovered the entire meal in a short period of time. The meal that this man brought me when he suspected I was sitting home alone today. “I’m very handy in the kitchen,” I admit. “But I won’t come if you think my parents will show up. I don’t have the stomach for that tonight.”
“Well, I don’t have a tracking device on their car. But I have never seen your parents at one of our community dinners. They’re Sunday-only Catholics, as far as I can tell.”
I realize that I have no earthly idea how my parents spend Christmas. And that makes me feel a little blue once again.
“Come on, Roderick. It’s right across the green,” Father Peters says. “You could throw a rock and hit the church.”
“That sounds like vandalism,” I say, lifting my now-empty plate off the coffee table.
“I don’t mean literally,” he scoffs. “The church disapproves of that. It’s in the rule book.”
“I’m sure it is.”
Five minutes later I’m locking the door and then heading down the driveway with the priest.
“So, is there any particular reason why today was especially hard?” he asks.
“Well, sure. I really like Vermont, but I’m not sure I can stay.”
“Why is
that? Seems like you have a good job with people who care about you.”
“A fair point,” I grumble. “But see—I like people. And I need people in my life. That’s a good thing, right?”
“I’ve always thought so.”
“But it has a dark side. Before I came here, I was with a guy who wasn’t a very good guy. But I stuck with him anyway, because I don’t like to be alone. Then I came to Vermont, and I started dating a good guy. No—a great guy. But he’s not ready.”
“Ready for—?”
“For me. I’m kind of a lot to handle. I have a lot to give, but he isn’t ready to receive everything I want to offer him. And it doesn’t look like he’s going to be ready anytime soon. So unless I want to put my life on hold for the foreseeable future, I probably need to leave. This is a small town, and I don’t want to put pressure on him. But it’s just so depressing. I feel like I’m going to be bumping around from guy to guy like a drunk pinball for the rest of my pathetic little life. When all I want is to find the right man and be very good to him.”
I need a big, gulping breath of air after all that word vomit. I can’t believe I just emptied my heart to a Catholic priest, of all people. But he’s a really good listener. He’s probably trained for that.
“That does sound heartbreaking,” he says as we round the corner toward his church. “But the self-awareness you have about this problem is a precious thing. Not all of my parishioners can see their troubles as clearly as you can.”
“I’m not always this lucid,” I promise him. “I stayed with that other rat for three years.”
“And how long have you given this new guy?”
“Not long,” I hedge. “But it feels so familiar. I know he’s going to let me down. So I feel like I should just get it over with, and save us both the anguish.”
“Hmm,” he says. “And how would he feel if you did that?”
“Sad,” I say without hesitation. “But maybe relieved.”
“Uh-huh. Maybe before you deprive the greater Colebury area of those sourdough pretzels, you should find out for sure.”
