“So?”
“So it’s my afternoon to help out at Our Lady. And since Angelo Messina alsocleared Aidan—” She gives me total stink-eye. Shit. I completely forgot about that background check, but apparently Luca didn’t. “—I guess I’mallowedto go. As though Aidan were anythingbuta man of God,” she adds under her breath.
I ignore that and groan instead, “I don’t think I can face that hypocrite priest again. He might not be dirty, but he’s still annoying.”
Celia says nothing, but there is a distinct air ofyou weren’t invited anywaycoming from her direction.
“What are you doing today? Folding more gross polyester clothes?”
“No,” she says coolly. “It’s Friday Fun Club today. We’re doing a community cook with a group of kids from an underprivileged neighborhood. This month we’re doing meatloaf,” she finishes brightly. “I have to pick up the ground meat mix from the market on the way.”
“Jesus wept.” I swallow down on the hot coffee, feeling it burn a path down my throat.
I don’t know what it is. Maybe the smell of the coffee, the warmth of a kitchen, and a woman talking about doing good works, but I’m transported back to my childhood. A memory of my mother talking to the four of us kids about how lucky we were and how it was important for us to share with thedisadvantaged. Róisín used to tear up thinking about those starving kids in Africa. Maggie would yawn and look at her nails. Tara and I listened with big eyes, wondering why doing good had to be so damn boring all the time.
“Fine,” I say to Celia. “I’ll come and learn how to cook meatloaf along with The Poor. Since I can tell you’re justdyingto have me there with you.”
She gives me a narrow-eyed, thin-lipped stare. “Alright,” she says at last. “But for the love of God, don’t call them The Poor in front of anyone else. They’re not coming from Victorian workhouses.”
“Promise,” I say, hand on heart.
* * *
The Poor are not exactlywhat I expected. For one thing, they all seem to think I’m utterly uncool, except for my canary-yellow limited-edition R13 high tops, but after being told they’re wasted on some weird old white dude like me, the kids go back to learning about meatloaf.
Old?
Moi?
They’re all young kids, that’s the thing. I assumed mothers would come in with their kids, but it seems to be more of an afternoon-care deal where families can leave their kids for a few hours while they go do depressing adult shit like shopping and bill paying. Meanwhile, the kids have fun cooking and they get to take it home to their family afterwards.
I hope Luca likes meatloaf. I’m pretty proud of my effort, not gonna lie.
Celia loves all the kids, and they all love Celia. The other God-botherers who were supposed to be leading the group cook (including my mortal enemy Mrs. Murphy) spend the whole time gossiping in the back room over tea instead. Cee begs me to just leave them there when I threaten to go yell at them, and I figure I should do her a favor and listen to her, since she’s putting up with me being here.
It’s not until the kids have all been cleared out and Cee and I are cleaning up smeared spackles of ground beef from plastic tables that Priest Boy shows his face again, appearing in the doorway, still in his jacket and scarf.
He has the gall to look surprised to see me. As though his weird-ass roundabout threats the other day should’ve run me off for good.
“Hello, Finch,” he says, smiling his fake warm smile as he walks right up to us. “Hi, Celia.”
“Hi, Aidan,” Celia says, wiping down the table vigorously, one hand straying to her fake belly as usual.
“Father Aidan,” I greet him, trying to project as much frost as possible.
He gives a very faint sigh. “Like I keep saying, it’s just Aidan. I’m glad to see you again, although very sorry to hear about your father.”
I shrug. “Thanks.”
“And how are you, Celia? The Ladies’ Committee doesn’t have you working too hard, I hope? Not in your condition.” He gives a frown.
Celia goes a deep, dark pink.
“She’s knocked up, not in chemo,” I say rudely, trying to cover for her, and Cee sends me a mortified glare. Some thanks I get.
“Of course,” Aidan says. “I only meant, because of…well, I didn’t mean to offend.”
“Youdidn’toffend,” Celia says through gritted teeth. To me, she hisses, “Aidan knows about the—the troubles I had trying to start a family. That’s all he meant.”
