Chapter 27 #2
“No, you’re right. It isn’t fair,” he replies, his voice still even. “And I won’t pretend to have some theological explanation for why God allows bad things to happen to good people. All we can do is trust that those who suffer in this life will be rewarded in the next.”
I let out a shaky exhale. “Why would He want us to suffer, though?”
“I don’t think God wants us to suffer, and I’m not even sure He’s letting it happen for our own good.
Maybe it’s just the consequences of sin in the world in general, after thousands of years of free will.
Like, the mistakes I make today might affect someone else in the future.
I don’t know. Maybe we’re just not meant to understand. ”
“How can you do that, though? How do you just accept something you don’t understand?”
He shrugs. “It’s kind of the whole point of having faith, isn’t it?
It seems rhetorical, so I silently scoop up another spoonful of ice cream in lieu of answering him.
“You don’t believe in God?” he asks quietly.
“Not the version you believe in,” I say.
“My parents took me to a few different churches over the years and raised me to treat everyone the way I want to be treated. But we never really subscribed to organized religion, and I honestly can’t see the appeal of it, especially if it doesn’t even provide you with answers. ”
“That’s fair,” he concedes, to my surprise.
“I once heard a priest say that it must be difficult to go through life and endure the trials and injustices of the world without at least believing in God and the afterlife. At least Christians have a purpose, right? After all, we can take comfort in knowing that our Creator loved us enough to send His only Son to redeem us and secure our place in heaven, regardless of the specifics. But everything changes once we begin imitating Christ by embracing our own crosses and offering up our suffering for the betterment of others, and we learn to appreciate the most difficult parts of life.”
The melt-inducing smile he’s wearing tells me he wholeheartedly believes in what he’s saying, that he’d literally stake his life on it. I know I should be paying more attention to his justification, but I’m honestly too distracted by the way he says it.
“So the shittier the hand you get dealt in life, the easier it is to get to heaven?” I paraphrase once I get past the appeal of his confident side.
“More like, the better we imitate Jesus now, the easier it becomes to join Him in the next life,” he corrects me, his smile growing wider.
I hum thoughtfully as I set down the pint of ice cream. “And how does that translate to following a ton of strict rules and not being allowed to have sex?”
He coughs through a laugh. “At the risk of oversimplifying things again, Catholics abide by all those rules and traditions because we need help to overcome sin and form holier habits instead. We basically look to the Church’s teachings to guide us on the path to heaven.”
“That’s cool. But you didn’t answer my question.”
“Because you already know that I’m allowed to have sex, just not yet,” he replies with a playful eye roll.
“Remember when Daisy explained how chastity looks different for everyone?” I nod for him to continue.
“Chastity is just another one of those virtues that keeps us in line. Every time we misuse or overindulge in good and holy things, we allow ourselves to become slaves to our selfish desires and eventually fall back on our vices.”
“Comfort is a gateway drug,” I say with a hint of mockery, and he laughs quietly.
“Yeah.”
“Then why do most Christians avoid the topic of sex altogether and act like it’s so dirty and sinful?” I ask without thinking.
He sighs. “Only because we made it that way. We took one of God’s greatest gifts to mankind, a sacramental bond that was intended to give us so much pleasure and grace that it’s the closest most of us get to experiencing heaven on earth, and we deliberately misused it.
Once we stopped exercising temperance, we lost sight of the purpose of the act in itself.
Now half the world claims sex should be a free-for-all, while the other half swears it’s inherently evil, neither of which God intended. ”
I blink at him, unsure what to think. “You’re awfully passionate about something you haven’t fully experienced. What if you finally get married and realize it’s not all you thought it was?”
He looks down and licks his lips. “That’s kind of the point of faith, isn’t it?” he repeats.
“In other words, if you’re a good boy now, God will reward you with the perfect wife later.”
“Not exactly,” he returns with a frown, sounding much more uncertain about his answer this time.
“I strive to do the right thing because I love God and want to serve Him well. I also believe chastity teaches us to curb our more selfish tendencies and helps us develop healthier relationships.” He pauses for a while before he adds, “But I guess there’s still a part of me that hopes I’ll be rewarded for my good behavior, either in this life or the next. ”
“And you thought sleeping with me might cost you your future,” I surmise.
He shakes his head, but he still doesn’t meet my eyes.
“Leaving you in that hotel room was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
And the fact that I regret walking out on you more than I regret giving into temptation has been eating me alive.
For the first time in my life, I couldn’t understand how something that felt so good and so right could be all that wrong.
But look at what it’s already done to us—we can’t seem to stay away from one another, even though we can’t make sense of it.
And it’s obvious we both feel something … right?”
Well, this conversation has taken an unexpected turn.
My heart quickens when he finally looks up at me, and I struggle to form a response for a few seconds.
“I think you’re getting too philosophical for me,” I mumble as I move to hop down from the counter. But he plants his fists on both sides of my hips, boxing me in.
“Claire, can I ask you something?”
“Okay,” I allow, though I’m sure I’ll regret it in a moment.
“If I had told you the truth about myself that night, would you have let me stay? Would it have changed anything, or did you mean it when you said casual sex was all you ever wanted from me?”
My chest heaves as I try to formulate an answer. “I shouldn’t have told you that. It wasn’t a very nice thing to say.”
“But did you mean it?” he asks again. He watches my expression carefully, standing between my legs as he awaits my answer.
“I think you’re a great guy, Rowan, and any woman would be lucky to have you. But I’m not looking for the kind of relationship you’ve been holding out for.” I pause to lick my lips when my throat goes dry. “After all, you’ve earned it.”
“Maybe I was wrong. I’m not sure it’s that simple, not anymore,” he mumbles, his eyes fixed on my mouth.
“And maybe you’re just confused because I was your first, in a way,” I blurt out.
He straightens. “What?”
“It’s natural to form an attachment after you’re … physically intimate with someone for the first time,” I explain awkwardly. “And even though we didn’t actually sleep together, I don’t get the impression you’ve let anyone else … do the things I did to you.”
His jaw snaps shut, and he looks away. “No. I’d never let it get that far before.”
“You’ve said you’re more prone to lustful thoughts than usual around me,” I continue while he slowly backs away.
“Now that I understand what sex and intimacy mean to you, it all makes sense. You’re confusing attraction with affection, probably since you’ve never had to differentiate the two before. ”
“Yeah. Makes sense,” he says sardonically. “Thanks for clearing that up for me.”
“Rowan,” I begin on a sigh. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“And I didn’t mean to fall for you, but …”
“What?” I breathe, my heart behaving much like it did at the prospect of a home invasion earlier.
He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I’m being sarcastic. I just … I feel like an idiot for assuming you … Forget I said anything, please?”
He gazes up at me with wide, watery eyes, and my chest tightens. “Can we just pretend this conversation never happened?” he begs.
“You don’t usually let me off the hook that easily,” I barely manage to say.
He huffs. “You’re right. I don’t.”
“Lucky for you, I’m not into talking about feelings,” I tell him before I push myself off the countertop and land on my feet. “And I’m also pretty grateful for the period mix, so I’ll cut you some slack this time,” I add, gesturing toward the grocery bags.
His expression softens. “Thanks.”
“Are you, um, going to Daisy’s? Or were you planning on crashing here?”
He scratches the back of his head. “I’m sure you’d like your space, right?”
Until he turned the question back to me, I hadn’t realized I was counting on not having to spend the night completely alone. But I certainly can’t admit that to him.
“I’d hate to keep you up past your bedtime with all the wailing and weeping I have left to do. It’s my cycle day one tradition, you know,” I say with a shrug.
“Yeah, can’t think of a sound I’d hate more, even counting the things I hear over at Maison Reed,” he replies dryly. “Good night, Claire. Call me if you need anything else.”
“Good night. Thanks again for all this.”
He nods and skips his usual practice of pulling me in for a hug in lieu of squatting down to pet Frankie and Oscar. And my chin trembles as I watch him walk out the front door.