39. Matteo
THIRTY-NINE
MATTEO
I let him get dressed in peace, opting to walk into the kitchen and make us some tea. I grit my teeth as I fill the pot, my hands shaking from the alcohol tremors, a stark reminder of how this night started.
I broke.
Ten long years of sobriety, one relapse, another year off the drink, and now I’m back. I shut my eyes, breathing in deeply as the lingering smell of Scotch hangs on my breath, too tempting to ignore.
Jacob’s voice rings in my head. Theo’s voice echoes his words. Two distinctly different men but somehow we’ve come to the same inevitable outcome.
I wait for the water to boil as Theo emerges from my bedroom. Instead of his clothes, he wears a pair of my sweats and one of my hoodies. I try to resist the urge to go to him because seeing him in my clothes brings out the possessiveness inside me that wants to show him just how much he is mine .
“My clothes were still wet,” he explains, taking a seat at the kitchen table. He looks at the kettle. “Tea?”
I nod. It’s more so I have something to keep my hands busy, something to drink that isn’t really what I want. “Do you take it with sugar?”
“Um…” He shakes his head. “No, thank you.”
I tip my head at him, turning my back so I can wait for the water to boil. The tension in the air is stifling, but I don’t know what to do about it just yet. His confession still lingers in the air, enveloping both of us in an uncomfortable state of uncertainty.
Once the water is boiled, I rummage through the cabinet for the mint tea. I take both cups and place them on the table between us. I sit, taking a sip of the scalding liquid, letting it burn away my taste buds.
Theo shifts awkwardly in his seat, tugging at the strings of my hoodie. “I—Uh—I don’t know where to start.”
Where to start? That’s a loaded question. Should we start with how I felt in marriage counseling when he professed his love for his wife and denied our relationship right in front of me? Should I start with how I felt the first day I met him when a part of me knew that we were always destined to end up here? Maybe I should tell him when the drinking started in my early twenties? Or even admit that I love him too and be done with it?
No. That’s not where I choose to start.
“There was a man named Jacob,” I begin, taking another sip of my tea. “Before you.”
He lets out a little gasp, insecurity flashing in those eyes I love so much. “Another man? Did you…”
“Did I love him?” He nods, and I regretfully answer. Not because I regret my past feelings but because I know how much the following words will sting. “I did.”
“Okay,” he mumbles, eyes flicking down to where he’s holding his cup with nervous hands. “Um, yeah, so there was someone else before me. Were you a priest when it happened?”
I can tell he’s worried I was in this exact same situation before. If I were him, I’d be wary too, because that would mean there’s nothing special about him or us. I don’t want him to think that because it’s simply not true.
Tell him you love him.
Not yet. Not until…
“No. I was in seminary. I was still discovering who I was, but I knew I wanted to dedicate my life to God. I met Jacob when we both volunteered at a children’s hospital,” I explain, clearly remembering that day. “He was… He was brilliant.”
I smile fondly. There wasn’t a special connection between us that first day, not like there was with Theo, but there didn’t need to be. We bonded over the terrible cafeteria food. He told me he volunteered because his nephew died of leukemia, and I shared that I enjoyed serving and helping others. We clicked during our lunch, making plans to see each other again, and it just took off from there.
“He kissed me first,” I say, surveying him to know if I’m pushing this too far. The truth hurts, but it’s a truth he has to hear. “You know how I am. That’s not something I was used to. I tried to play it off after that because I was going to join the church, but I couldn’t.”
“You couldn’t resist him?”
“No, it wasn’t…” I trail off, not knowing how to describe it. “He became my best friend. I wanted him in my life, and at the time, I thought I wanted him like that.”
Theo quirks a brow. “So, you didn’t love him?”
“That’s not true,” I whisper, shaking my head. “I did. I loved him very much.”
But not the way I love you.
“We had a wonderful companionship but when it came time to choose between him and the church….” I shrug, knowing he can piece together the end of the story. “I chose my commitment to God over his love.”
Theo nibbles on his bottom lip, eyes nervously darting across my face, trying to read my expression. “He wasn’t worth it.”
“I don’t like thinking about him like that.” I take another sip, the memory of that choice hitting me like a pile of bricks.
I can still clearly recall the tears in Jacob’s eyes as he begged me to stay with him. The love we shared was special, he said, and I was throwing away my chance at happiness. He cried, he pleaded, he wrapped himself around me and promised he’d make it worthwhile.
But I still let him go.
“I regret the way things ended with him,” I admit, chewing on the inside of my cheek as guilt pools in my gut, making me itch for the bottles Theo so cleverly hid. “Jacob is a very special person. Too trusting for his own good, but possessing an innocence not seen by many anymore. I didn’t explain myself properly when I ended things and broke his heart.”
“Is that why you drank?” he asks, looking a bit scared to bring it up. I hate the fact he thought, even for a split second, I would ever hurt him. He must see it in my face because he shakes his head. “It’s okay. I know. I just want to understand why tonight happened.”
I clench my fists against the top of the table, biting down on my lip hard, the very mention of liquor pleasantly calling to me. “I’ve always had a problem with drinking. At first, when I was younger, it was just for fun. Soon, it turned into a habit, which turned into an addiction, which turned into my life. When I found God, I found myself, and the church guided me to sobriety. But Jacob?—”
“He made you drink?” Theo asks, eyes wide. “I mean, you drank because of him?”
I shake my head. “It wasn’t his burden to bear.”
“Why’d you drink tonight?”
“Because it all got to be too much” I sigh, waving a hand in the air. “I’m a weak man, Theo. What happened in counseling, it triggered something within me.”
“I’m so sorry, Matteo,” he says through a cry, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “I… I never meant to do that to you. I?—”
“It’s not because of what you said, but my own reaction to it,” I say quickly. “Just like it wasn’t Jacob’s fault, it wasn’t yours either.” When he looks doubtful, I take his hand, yanking him forward just a touch. “Listen to me. It. Wasn’t. You. It was how I reacted to the situation and how I thought I needed to cope.”
“It’s so hard to believe that,” he whispers, squeezing my hand, blue eyes so despondent.
I smile softly, bringing his knuckles up to my lips. “It’s because you think everything is your fault, precioso . People need to be accountable for their own choices.”
“Matteo…” he begins, brushing his thumb against the corner of my mouth. “What does this all mean for us?”
This is the hard part. I’m terrified, a scared little boy asking for more than he should have, and the bottles sound better and better with every passing second. “I…”
“Do you love me?” he questions, getting up slowly, and falling to his knees in front of me. “I don’t want to push, but I need to know.”
My breath hitches as I pet the top of his head, running my hands through his auburn strands. “I’m…” I don’t want to admit it, but with Theo, everything seems to come out anyway. “I’m scared.”
Scared is putting it lightly. To admit I love him too… To lose my last shred of my promise to love no one but my God terrifies me. My vow has kept me sober for ten years. I’ve already broken it by giving Theo my body and heart but to give him my soul with these words is something else entirely.
“Don’t be,” he tells me, taking my other hand and settling it over his heart. “Just tell me the truth. No more secrets. No more doubts. Just the truth. Do you love me?”
I gulp, my stomach churning in anticipation, my hands shaking as I tip his chin up. I help him to his feet, grabbing his hips until he’s on my lap, and I bury my face in his shoulder. “I love you.”
A sob wracks through him as his body shakes, frantic hands clawing at my back. “Oh, baby…”
“I’ve loved you for so long,” I continue. “It broke my heart to think you didn’t love me too.”
“I do,” he assures me, pulling back so he can kiss all over my face. “Matteo, fuck, I’m so in love with you. The Earth would have to crumble for me to ever stop.”
Despite my heart soaring at his declaration, I sober as I shake my head, rubbing his hips. “But this doesn’t change anything. You’re still married and I’m still a priest.”
He hesitates with his lips on the corner of my mouth, freezing in my arms. Throughout all our time together, we’ve tried to avoid this inevitable truth, but things just got infinitely more complicated. If we were just fucking, it would be one thing. If we were just friends, it would be another.
To be in love and unable to be together… It’s torture all on its own.
“I don’t know what to do,” he admits, settling his face in the crook of my neck. “I don’t want to give you up, Matteo.”
I nod because I don’t want that either, but what are our choices? I bite my lip as I think through my next words carefully, closing my eyes in anticipation of his reaction. “Would you ever leave her?”
“I don’t know.” It took him a moment to answer, and I wished I could see what was going on in his head. I’ve always been good at understanding the things people don’t want others to see. I used to be able to read Theo like a book, but our situation has clouded my reason and judgment. “Do you want me to leave her?”
I hold him tightly in my arms. Yes . I do. Selfishly, I want him to be all mine, but that wouldn’t eliminate the rest of the problems we’ve created by being together. I can’t put that on him either, not when he asks me his following question. “Would you leave the church?”
It’s my turn to freeze. “I…”
Could I turn away from my life with God? Was my relapse not a sign that I need Him more than ever now?
“You don’t know either,” he says, but there’s no hostility in his voice. He can tell I’m just as lost as he is, torn between what I want and the reality of the situation we put off facing until now. “Do we have to figure it out now?”
Sweet relief hits me. I tug him close, kissing his pulse point as I take in the faint whiff of citrus. “No. We don’t.”
“How about we just get away?” he suggests, pulling back so he can smile down at me. “Nothing crazy. Maybe let’s go see a movie in the next town over tomorrow? Just… Let’s just get away, Matteo.”
Running away from our problems isn’t the most mature way of handling our situation, but I won’t admit that it’s not entirely tempting. Tomorrow, it can be just the two of us. The rest of this conversation… We can put it off, right? We don’t need to decide this second what we’re going to do or not do. It can all wait until after tomorrow.
And that’s what I tell myself when I tip my chin up and take his lips. It’s what I pound into my skull as I work my hands down his body like it’s mine to claim and cherish.
We don’t talk anymore after that. We don’t talk about the fact that I broke a year of sobriety tonight. We don’t talk about the fact he won’t leave his wife. We don’t talk about the fact I’m tethered to the church.
We do what our bodies and our hearts crave—touch, kiss, love—because both of us know if we were to push just a bit further, our already crumbling foundation, built on lies and secrets, would shatter.
When he leaves the next morning, a whispered I love you so much, baby in my ear, a promise of our date later in the day, I find myself once again drawn to an escape.
Because I don’t know how much longer I love you will be enough.