Chapter 4
Iknow I shouldn’t let the opinions of others affect me, but for the rest of the night, all I can think about is how I don’t come off as authentic.
He said I sound practiced. I lack warmth.
That’s the last thing a priest wants to hear.
I wonder if everyone I talk to feels that way. I thought I’ve been doing a good job.
My phone rings as I’m taking my dishes to the sink. When I glance at the screen, I do a double take, because it’s an unknown number. I don’t get many calls as is, but anyone that does call is programmed in my phone.
“Hello?”
“Hey. It’s your dad.”
My brows lift. “Oh. What’s going on?”
“I just thought I’d let you know I have some work business going on. I uhh…” There’s some rustling on the other end before he speaks again. “I’ll be leaving town.”
“For how long?” I question.
“Don’t know. Probably not long,” he says.
“Why tell me? We haven’t spoken in—”
“It’s been several months. I know. Just thought you should be aware in case, I don’t know, you needed me.”
I swallow down the words that would question why he’d think I’d need him. “Okay.”
“Anyway,” he says, still making noise in the background. “I got something you might want. Johnny will hold onto it until he can get it to you.”
“What is it?”
“Not much. Just check in with Johnny when you’re ready.”
I hesitate, feeling strange about his sudden reappearance and now gift. “You okay?”
He laughs that snarky laugh of his. “I ain’t got cancer or nothing,” he says.
“All right.”
“Yeah, anyway. You doing okay? You good?” His questions come as an afterthought. Something he needs to ask right before he hangs up.
“Uh, yeah. I’m good.”
“All right. Well, I’ll let you know when I’m back.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“See ya, kid.”
The phone call ends before I can reply.
Considering our relationship, or lack thereof, his call has curiosity climbing up my back. I quickly press some buttons on my phone to bring up Johnny’s number, but when I call, he doesn’t answer.
I spend the rest of the evening thinking about my relationship with my dad. It would be a lie to say I don’t think about him fairly often, even though we don’t speak. I’m a priest because of him. Every day that I don my collar, I’m reminded that I didn’t have a choice.
When I was seventeen, my father walked in on me kissing a boy from school. Dad made it clear he wasn’t happy about what he saw, and it would not be tolerated.
I rebelled, as most teenagers do. I acted out and did everything he explicitly told me not to. Kissing boys in my room wasn’t the only thing I was doing, I was flaunting it. I kissed them on the front lawn of our home. I snuck them into my room. I wanted him to know. I wanted him to accept it.
Instead, my plan backfired. By my nineteenth birthday, I knew I’d be joining the priesthood.
My dad didn’t play around, and I should’ve known better than to test him, but I was young, stupid, and full of hormones.
There came a night when he saw me out at a restaurant with a guy. When I got home, he was waiting for me with an ultimatum. I’d go into the priesthood or I’d move away and be cut off from him and his money.
Because I was still young, I definitely thought I’d move away, because I’d be damned if I let my dad control my future. The truth is, he’s always been in control.
My mom died when I was a baby, so it had only been my father and I my whole life.
Don’t get me wrong, I had nannies, because Dad had to work, but he was there as often as he could be.
He makes decent money, and I never had to beg for anything.
I always had the nicest clothes, shoes, and electronics.
It wasn’t until I was well into my teens that I started to understand more about the sacrifices he was making for us to live the way we did.
As kids, we simply expect things. We don’t have the burden of worrying about electricity and food, let alone the extras.
We anticipate they will always be there without us having to do anything.
Because of my dad, I never had to work. Not a real job, anyway. Sometimes he’d have me do things for him—errands, if you will. I was paid for my work, but I never really needed to make my own money.
So when the threat of being cut off, and forced to move was shoved in my face, I knew I didn’t really have a choice.
Without his money, I wouldn’t even be able to go anywhere.
Without the car he bought me, the money he gave me, I wasn’t going to be able to drive or fly to another state.
I wasn’t going to be able to rent an apartment or go to college.
I was completely under his thumb and he knew that.
My life was set as long as I stopped being gay, so I went into seminary school, which he paid for. I lived there for five years, became a transitional deacon when I turned twenty-four, and before I was twenty-six, I was a priest.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate it. Not too much, anyway.
It’s not like I didn’t believe in God. I just didn’t want to be a priest, because I knew it would keep me single.
Celibate. And that’s the main reason my father wanted it for me.
He hasn’t gone to church in years, so it’s not like he simply wanted his son to be a holy man.
My father is the boss of the Esposito crime family. It’s a fairly new title for him, but he’s been in since before I was born.
My father didn’t want his gay son to be in the family business, so I was ousted and forced to the church. I guess that’s more acceptable to mafia families, considering they all show up to mass and pretend they aren’t violent criminals or adulterers.
I call Johnny one more time before I go to sleep, and this time when he doesn’t answer, I leave a message.