“How ya feeling?”
She holds up her cup of coffee. “Trying to come back to life.”
I sat next to her. “Thank God I ate something last night or I would feel like death today.”
I chuckled to myself. “Yeah, I know the feeling all too well.”
We both sat in silence as we stared off into the distance. The chilled winter sent goosebumps up my arms, so I rubbed them gently. “Nick grew up catholic, so going to church is important to him on Sunday. I want to support him as his wife, so I’ve been going with him.”
Her eyebrows shot up, eyes sparkling with excitement.
“You can come if you want. It may be good for you.”
A grin spread across her face as she let out a breathless laugh. “Ya, I think you’re right. I could use some Jesus in my life right now.”
My mom and I used to go to church all the time when I was younger, but when she married Richard, he never went since he probably believed in drinking babies blood like a lot of those wackos in Hollywood. Turning my mom away from her own beliefs. I hated how my mom was so weak and she never influenced Richard to change for the better. It was always the other way around. My step dad changed my mom for the worst. But I guess that’s what the Devil does: makes you become the worst version of yourself.
“I’m going to get ready. Church starts at twelve so we’ll leave in an hour.”
“Sounds good.”
I gently squeezed her hand, letting her know how I was so proud of her for coming with us. I got up and started to walk back inside, but right before I slid inside, my mom said.
“And Mel.”
I turned to face her with one foot planted in the house and one on the outside.
“I love you.”
And for the first time, I didn’t mind hearing those three words. Before Nick, those three words are what broke me.
The scentof incense hung thick in the air as the congregation rose in unison, the soft rustling of clothes and shuffling of feetechoing through the grand, vaulted ceiling of the church. Stained-glass windows cast colored light onto the marble floor, creating a kaleidoscope of blues, reds, and golds that danced with every flicker of the candle flames. Seated side by side, Sophia and Nick knelt on the cushioned kneelers, their hands folded in reverence. Their mother sat to Sophia’s left, rosary beads wrapped around her fingers, murmuring a quiet prayer. I sat beside Nick, and my mom was beside me, and I watched as she fidgeted, her restless hands smoothing down the hem of her dress. The priest stood at the front, lifting the golden chalice, his voice steady and solemn.
“Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world. Blessed are those called to the supper of the Lamb.”
The priest, dressed in white vestments embroidered with gold, lifted the Eucharist high above his head. The congregation murmured, “Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word, and my soul shall be healed.”
My mom swallowed, suddenly hyper aware of the quiet weight of the moment. I was unsure what she believed anymore, but she followed me and the rest of their family to the front of the church. The line moved slowly, the shuffle of feet the only sound in the sacred hush. The preacher held up the thin, round wafer when he reached me. “The Body of Christ.” He laid it in my hand. And I placed it on my tongue; The wafer rested on my tongue. It was light as paper yet heavy with meaning. “And this is the blood of Christ, drink and be cleansed.”
I tried not to laugh because the thought of drinking wine to be cleansed was almost comical in my world. He tipped the cup to meet my lips, and I drank. As I turned back toward the pew, my eyes met Nick’s. There was something knowing in his gaze, something unspoken. A shared understanding neither of us had the words for.
Returning to my seat, I watched my mom repeat the same process as I listened to the soft echo of the organ. My mom returned, sitting next to me, and for a brief moment, we were just a family in the quiet sanctity of the church. Bound not only byblood but by tradition, faith, and all the things left unspoken between us.
When church let out, the sunlight outside felt too bright, too clean, after everything that had been roiling under the surface all morning. We lingered out front, the crowd slowly dispersing as Bianca and Sophia made their way over. They hadn’t really had time to talk to my mom before the service, and I could tell both were eager—Bianca with her always-warm eyes, Sophia with her polished smile that hid everything sharp underneath.
“How long are you in town for?” Bianca asked, her voice light, almost casual—but I felt the weight of it settle on my shoulders like a stone.
“Oh, I’m playing it by ear right now,” my mom replied.
A perfectly vague answer. But it hit me square in the chest. Because the truth was, I didn’t know either. I didn’t know what she planned to do, where she planned to stay, or if she was going to keep pretending like she hadn’t just detonated her life. If the divorce was real—if she was actually leaving Richard—she’d have to go back eventually. Pack up. Lawyer up. Face the ruins of her choices.
“I would love to make you some of my famous pasta. You should come over for dinner tonight, and Christmas is next week, so if you are in town, you’ll have to come to our Christmas Eve service.”
“It’s stunning how they decorate in here,” Sophia added, her words wrapped in sugar but her smile too perfect.
“Uh—well.”
My mom faltered. Just a beat. But I caught it. I knew that look in her eyes—the flicker of panic behind the practiced grace. She was trying. Trying to stand upright, to slide back into normalcy. But she wasn’t ready. Not really. Not yet.
