The tension in my shoulders eased and I exhaled.
“Rafael,” the archbishop said, guiding me away from my desk. “Sit.”
I nodded and started to do that when I saw the door was still open and?—
He was already there, closing the door and then coming back over to sit in the chair across from me. He was almost as tall as I was, his knees nearly touching mine as he settled back and laced his hands over his stomach.
Maybe this would’ve been easier behind a confessional screen.
No. I needed to look him in the eyes, not hide away.
“Lay down your burden,” he said gently, and for a moment, it struck me how odd this was. I’d said those words, in the same tone, so many times, and now here I was on the receiving end.
I smoothed my hands over my cassock and met the archbishop’s eyes. “I’ve recently run into Alessio again.”
He arched a brow. “Recently?”
That wasn’t where this needed to start. “No. Not recently. He’s…”—brought his brothers around but never wanted anything to do with me until now—“been coming in for confession for years.”
His expression unchanging, he said, “I see.”
“I…told myself it was the best thing I could do for him. Be there. Listen. Give him guidance if he asked. I thought it was a boundary I could maintain.”
“And?”
“And it wasn’t.”
Silence filled the space between us, and to his credit, he waited for me to continue, as long as it took.
“His last confession,” I said slowly, ignoring the way my voice shook just a little. “It forced me to confront something I’ve kept buried for a very long time.”
“And what is that?”
I closed my eyes and pictured Alessio’s face. “That I never stopped loving him.”
I waited for the shocked gasp or admonishment. I waited for the archbishop to tell me he didn’t believe me, but when seconds continued to tick by in silence, I opened my eyes to see his head cocked to the side like he was waiting for me to continue.
“I thought if I buried myself in my studies and seminary textbooks, if I focused on strengthening my relationship with God, if I gave myself over to others, to hearing their needs and if I stayed disciplined”—I was rambling now—“then eventually I’d forget about him and about how much it hurt to be apart from him. I was already so deep in grief over my parents, and I thought I’d drag him into my despair too.” I swallowed and metthe archbishop’s eyes again. “I was wrong. I never forgot him. I never stopped loving him. And I still do.”
He studied me as he steepled his fingers, resting his chin on them. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, could only feel the mix of relief and anxiety swirling through my body as I waited for him to speak.
“Do you remember the Easter vigil your first year serving?” he asked.
I blinked, surprised at the turn in conversation.
“You both were so young, and Alessio… He hated the incense. Complained about it the whole time.”
I smiled at the memory. “He said it reminded him of a hippie store. I didn’t even know where he’d heard that.”
“Yes,” the archbishop replied dryly. “And then you elbowed him so hard you nearly knocked the thurible out of his hands.”
Oh, I remembered. I’d been trying so hard not to laugh at him, and my parents had noticed and given me an earful on the way home.
“You thought I didn’t notice,” he continued. “The way you watched Alessio during mass. The way he watched you back.”
My chest began to tighten, and I found it suddenly hard to speak.
“You were boys, but there was affection there.” He dropped his hands, one of them patting down the pectoral cross he wore. “When you chose the seminary, I told him to let you go. Not because I was trying to separate you two or because what you felt was wrong. But I believed you needed the space to decide for yourself what you wanted.”
