I pull open the door and enter the cool darkness of the old building. The noises of traffic and chatter grow dimmer as the door closes behind me, shutting out the bright midday sun. Inside the church, the air is soft and candlelight glows from the votive array—prayers made and vigils begun.
I don’t see Oliver. My first thought is to text him, but if he’s in here, I don’t want the buzz of a phone to disturb the few people sitting in the pews. I move toward the center aisle and look up at the high, domed ceiling. All around me are stained-glass windows with scenes of Jesus and His disciples. It’s been awhile since I went to church, but I recognize the story.
I walk down the aisle toward the front, stealing glances at the statues of saints that line the walls and fill the alcoves at the corners of the church. I breathe in warm-smelling incense and imagine I can feel the prayers that have left the lips of the lonely, hurting, and hopeful.
I need to give you something. Oliver’s words resound in my mind, and I wonder for just a second if he’s going to propose.
At the front of the church, someone steps out of a pew and turns to face me. He’s wearing a long black garment that tapers in at the waist. He walks toward me with a familiar gait. It’s Oliver. I’m utterly confused. He stops in front of me and offers a small and somewhat apologetic smile.
“Are we going to a costume party?” I ask, trying but failing to make a joke.
He shakes his head and bites on his beautiful bottom lip. I suck in an incense-laden breath of air.
“You’re a priest?” I say, more loudly than I mean to, and the sound of the words bangs against the stone walls and comes back to me in an echo.
“Not yet,” he says. “But soon. I decided to go back to school.”
My mouth falls open, and I look instinctively at the enormous crucifix behind Oliver. All I can think about is Oliver’s lips on mine, his hands around my waist, my hands on his chest, me kissing his neck—and then . . . him pulling away. Him. Always.
“Oh, no,” I say and quickly put my hand to my mouth as if I can shove the words back in. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“Why are you embarrassed?”
“We kissed, and we—” I feel myself blush. I’m stammering, and he’s smiling at me. “Well, we kissed.”
“I’ve already talked to the Big Guy about that, believe me.” Oliver waves his hand to dismiss my fear. “You don’t need to worry over me.”
“You?” I ask. “What about me? I’m sure this is frowned upon up there.”
“You didn’t know,” he says apologetically. “So, this is what I’ve been hiding from you.” He gestures to his clothes. “When I said I had dropped out of school, I meant the seminary. When I kept telling you I needed to tell you something—this was it.”
“So when you said you were getting your master’s degree, you meant Master’s in . . .”
“Divinity,” he says.
I clap my hands over my mouth again. “I’m going straight to hell,” I say, the words mumbled through my fingers.
He suppresses a grin. “Come outside with me.” He nods his head for me to follow him.
We exit through the far door of the church and into the sunlight again. Oliver leads me around a shrine of some sort to a small rose garden behind the building, and we sit on a bench at the feet of a large, stone angel.
“I hope you’re not angry with me,” he says, his voice calm and low. “It’s all right if you are.”
“This isn’t fair, you know,” I say, moving my hand up and down to indicate his attire. “They should only let ugly people be priests. You’re not nearly ugly enough.” The joke is my way of letting him know that I’m not angry. I’m something, but not angry.
“So, I’m sort of ugly,” he says, smiling that incredible smile of his at me. “Just not ugly enough.”
“No,” I say. “You’re gorgeous. And that getup does nothing to hide it.”
He gestures to the black cassock he’s wearing as if to say this old thing?
We sit for a moment and just look at each other.
“So you’re not mad?” he asks, his brow furrowed.
“I’m confused,” I say, but then realize that’s not right. “That’s not true. This clears up a few things, actually.”
“Like why I always pulled back from a relationship?” he says, twisting his mouth in an apology.
I nod, but it’s more than that. “You always seemed so sad,” I say. “Underneath it all. Was this making you sad? That you had to become a priest?”
Oliver smiles the most gracious and blissful smile I’ve seen. He chuckles and shakes his head. “Trying to choose the world over God was making me sad. Finding myself in love with you made me sad.”
“Excuse me?”
“That came out wrong,” he says and takes my hand in his. “I walked away from the seminary before I knew you. I was scared, and I thought that my doubt and everything I’d ever done wrong made me unworthy. So, I left school.”
“And came here?”
He nods.
“What about Cricket and working at the nursing home?” I ask, trying to sort out the rest of the story. “What about me?”
“Everything I told you was the truth,” he says. “The lie is in what I left out. I was using life like a pair of earplugs so I wouldn’t hear Him calling me.”
“God?”
Oliver nods again, and there is such a peace about him now that I couldn’t stay mad even if I was. I knew he was struggling with something. I just never would have guessed it was this.
“I really hate to be all, so none of
