“He is coming to meet you, papà. He wants to. You can ask him all the questions you like then.” The last thing I want is for my father to question my date, but then again—it’s Tom. Not only can he take a little ribbing—he kind of deserves it.
When papà reaches for his empty glass, I pour him a mixture of lemon and strawberry that Aria’s made out of flavor packets and fruit from the garden.
“Have this, papà. It’s good for you.”
“What is this mess? Look at this,” he complains without tasting it. But I’m so relieved, I don’t care about his grievances now. I know we’ll speak of all this again. It’ll come up when he’s frustrated or angry or worried about the future. But for now, my father has decided, unilaterally, that we no longer need to discuss the lies I’ve told. And I know why.
It’s not because he approves of even half the things I’m doing outside our house—but he understands something I hadn’t realized until now. If he pursues the conflict, it will ultimately uncover layers of his insecurity. It’ll reveal the real reason I work outside the home—because he cannot provide for his family. And it will be a reminder of how his wife, the love of his life, has lost her mind, placing a heavy burden on us all.
We, his daughters, are his only shield from reality and from a society that doesn’t care if he lives or dies. Fear fuels my father’s anger and encourages my lies. We are not too different in that way, my father and I—he attacks perceived threats, while I dodge them with a smile, a story, and a laugh.
CHAPTER 25
Elise
Present Day
Holy Trinity Catholic Church
“My parents were divorced when I was three. My dad’s been remarried three times, my mom four,” Hunter says through the computer screen. The first two Pre-Cana sessions I did alone, but Father Patrick reminded me at our last session that he’s required to speak with both the bride and groom for at least half the lessons. Hunter agreed to the Zoom meeting today, and the in-person meeting this weekend brings us up to the requirement. It’s the last step before we’re officially cleared for our wedding.
Hunter arrived early today. When I logged into Zoom, with my laptop positioned between us on Father Patrick’s desk, he was sitting there waiting in his favorite Tom Ford suit, navy blue, with a slate-gray tie and engraved golden tie clip. He’s hot, like David Beckham hot, smart, successful—now and then I wonder if he’s an actor being paid to pretend to love me. Which would make sense with all the cameras and lighting equipment around.
He greeted me with a “Hello, hot stuff,” and I blushed.
Patrick didn’t flinch, which means he either has a great poker face or I was reading into things last night. When he walked into the office this evening, his hair parted neatly on one side and a sweater over his collared shirt, I felt it all again. I can hardly breathe when he’s nearby, which makes “playing it cool” even more difficult.
“Thank you both for sharing about your family of origin. It’s important to look at how your families process conflict and communication in order to build a new and evolved healthy marital relationship,” Father Patrick reads from the binder in front of him and then flips to the next tab and clears his throat. “Section four. Marital Intimacy and Sexual Purity. I’ll start our next topic by reading a scripture from First Thessalonians, chapter four: verses three to eight. For this is the will of God, your sanctification: that you abstain from immorality; that each one of you know how to control his own body in holiness and honor, not in the passion of lust like heathen who do not know God . . . For God has not called us for uncleanness, but in holiness. Any comments on this passage?”
The computer mic picks up Hunter’s chuckle, and I’m sure my eyes are wide. I knew a little about the Pre-Cana from my time as an all-in Catholic, but I guess I didn’t consider that Patrick would lead a discussion with me and Hunter about sex and purity. Especially not on camera. I address Mac directly rather than express my not-so-holy thoughts about the Bible verses we just heard.
“I’m not comfortable with this.”
“Sorry, dear. What don’t you feel comfortable with specifically?” he asks in his charming British accent, looking at me over his monitor.
“Talking about my sex life in front of a viewing audience,” I clarify, bristling at his pushback. Mac doesn’t respect my boundaries—must be why he gets along so well with my mother.
“I don’t mind,” Hunter chimes in through the screen, straightening his suit coat. “What’s wrong, babe? Worried we’ll make ’em jealous?” He’s joking, and normally I’d laugh, but this isn’t some cute banter between the two of us about our sexy love life. Father Patrick is the last man I want thinking about me having sex with my fiancé.
“It’s a cheap gimmick—you know—‘sex sells,’ etc., etc. It’s gross,” I explain, twisting my face up like the idea of it makes me ill.
Father Patrick closes the book with his finger keeping his place. “It is a part of the curriculum, but if Elise is uncomfortable, then she shouldn’t be forced into an embarrassing public conversation.”
Mac rolls his eyes and sighs. “Fine. We’ll take a break. You get through all the naughty bits, and we’ll be back in ten, okay?”
“That works,” I say, still dreading the conversation with Patrick and Hunter but hating it a touch less, knowing it won’t be on camera. The room empties faster than if I’d yelled fire, and Patrick reopens the binder and clears his throat.
“Should I read the scripture again?”
“No,” I blurt. “I think we got the picture.”
“All right, then—what have you observed from the verses?” he asks, looking between Hunter and me. The Patrick I knew from last night is nowhere to be found. This formal young priest is a stranger in comparison.
“Uh, pretty much that we’re terrible, terrible sinners,” Hunter says, his eyes on me in that hungry way they get when we’ve been apart for too long. And I can’t stop the little involuntary smirk I get when we talk about our sex life. Which is playful, innovative, intense, and dare I say—aerobic. I shake my head, trying to discourage flirty innuendos, but I’m sure my facial expression is sending mixed signals.
“What? Don’t tell me you’re all holy now. The only time you’ve mentioned God before is when you’re screaming.”
“Hunter!” I scold, trying not to laugh. “Stop. This is serious.”
“I’m just saying—we don’t need a sex ed lecture. We know how the parts work. We’re grown-ups. You know?”
“I do, I do,” Patrick says, biting his lip and bobbing his head up and down. “You know what? Since there’s a time constraint, I’ll just read what it says here.” Father Patrick shifts in his chair and reads from the binder. “Do you live together?”
“No,” Hunter and I say at the same time.
“All right. That’s good.” Father Patrick makes a note on a form next to the binder, then goes back to the printed instructions. “It’s suggested that you refrain from living together until you’ve made your marriage covenant.”