“Except for James, I don’t have a family.”
He steps toward me and swipes a floured finger across my nose. “You do now.”
I can’t begin to think how to respond to this, so I don’t. “You helped plan all of this, too, then? The dinner and stuff?”
“Yeah.” He smiles and leans in, putting his hands on my knees, making white handprints on my jeans. “Just because I’m not gay doesn’t mean that I can’t party-plan.” Then he kisses me quickly on the forehead.
Nope, he’s definitely not gay. Something I’m happy to attest to.
“I still can’t believe Sabin and Estelle got out of helping,” I say. “Estelle went out somewhere tonight, and I know that Sabin is at the bars.” I take Chris’s face in my hands and grin. “I know this because he was relentless in trying to get me to go out with him, but I repeatedly declined because I took my pie-partnership duties with you very seriously.”
He reaches over and turns up the volume on the portable speaker that has been blasting his playlist all night.
“Poor baby. Has it been that awful?”
I grin. “You’re a nightmare. Hey, we should probably start cleaning up. It’s already close to midnight.”
I move to slide off the counter and he stops me with his hands moving to my waist. He looks mischievous. “Just one dance.”
“Christopher! Look at this mess. I’m tired and we’ve got so much to do tomorrow, too.”
“C’mon, Blythe. Dance with me!”
“You’re a menace, and I think you’re trying to get out of cleaning.” But with the goofy look on his face and the way he’s shaking his hips at me, I can’t resist.
So we dance.
We spin around crazily, we hold tight to one another and sway back and forth, we hold hands and scream out lyrics at the top of our lungs. We stand on the two chairs and lift our arms high while we move to the rhythm.
We don’t even think about the dishes for another hour.
When we’re finally done cleaning up, we’re both exhausted. For once, it actually feels okay to separate from Chris at the dorm stairs and head alone to my room to get some sleep.
The sound of the door shutting wakes me and I glance at the clock: it’s 3:26 in the morning. Estelle must really be into this mystery guy of hers. I haven’t asked her about him yet. It just feels off-limits for some reason. Maybe it’s that I’m still nervous about having a friend. I’m scared to push, unsure of the boundaries in our friendship. I roll over and peek out into the dark room. I just make her out as she strips off her clothes and crawls into bed. I am about to drift off again when I hear her whispering to herself. And I hear the tremble in her voice and the near panic.
“Forgive me my sins, O Lord, forgive me my sins; the sins of my youth, the sins of my age, the sins of my soul, the sins of my body; my idle sins, my serious voluntary sins…” Her words bleed together in manic praying, and I am frozen in bed. “… I am truly sorry for every sin, mortal and venial, for all the sins of my childhood up to the present hour. I know my sins have wounded Thy Tender Heart, O My Savior; let me be freed from the bonds of evil through the most bitter Passion of My Redeemer. Amen. O My Jesus, forget and forgive what I have been. Amen.”
I have no idea what to do. My impulse is to wrap my arms around her, but I think that if she wanted my help, she would have asked. I feel like I am invading her privacy by hearing her prayers, especially since she hasn’t invited me into her emotional world. And I know what it’s like to want to be alone when you’re upset, so I do what I can to block out her words.
I squeeze my eyes shut, but then I hear a familiar phrase that pulls me from the possibility of immediate sleep.
“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”
I roll over quietly. I really don’t want to hear this.
“I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth; and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord; Who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary…”
I pray that Neon Jesus will fly across the room and knock her unconscious.
“Our father, who art in heaven; hallowed by Thy name; Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven…”
These words are recognizable to almost everyone, and I am swept up by their lyrical familiarity and romanticism. The moment is so dramatic I practically expect to hear a Hollywood movie sound track suddenly fill my room.
I hear a small clicking. It’s the sound of rosary beads.
“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee…”
Suddenly, I am flooded with emotion by Estelle’s words, and I miss the hell out of my father. He loved the traditions and the rituals of the Catholic church. While I never took to Catholicism as he did, I cannot help clinging to Estelle’s words, even though her voice is shaking.
