Page 47 of Heathens
I guffaw. “I’m not exactly a model,” I say, stabbing my cigarette out in a nearby ashtray. “Don’t you guys need, like, size zeros?”
“Fuck that shit,” Henry interjects, shaking his head and sipping his Eau de Vie delicately. “We use all body shapes for our line. It’s the only way to sell clothes.” He grins, and his teeth are strikingly white against his warm, cocoa skin. He might be the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.
“I love that,” I reply, grinning back.
“But seriously, sweetie. You're welcome anytime.“ Felix tips his head in my direction and holds up his small glass. “I say we make a toast. To Lily.“
“To Lily,“ everyone murmurs. I see Anna sign it and giggle. She winks. Salem grips my thigh, and I turn to him. He's watching me with a funny expression.
We tip our heads back and finish our drinks. Bastian and Killian stand and begin clearing the table and the five of us talk about the dinner. French people can talk about food all day every day. I make a mental note to add that to the list of clichés. Though I am satisfied and completely stuffed. Bastian cooked pappardelle pasta in a light butter sauce with fresh English peas, asparagus, and garlic. He also made shaved brussels sprouts in a creamy, cheesy sauce. For dessert... the most delicious chocolate cake I’ve ever had. Salem must notice my contentment because he doesn’t pressure me to leave, even when Felix and Henry say their goodbyes. Killian and Anna are next, and I give all of them double-cheeked kisses before they go, toting their daughters over their shoulder. When it’s just Salem, Bastian, and I, we have another round of drinks—this time it’s Bastian’s beloved cognac.
“You’re drinking,” I accuse Salem as he sips. “In fact, you had wine with dinner and some of the Eau de Vie after dinner.” I quirk an eyebrow.
He chortles. “You caught me.”
Bastian is quiet in his seat across from us. Crickets chirp and the cool, humid air is starting to affect me. Or maybe it’s not the humidity—maybe it’s the liquor.
“Excuse me,“ Salem says, standing. He rubs my shoulders with his hand before departing to use the restroom.
I pull out another cigarette and offer it to Bastian. He declines. “You know, Lily... I never saw priesthood in my son’s future.” I swallow, waiting for him to continue. His blue eyes find mine. They’re the same shade as Salem’s—a sharp, icy blue. Except Bastian’s are wearier, ragged somehow. I wonder how much he aged after his wife died. “All three of us were surprised, to say the least. He was...” he pauses, trying to think of the right word in English, “a wild one. Rambunctious. Disorderly.”
“He’s told me,” I say, my voice conspiratorial.
“He was expelled from school, you know.”
I almost spit out the water that I’m drinking. “Seriously? I can’t even picture that.”
Bastian watches me and narrows his eyes. “Seriously. And I think he found the church when he needed to.”
I swallow again, adjusting my position in the chair. “Thank God,” I say, giving him a small smile at my pun.
“I'll say it once and only once. Salem is... complex. He has more than one layer. Think of an onion.“ I nod, trying to understand where he's going with this. “He thinks he wants one thing, when actually he wants another. As William Blake said, those who control their passions do so because their passions are weak enough to be controlled. I sincerely hope—I just want him to be happy. We all do.“
When he says that last line, the way he tilts his head as if confused makes me wonder if Bastian is just as flummoxed by the idea of Salem as a priest as I am. Part of me knows he would be a fabulous priest. I always have. But nowmoreof me wishes he were all mine and I didn't have to share him with the church at all.
“I know,” I whisper. “He’s a paradox.”
Bastian laughs and shakes his head. “You both are. I think that’s why you found each other.”
I like to think so too.
* * *
A few minutes later, we say goodbye to Bastian and make our way to the train station to catch the last train into the city. My body feels light and exultant, and as Salem wraps an arm around my shoulder, I lean into him, unable to wipe the smile off of my face. Spending time with his family reminded me of the gap in my life since I lost Evelyn. Having her friendship, her as my family, always covered the gaping hole my uncaring and apathetic parents created. But I had felt alive with them. Relaxed. And it gave me hope. Hope that I will find that again.Joy.
“Do you mind if we stop by the cathedral? I have to pick up my keys.”
A thrill goes through me. “Sure.”
On the train, I show Salem some of my earlier work on my phone. It was darker, simpler, back then. The images reflect what I was going through.
“You were in mourning,” he says gently, leaning in and brushing my hair behind my ear.
“I was in a panic. I knew—know—she's still here, and yet, I can't find her. It's like a nightmare; except it's been real life for two and a half years.“ When my eyes find his, they look remorseful somehow. Troubled. He opens his mouth to speak but then thinks better of it. “What?“
The expression peters out and he shakes his head. “Nothing. I just... I’m going to help you find her.”
* * *
