Chapter 20 - Eucharist

Chapter 20. Eucharist

Father Edward

Since day one at St. Mary's, I've found it comfortable here. Effortless. Like I was meant for this place. In its own little corner of the world, yet still connected to everything. It was so easy to slip into the role of guiding this small, close-knit flock of God's people.

This morning I feel constrained.

My mind is constantly preoccupied.

My nerves won't settle.

My lungs are tight. Fuck. It's warm in here.

And as the processional begins, on top of it all, I fight a yawn.

I've been up since before dawn. Tossed and turned for hours before that. Now I can't seem to get my brain to string a solid idea together for today's homily.

It's not just today, though. It's not just Mass looming before me like some form of punishment for my holy crimes. It's not even St. Mary's in particular.

It's Bella.

I haven't thought about anything but her since I left the coffee shop yesterday.

Since kissing her for a second time.

Since holding her like I couldn't get enough of her.

And wanting so much more than what I gave her.

To make matters worse, I can't text her. Or go to her. Either would just confuse the both of us.

It's better this way, I try to convince myself for the millionth time since yesterday.

Then I remind myself I have to trust that God has a plan. And that maybe, somehow, at some point, he'll share that fucking plan with me.

For now, though, I just need to get through this morning.

My mind wanders as I walk down the aisle. The entire church is singing Faith of our Fathers, but the only hymn I seem to want to think about lately is the one Bella wrote.

I can't get her voice out of my head. Or my dreams. It makes me smile as I approach the pulpit.

I try to compose myself as I face my parish. And it almost works - until I see her.

She's sitting on the aisle, more than half way back with Alice next to her. It's about as far away from the Swans' usual pew as she can get.

The room spins for a split second and I have to hold onto the lectern for balance.

I didn't think she'd be here and I look down at my notes because I can't possibly hold eye contact with her today.

Shit. Did I forget how to start Sunday mass?

I clear my throat and find something to look at towards the back of the sanctuary.

"Lord have mercy," I start, and when the congregation chants it back, Bella's the only one I hear.

I lose my voice a couple times. She never does. Not once. And every time I hear her chant, goosebumps prick at the back of my neck. It's a good thing I've got the pulpit in front of me, because fuck if I know I could stand on my own without it.

After the last bit of the response, I whisper another, "Lord have mercy." Because I need it more than ever.

My will crumbles and my eyes flick in Bella's direction. She's staring right at me. Our eyes lock. I'm pretty sure one side of her mouth quirks up into a smile. I'm definitely sure she's blushing.

Like she did inside the coffee shop.

Right before we left.

And kissed.

Fuck.

No. I can't look at her. God help me, I want to. But I can't. If I do, my world will crack open and spill out for the entire congregation to see.

xXxXx

The majority of mass is a blur. The next thing I know, I'm standing at the pulpit again.

I stare down at the Gospel in front of me and I start reading the passage from the Revised Common Lectionary. At first the words seem wooden, generic noises that have been repeated over years and years of Catholic teachings. But then, suddenly, they come to life.

"For every one who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted."

I glance at the Swans in their pew. I don't look for Bella. I can't. But the Swans should. They brought her to tears the other night. They humbled her so much they made her feel like she couldn't be fixed.

Mrs. Swan, who's usually very interested in what I have to say, is not quite meeting my eyes this morning.

I'm surprised to see Ben beside Angela, and I stare a little too long.

Then I manage to pull my thoughts away from becoming judge and jury, and I focus on the homily I'm about to give. "This is the Gospel of the Lord."

"According to you, Lord Jesus Christ," the congregation replies.

It reminds me that this is Jesus' truth, not mine. Suddenly it's clear what I'm supposed to say today.

As everyone sits, I clap my hands together with renewed purpose.

"As usual, God doesn't mince words, right?" There's a small ripple of murmurs. Some heads nod.

"But what does it mean, really?"

People sit up straighter, but they know it's rhetorical. I wait, though, letting them think it over a little on their own.

"Answer this question for me." I pause. "Not out loud." I give a wink. People laugh.

"How many good deeds have you done this week?"

I glance around. Avoiding Bella. People exchange looks. They smile. They nod. They look proud of themselves. Because they know exactly how many good deeds they've done.

"Now answer this one," I tell them with a slightly more serious tone. "How often did you shine the spotlight on someone who hasn't done good deeds?" Another pause. "Or maybe the better question is, someone you thought hadn't?"

A pin could drop this time. Not a mutter is heard throughout the entire building.

"Easy to do, right?" I shrug. "I mean, who isn't guilty of pointing a finger once in a while?" I tell them like I'm telling a secret only the two-hundred and fifty or so of us share.

"We know what we see when we look at others. But what does Christ see? Sinners? Yeah. In need of a savior? Hell yeah."

There's a few gasps, but I ignore them.

"But if that's all he saw, he'd just look at us with pity."

I try to lock eyes with Mrs. Swan this time. I need her to hear this. "He sees something more in us," I tell her. "He sees something lovable. In fact, He sees the image of God in each and every one of us." I point around at the congregation.

"You know why we don't? Because our own sins obscure the image of God in others."

I say it and I'm stunned into silence for a minute. Because even as I try very desperately not to look at the one person who'd understand this above all, I understand, too. That it's not just about judging others.

"The same goes for pointing a finger at yourself." I laugh. "I'm guilty. I've done it about a hundred times since I walked up the aisle to the altar this morning." I wave at the doors in the back.

"We're taught, endlessly, to regard others with God's grace. But what we need to remember is to regard ourselves with that same grace. Because maybe… just maybe, our own sins are obscuring our ability to see God's divine goodness in ourselves."

I look out at the same faces I see every week. I notice, down in the front, Angela taking Ben's free hand and smiling up at him with forgiveness. He seems fascinated with something on his phone. Charlie whispers something into Renee's ear.

I'm dying to look at Bella, to see if she's hearing me. If she's really hearing me. Because I've been repeating these words for years, but it's like I'm hearing them for the first time.

I take a long, cleansing breath as I come to the end of my rant… otherwise known as a homily.

"I'm gonna leave you with some advice from John. He says, any that is without sin among you, let him cast the first stone."

Then I find Renee, down in front, who's finally paying attention. I try not to make this about her.

"Put down your stones, people. Don't aim them at others. Don't aim them at yourself. That's not our call to make." I smile. "And as Peter would say, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins."

I make a point not to look at Bella before I take my seat again.

Jasper catches my attention and he gives me an approving nod.

I can't help but grin. I hadn't expected to feel the high of coming off a good homily or to feel lighter than I did when I got here today.

The remainder of the mass is a whirlwind of prayers and offerings, chants and blessings. And it feels good again. I sing Lamb of God with gusto. I have new energy, up to and including when Jasper offers me Holy Communion.

I know I've made mistakes this past week, but I also know I'm made in God's image and that it's going to be okay. So when I walk toward the front of the congregation to offer communion, I seek Bella out for the first time since mass began.

She's not in her pew and I search the congregation. I assume she's left.

Until I finally find her.

Standing in line.

It doesn't make sense. She doesn't believe in any of this. She said so herself. And after yesterday… after we kissed...

Shit.

I smile and bless each parishioner, trying not to think about where Bella might be. My heart speeds up a little after each of them, knowing she's closing in. Step by step.

And when she's finally standing right in front of me, looking up at me with those huge brown eyes, Bella looks... reverent.

Determined.

Fucking beautiful.

Her eyes are glued to mine and she narrows them with intent, like she's finally forced me to see her. Only she doesn't know that I have seen her. I've seen her every moment of every day since the first time we met.

Since I told her we could be friends. And then told her we couldn't.

Since I told her I couldn't be her priest.

Yet here she is. Defying me. Or God.

Probably both of us.

It's fucking brilliant.

And she waits. And waits. And I try to remember what I'm supposed to say.

"Body of Christ," I manage to whisper. Or at least I think I do.

I pluck a wafer from the dish, nerves dictating my every move.

But instead of putting her hands out to take it from me, she smiles - just before she parts her glistening lips.

Christ.

Those fucking lips.

That I kissed.

In the confessional. At the coffee shop. And all the other places I've fantasized about kissing her flit through my mind.

And I want nothing more than to kiss her again.

Instead, I'm placing a wafer on her tongue and watching as she takes it between her lips. It's like someone else is doing it. Certainly not me. Not until I feel those lips close over the tip of my finger.

And then I know it's me. And Bella. In front of the congregation. In front of God.

Jesus. Fucking help me.

Bella refuses to look away when she whispers, "Amen."

Her eyebrow lifts, just slightly. Enough for me to notice. Not enough for anyone else. She moves over to Jasper and waits to drink from the chalice he offers.

I imagine myself telling her, drink. And as she takes a sip, her eyes are on me, almost like she heard me think it.

When she's done, she licks her lips. She tucks her bottom lip between her teeth.

Fuck.

"The blood of Christ," Jasper says.

"Amen," Bella responds with one last look of longing in my direction.

Then she walks away.

She doesn't return to her seat for final prayer or announcements. She's done what she came here to do.

I've felt the weight of every choice I've made this week in her eyes. At the same time I feel God's eternal forgiveness.

Fuck.

xXxXx

It's a quiet Monday afternoon, as far as confessions go. Only Mrs. Uley has taken the time to stop by and tell me how she skipped laundry for three days straight and then lied to her family about why she did it.

Usually I'd take this downtime to pray. Instead, I annoy myself, reliving everything from this past week, over, and over, and over again. I relive the regret, the kisses, the yearning, and the prayers about it all, struggling to come to grips with how I feel.

It's just one big circle of bullshit.

So when I hear the door of the confessional open, I sit up and try to focus. At least I can try to help others because I'm certainly not helping myself.

I wait.

They clear their throat.

I think I recognize the voice, but I've been imagining I hear Bella wherever I go for the past day and a half, so it's probably just hope. It couldn't be -

"Forgive me, Father."

Her voice is clear. It practically rings through the confessional.

"Bella…" Her name is a little more than a whisper as it leaves my lips. The only part of my body that's moving is my heart, beating a million miles a minute.

"It's been four days since my last confession. And the last time I was here I screwed up big time."

The silence between us after that is deafening.

I wait while my chest lights on fire.

"No comment from the peanut gallery?" she asks.

What is she doing here?

Bella clears her throat again. "Anyway, today I'm here to try to do it right. I have a lot to confess. I've been making lists." I hear paper crinkling on her side. "But I looked at them this morning and they're all just words. Pride, lust, lying… Whatev, you know?"

I do know. I know more than she could imagine.

"I don't give a fu… fig about that old school shit. I want to confess… to you… about my real, actual sins that matter to me. And you. Probably?"

Normally I'd make a sarcastic comment. Or find some other way to make her feel more comfortable in an uncomfortable situation. But she doesn't seem uncomfortable. And this situation is anything but normal.

I'm left with nothing to say.

"About how I screwed up the other night - one of the things I do wrong is I try to bend people to my will. And I did that with you and with confession at nine o'clock on a Thursday. I'm self-centered that way. And I'm sorry about it. I'll try to do better. In general. Not necessarily with you. You're not my priest anymore."

She pauses. I remind myself I need to breathe. I open my mouth to say something but nothing comes out. Again. I'm not sure if I should let her finish. Or tell her that she's wrong. That I was wrong. To beg her forgiveness.

"And when I first came here the other week I thought this was stupid. I made fun of you. I'm sorry. Sometimes I make fun of things when I'm angry. Or scared."

I see her shadow move as she shifts. I start to reach for it then pull my hand back. It's not the same as touching her.

Do I stay put? Do I go to her? That's probably a bad idea considering what happened last time.

I'm debating it all when she begins again.

"And I'm manipulative as fu…" She laughs a little. I smile. "Off the table," she whispers. "So manipulative it's not even funny. I pushed you because I like you. And then I took advantage of you."

"Y-"

"And all of that's no biggie. I mean to me, anyway. I don't know about God. Who totally isn't real, so whatever."

I start to correct her but think better of it as she continues.

"But there are some things that are harder for me to admit. But fuck it, you know? Sorry about saying fuck. How exactly are you supposed to say everything that's on your mind if you have to censor out the fucks, Edward? I mean Father? Do you mind if I say fuck every now and then?"

And she waits as I bite my lip, trying not to laugh out loud at the number of fucks she just let spill out into this confessional.

Dear God...

"Fine. Listen, I have a problem with sex. I like it. I always have. That's not the problem. If you don't enjoy sex, well that's a problem. But I think I use sex to my advantage. And sometimes it gets me in trouble. It almost ruined my first big break, you know? Maybe I ruined my sister's marriage - although I think it was doomed from the start, but whatever… I just didn't want it to get you in trouble. So I'm sorry if I did - get you in trouble. I'll try to do better with sex too."

If this was even a few nights ago, I'd say, drink. But it's not, so I'm stumped on exactly how to respond to any of this.

"Yeah, I figured there wasn't much you could say. I mean, you made it clear you're not even my priest. But still, as my former friend I thought you should know I'm sorry. Maybe your pretend God can forgive me anyway."

The air thins and my heart sinks. It kills me that Bella thinks God wouldn't forgive her.

"You didn't-"

"One more thing," she says, cutting me off before I can say any more. "Jake told me I should let you know how I feel. I'm glad I met you, Father. Edward. I'm glad I kissed you. Twice. No take backs on that front. But I'm sorry if it fucked you up. And I'm sorry it messed up what we had. Keep on priesting on. I'll look for your comments on YouTube or whatever."

Jesus.

I don't think I've heard her say so much since I've met her.

It's a lot.

And there's so many things I want to say to her right now.

So many things I need to say.

But I wait too long to say them, and before I know it, the door to the confessional is opening, and she's gone without another word.

Shit.

It breaks parishioner confidentiality for me to go after her.

I know that.

But fuck, I do it anyway.

In an instant, I'm out in the sanctuary, practically running after her. And when I catch up to Bella, I grab her hand.

"Hold on a second."

She spins around. She looks down at our hands, then at me.

Confused. Surprised.

"Father?" And she's not angry. She's not sad. She smiles. " I thought we were done?"

I smile back. But suddenly I realize this isn't the place. Not here. Not in the sanctuary. Not with even just the small number of parishioners lingering in the pews. So I tug at her hand before letting it go. I nod toward the hallway, hoping she'll follow me willingly.

Thank God, she does.

Inside my office, it's exactly the same as the first time Bella was here. The same photos on the wall, the same books on the shelf. But it feels different. And it takes a second for me to realize why.

The two of us have changed.

Bella's not holding back anymore. But I am. And I don't want to be.

I glance up at my large, painted copy of Pope Francis and … nope. So I take him down and flip him over, exposing my obsession with Fergie on the other side.

Bella chuckles as she falls against the desk, so she's half sitting there. Laughing. "I… I… You're too fucking much. I'll never live up to her, you know that. Right?"

I laugh but it dies slow. I'm caught up in her smile. Then I lean against one of the chairs and cross my arms. I remember the first time she showed up here. I hardly knew her, but I was already drawn to her.

Now I'm consumed by her.

I nod toward the sanctuary. "That was... a lot."

"Um. What?"

"I mean, I don't think this church has heard the word fuck that many times in all its existence."

"You're focused on the fucks? The fucks?!"

Shit. "That was a very poorly timed joke."

"Maybe you're just pissed because I broke your fucking record. Stupid, swearing priest."

"What? No." I unfold my arms. "I'm not-"

"Listen, I know you didn't want me here. I'm sorry."

She what?

"Why would you think that?"

"Really? One - you told me I'm no longer a member of this church. And two - why didn't you look at me during mass yesterday?"

The question catches me off guard. I say the first thing that comes to mind. "I couldn't."

Because it's true.

"Ha!" she laughs. "You could have. You didn't. You chose not to. Did you forget about the prodigal son already, Father?"

"Bella, it's not like that." I take a step toward her, but she slides back on the desk, out of my reach. Like the thought of touching me repels her.

"It's exactly like that. I'm glad my family gets to have you. But it's really shitty that I don't."

"I know. And I was-"

"Yeah, you were just telling me to leave. To go somewhere else. Like you get the final say. Like it doesn't matter how I feel."

"It matters." Christ. It fucking matters.

"Words and actions are two different things."

"Bella."

"Father?" She smiles, but it's defiant. It's a challenge. As she waits for me to find a way to show her how much she matters to me.

I let my head fall back and glare up at the ceiling. At God. And I breathe out a heavy sigh because she's right. This is shitty.

"Fuck."

"Fuck. Fuck… fuck. I'm not letting you out-fuck me. Not now. Not when you're no longer my priest. Not when we're fighting." I look back over at her and she stares me in the eye like she knows she's about to one up me. "Eddie."

My jaw tightens. I clench my teeth.

Leah pops her head in the doorway. "I'm taking off, Father." She glances over at Bella. Sitting on my desk in her Chuck Taylors and short skirt and, fuck me, the oversized flannel is actually sexy as hell. "Unless you need anything else?"

"No thanks, Leah," I say, looking back over at Bella. "Have a good night."

"Yeah, um. You too?" she says, then turns to go.

Leah's footsteps disappear down the hall as I contemplate the woman sitting on my desk, vulnerable and defiant, impatiently waiting for me to explain why I brought her back here to my office.

I'm not quite sure how to start, now that I have her here.

"You're something else. You know that?" I tell her, because she is.

But I've said it wrong. Again. I know it when she raises an eyebrow and when she chuckles sadly. "If that's all you have to say, I should probably go."

She could be right.

Maybe.

I give Bella a nod. Then I walk over to the door as she picks her purse up off the desk.

I put my hand on the doorknob. I grip it tight. And my heart sinks.

Because I didn't ask her back here just to let her leave.

I asked her back here because I'm sick of praying to God for direction. I'm sick of asking questions I already know the answers to. I asked her here because I have a confession of my own. One that's just between me and Bella.

So I take a deep breath.

And I close the damn door.