Authors: Lisa Desrochers
“W
HAT WOULD YOU
do if you thought you might be in love with someone who may or may not be in love with someone else?”
Abby pulls the DVD out of the case and shoots me a glare.
I wince under the heat of it. “Sorry. I forgot.”
For the last three weeks, I’ve watched Abby and Grant pretend like they don’t know each other. When they pass each other at school, or on the street, they either keep talking to whoever they’re with (me most often in the case of Abby) or lower their eyes and ignore the other’s existence. And it makes me think of Trent. We’re basically doing the same thing, just long-distance.
I’ve spent every day between Thanksgiving and finals trying to get up the nerve to call him. I’ve had his number queued up on my phone at least a dozen times, my shaking thumb hovering over the green
CALL
button, but I’ve never pushed it. No matter how many times I rehearse what I want to say in my head, I can’t make it come out of my mouth.
“Appreciate the concern, Lexie. I really bloody do.” She turns back and slips the DVD into the player. It’s our third Sunday movie marathon in a row. Last week I let her pick the movies and we ended up with
Cinque Ragazzi e Una Ragazza
, which roughly translates into “Five Guys and a Girl,” and
Grande Disossata,
which means “Big-Boned.” And, Jesus, was he ever. I’m pretty sure there was no actual plot to either movie, so I don’t think we missed much by not understanding the dialogue. Most of the characters’ mouths were full for the entire movie anyway, so they weren’t saying much. After that, I told her she was in charge of food, and I’d bring the movies. Today, we have
When Harry Met Sally
and
Magic Mike,
the latter of which I chose not only because Channing Tatum is yummy (and looks a lot like Trent), but also to keep Abby from giving me too much shit about the former. But I had to get
When Harry Met Sally
when I saw it on the English rack at the rental place.
One afternoon back in high school, after a five-hour Warcraft marathon, Trent had turned off the game, and it just happened that the TV was on AMC.
When Harry Met Sally
was starting, and we got sucked into it and curled up on my bed and watched the whole thing. Movies never make me cry, but for some reason that one did. I was sniffling back tears during Harry’s “I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible,” speech to Sally at the New Year’s Eve party near the end. Trent had put his arm around me and pulled me into his lap. He kissed my forehead and stroked my hair, and I’d totally let loose and sobbed into his shirt. I remember how I felt right then—so desperate and out of control that it made me dizzy and sick. I had no clue what it was about or where it had come from at the time, but looking back, I realize my heart knew I was desperately in love with Trent even then. That breakdown was my heart fighting with my mind, which just couldn’t accept it yet.
Abby puts in the DVD and settles onto the couch next to me, picking up the bowl of popcorn and setting it in her lap. “Who’s the bloke?”
“Just someone from back home,” I say as Harry Connick, Jr. starts crooning “It Had to Be You,” and the opening credits of
When Harry Met Sally
start to flash on-screen.
“Is he hot?” she asks.
I roll my eyes but answer truthfully. “Yes, but that’s not why I love him.”
She huffs a derisive laugh. “Yeah, and I’m the Virgin Mary.”
And that makes me think about Alessandro. I’m leaving tomorrow, and I’m surprised at the pang when I realize I’m not going to see him before I go. I struggled with whether to get him something for Christmas and finally decided against it for three reasons: 1) I don’t want him to think I think there’s anything “personal” going on between us; 2) I don’t even know if almost-priests do the whole gift-giving thing; and 3) even if they do, what the hell do you get an almost-priest?
I stare mindlessly at the movie as Harry and Sally meet. “I love him,” I finally say, “but I shouldn’t. We could never do anything about it even if he’s not in love with someone else.”
“Bugger!” she shouts, and it scares the snot out of me. When my eyes fly to her, her tennis-ball yellow contacts are about to pop off her eyeballs. “It’s the bloody priest, isn’t it?”
I roll my eyes again. “I said it was someone from
back home.
”
“Yes, you did,” she says with a skeptical squint, “but you’re a sodding liar. I’ve seen the way you get when you’re talking about the places he took you.”
“Because I like art.” I jam my thumb into my chest. “Art history major,
remember
?”
She sinks deeper into the couch, dejected. “So then, who?”
“No one. Forget it,” I say, turning back to the TV. I sip on my tea and lose myself in Harry and Sally’s cross-country conversation.
“What are you going to do?” Abby asks a long time later, so softly I hardly hear her. When I look at her, it’s obvious she’s really asking for advice.
“Damned if I know.”
T
HE BASS FROM
the bar downstairs vibrates my bed as I fold only the clothes I’ll need for three weeks at home into my bag. I bawled my eyes out at the end of
When Harry Met Sally
again, and I would have given anything for Trent to have been there to hold me this time. Abby asked if I wanted to stay the night, but I hadn’t even packed, and my flight is in the morning, so I headed home. I also really needed to get my thoughts together. If I’m going to say something to Trent, I need time to figure out exactly what it’s going to be.
“I’ve thought a lot about what happened between us before I left, and I realize it happened because I’ve always wanted it to. I love you, Trent.”
See. Not so hard. But as I play it back in my head, I realize how stupid it sounds. I’ve told him I love him a hundred times, but I’ve never meant it like this. What if he doesn’t understand? What if he doesn’t feel the same?
The only thing that’s kept me from going totally insane is that Trent and Sam go to different schools. Sam’s at UC Santa Cruz, and Trent’s in LA—five hours apart by car. They haven’t seen each other since Thanksgiving, which, according to Sam, guarantees that Trent will be crazy for her by winter break. They’ve already gotten the foreplay out of the way, she says, because they’ve been sexting all semester, so as soon as they get home, they’re sealing the deal.
Which gives me exactly one day before it will be too late.
I’ll beat them both home by two days. Trent will be home on the twentieth, and Sam is coming home on the twenty-first. I need to be ready, or I’ll miss my window.
“I’ve really missed you, and I’ve been thinking a lot about us. I realized that I’ve been in love with you for a long time and—
ugh
!” I throw up my hands. “I so totally suck at this!”
I drop onto the bed next to my bag and rest my head in my hands. “Think.” What can I say so he understands that I’m serious?
I try to picture his face, how he’d react if I said it. Because there’s the very real possibility that he’s totally repulsed by what we did and just wants to forget it.
“Shit.”
Shitshitshit.
It seems counterintuitive to pray about what to say to the brother I had sex with to make him understand I’m in love with him, but I do it anyway. I rest my head in my hands and breathe deep. “Please, God. I know I’ve screwed up a lot of things . . . well, mostly everything, I guess, and I don’t live how You want me to, but I need to know what the right thing is here. Should I tell Trent I love him? Because I do. I really do, and I think maybe I always have. I know it’s probably a sin, but I can’t help it. If we’d just met, like, at school or the mall or been living
anywhere
other than under the same roof, then there’d be nothing wrong with our being together . . . but shit—pardon my French—what if he’s trying to forget the whole thing? What if he’s already in love with Sam? What if he says no, that he doesn’t want me? Telling him will just make everything worse. And what about our parents?” I weave my fingers into my hair and yank. “What am I supposed to do? Just send me some kind of sign. I’ll take anything.”
I jump as the buzzer for the door rips through my silent apartment. Nobody ever rings that bell. Probably just drunk kids from the bar.
I stand and move to the window, throwing it open and looking down at my door . . . and see Alessandro. He smiles up and waves.
“I’ll be right down!” I call. I pull open my apartment door and skip down the stairs before I realize I’m wearing nothing but a thong and Trent’s Loyola Wrestling T-shirt. I run up the stairs and grab the pair of jeans off my living-room floor, tugging them on, then head back down. It’s misting outside, and Alessandro’s hair and black wool jacket are covered with tiny sparkling droplets of water. As if he weren’t already too tempting, he looks like someone sprinkled sugar on him to make him just that much more tasty.
“I’m sorry not to call, but I was on my way back to the rectory from the youth center when I realized I still had your Christmas gift.” He pulls a small, black felt pouch from his jacket pocket.
His eyes slip for just an instant to my chest, and I realize the cold air has hardened my nipples, which is impossible to miss through the thin cotton of Trent’s T-shirt. I grab his hand and pull him through the door. “Come out of the rain.”
We tread up the stairs to my apartment, and I pull him inside. “Tea?” I ask as he peels off his jacket and hangs it on the back of a dining-room chair.
He settles into the love seat as I move to the kitchen. “Something hot would be perfect. It’s chilly out there.”
I fan myself a little as he runs a hand over his dark waves, and the water beads up and rolls onto his collar.
Nope, nothing hot and perfect around here,
I think to myself as I put the teakettle on to boil. “Isn’t it late to be at the youth center?”
“I’ve been working with a kid, Franco, quite a bit,” he answers as I come in and sit next to him. “He’s got potential.”
“So you’re putting in overtime?” I ask with a smile.
He smiles back. “No rest for the weary.”
I remember the way his muscles rippled under his skin in the gym that day and resist the urge to fan myself again. “You never seem weary to me.”
“The Lord sustains me,” he says, matter-of-factly, as the teakettle starts to whistle.
I pull myself off the love seat and pour our tea. When I come back with our cups, he’s standing at the window to the patio, looking out at the rain. “When do you leave?” he asks, turning back toward me.
“Tomorrow morning.”
His lips press into a line, and he gives a small nod. “I thought so.”
“I’m back on the sixteenth of January. When is our next tour?”
“The nineteenth.”
“Oh! My birthday. Perfect.”
He moves toward me, lifting his cup out of my hand. He produces the black felt pouch from his pants pocket and hands it to me. “I wanted you to have this before you left.”
I cringe. “I didn’t get you anything.”
A smile ticks his mouth. “I didn’t expect anything.”
“But . . .” I say, holding up the pouch.
“I’m afraid it’s not much.”
I set my tea down on the side table and flip open the flap of the pouch. When I turn it into my hand, a small coin drops into my palm. I flip it over and examine the front. “St. Christopher.”
He nods. “The patron saint of travelers. I want you to be safe.”
“Thank you.” I pull him into a hug, and it’s only when he stiffens that I remember I’m naked under my T-shirt, and I’m pressing my boobs right into him. I let him go quickly and sit. He lowers himself down next to me and sips his tea.
“I’ve decided to tell Trent I love him,” I blurt.
His eyes lift to me, and his lips press into a line. “If that is the direction the Lord has sent you, then you should.”
Is it? When I asked for a sign, I got Alessandro. Is there some other message there? “The more I think about it, the more I realize I’ve loved Trent for a long time. Even when I was with Rick, there was always something between Trent and me. It’s like I just wouldn’t let myself feel it, you know? But making love with him brought it all to the surface, and now I can’t pretend it’s not there. I love him.”
He bites the corner of his lower lip between his teeth as he nods. “Then it sounds like you know what to do.”
“I do. I will.” I will. I sip my tea and set my resolve. It feels more doable now that I’ve said it out loud. I prayed for a sign and got Alessandro. I needed to talk it out, and now I know this is the right thing to do. I lean my head into his shoulder. “Thanks for listening.”
He loops his arm over my shoulders and pulls me close to his side. “The strength for all righteous tasks can be found in the Lord.” It sounds more like he’s talking to himself than me, but I draw strength from it—from him.
I can do this.
“I’ll miss you,” I say after a long while.
“I’ll miss you too.” He kisses the top of my head and lets me go. “But I’m afraid I’ve got to go.”
We stand, and I open the hand that’s still clutching the St. Christopher metal. “Thank you for this.”
He shrugs on his jacket. “Just be safe and call when you get back.” His hand slips around my neck and he kisses me again, this time on the cheek, then reaches for the door handle. He hesitates for just a second, and it looks like he wants to say something else, but finally, he pulls the door open and disappears down the stairs.
I watch for a second after he leaves, then go to my bedroom window and watch him walk down the street. And when I look up, Grandma Moses is standing in the drizzle, tsking me again. This time, I don’t even know what my offense is.
I
’M NERVO
US WHEN
I get off the plane in San Jose. I’ve still got two days before Trent comes home Wednesday, but seeing him is all I can think about. I’ve gone over and over what I’m going to say, and I think I have something that works, but whether I’ll actually be able to get it out of my mouth when the time comes is still questionable.