Page 35 of Holly Jolly Heresy
“I remember.”
“And then you dropped this bomb on us. Mom asked you why. Do you remember what you told her?”
“I told her I wanted to help people.”
Gavin nodded. “And she said you could help people by becoming a therapist or a guidance counselor or a social worker.”
He frowned as he tried to remember that part of the conversation. “I don’t remember that.”
“You kept rattling on about how you’d met this priest in school and it was a sign from God or Dad or whoever and now you were going to be a priest too. You barely heard a word she said and then you left dinner early to go to evening Mass at St. Anthony’s. As soon as you left the diner, Mom turned to me and said you were lost.”
“Lost?”
“She said you’d been lost for years, searching for something or someone to tell you which way to go and what to do, and she supposed if you had to find someone to listen to, there were worse people than a priest. But she hoped you weren’t going to end up even more lost than before.”
Caleb swallowed hard, recalling a similar conversation with his mother on the night before he took his vows. “Meeting Father Raymond, the life he offered me, itwasa sign,” he said slowly, resolutely. “I believe that.”
“Maybe it was. But, Caleb, what about all the other signs you’ve been getting?”
“What signs?” he scoffed. “God doesn’t send me signs anymore. He doesn’t—” He broke off, shaking his head. “What kind of priest am I when He doesn’t even talk to me anymore?”
“Maybe that’s your sign.”
“The absence of a sign isn’t a sign.”
“There’s no such thing as signs!” Gavin’s frustration bubbled over, his free hand gesticulating as he spoke. “There have never been any signs. It’s all just choices! God didn’t tell you to become a priest, just like Dad didn’t tell you to become a priest. You told yourself that because it was the choice that felt right.”
“But that feelingisthe sign,” he argued.
“Then what about the feelings you’re having now? Why are they any less of a sign than the one you had in college?” Caleb didn’t have an answer for that. “Call it whatever you want—signs, intuition, whatever. It’s all the same thing at the end of the day. It’s the information available to you at the time and the choices you make. Right now, the information in front of you is you have feelings for Molly—big feelings. Big enough feelings to give in to your pants feelings. And she feels the same way about you. So what are you going to do about it?”
He dragged his knuckles over his eyes behind his glasses. “I don’t know how to make that choice, Gav. I’m not free to make it.”
“Then get yourself free. But if you’re waiting for somesignto give you permission to be happy…” Gavin shook his head. “My wife was literally cast opposite me on a dating show and I still tried to tell myself I wasn’t supposed to love her.”
“Look how well that worked out,” Caleb said with a half-hearted smile.
“She’s my wife now, isn’t she? I’d say it worked out fan-fucking-tastically. What’s that story about God sending help to the man in the flood? From what I can tell from your texts, you and Molly were literally sent a star to follow, a stable to sleep in, and a snowstorm to force you to face how you feel.”
“I want to.” Caleb’s voice was small, almost as though he was afraid to admit the truth even to himself. “I love her.” The wordsgrew in his chest, warm and glowing as they took root behind his rib cage and made themselves a part of him.
“It’s not too late to choose a different life, Caleb.”
Chapter thirteen
Somewhere around the middle of their third Christmas movie, Caleb gently woke Molly where she’d fallen asleep on the couch, a half-eaten cookie in the shape of two gingerbread men 69-ing loosely gripped in her hand, and urged her upstairs to bed. While he brushed his teeth in the bathroom down the hall, she shed her clothing, folding it neatly on top of the dresser in the corner so she could wear it again the next day on their drive home. Molly slipped into the Santa dress she’d stashed in her purse—had that really only been the day before? So much had happened since then... The fuzzy white trim tickled her thighs and chest, but the soft velvet made a perfect nightgown.
She’d just slid beneath the covers when Caleb returned to the room. “Do you—” His gaze snagged on her cleavage, his lips pressing into a flat line. He cleared his throat and looked away, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “Do you want me to turn on the fireplace before you go to sleep?”
“I think I’m okay without it tonight.” He nodded and turned towards the door. “Where are you going?”
He gestured down the hall, uncertainty clouding his face. “To the other room.”
“Is that what you want?” He hesitated, and she could see him warring with himself behind his hazel eyes. “I didn’t put on this very skimpy Christmas dress just to go to bed alone, did I?”
His eyes darkened, sliding over the exposed tops of her breasts again. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “It’s a good dress. Very…festive.”
She flipped back the corner of the covers closest to him. “You could stay here. If this is our last night...” The thought twisted in her stomach, cutting off her breath.
