He was a good man and a wonderful priest, simply not the best at homilies. I think part of that was he was very smart but not a great teacher. He had a difficult time reaching those of us who didn’t have PhDs in theology. That wasn’t his fault, and we wouldn’t trade him—though most of us looked forward to whenever Deacon gave the homily.
Throughout the service, anytime I glanced at Thomas, his eyes were either on me or staring, almost glaring at something or someone in the back of the church. I tried not to notice, but it was difficult knowing I was being watched, plus I was curious about what was happening in the back. No one else would think anything about him watching the back of the church. There were always parents taking young kids in and out of Mass. But I wondered if his watching me was noticed. My family and I sat in the second row, diagonal from where Thomas and Father sat. The natural place for his gaze to fall was on us, yet it never did before. We’d been sitting in this same pew for years and he’d been an altar server since the third grade. Despite this, I’d never noticed him looking in the direction of my family before—now it was nonstop.
In many ways, Thomas struck me as a different person from the boy I had grown up with. There was an intensity about him that, in some ways, was attractive and, in other ways, repulsive. I wondered if maybe I was simply noticing the difference because I was actually paying attention to him. I didn’t think so. Even his physical presence was different. He’d grown during the summer; that happens to guys our age. But even the way he carried himself was different. His hair was longer and any awkwardness he may have had when he was younger was gone. The boy had been replaced by a man and yet there was something more—a difference I couldn’t see but could sense.
As he and Father processed from the church, I realized what he was staring at. Luca was there, in the last row. He watched as Thomas carried the cross and placed it on the stand in the back of the church. Then Luca ducked out of the church as if not wanting to be noticed. By the time my family reached the back of the church, he was long gone and Thomas was nowhere to be seen. We all shook hands with Father Luke before we left the building. His kind awkwardness endeared him to all of his flock.
In the parish hall, Avi was already at the donut table, waiting for the volunteers to open the boxes.
I went to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Be patient,” I whispered in her ear.
“I can’t, not when there’s sugar so close,” she said, bouncing on her toes.
I kissed her on the head. The sparkly barrette Gigi had placed there kept her hair from falling into her eyes. The box opened, and Avi took one with chocolate icing and sprinkles. I chuckled to myself as she left the line and began indulging in her treasure.
“Your sister seriously likes donuts,” Thomas said.
I turned. He stood behind me. I moved away from the donut table, and so did he.
“She’s addicted to sugar,” I said.
“Most eight-year-olds are,” he said as he watched her devour the fried dough covered with sugar.
“I’m surprised you know how old she is,” I said.
“Our families have grown up together,” he said.
“Yes, but I didn’t think you were paying attention,” I said.
“You underestimate me,” he said as he pushed his hair back, out of his eyes.
I took a cup of orange juice and moved to the center of the hall.
“Listen,” he said, placing his fingers on my arm, “I’m sorry I said those things yesterday. You are fully capable of deciding who you spend time with. I just … Luca is so … you could do better. A lot better,” he said in a superior tone.
“I suppose you would be better,” I said, taking a sip of juice.
“Yes,” he said flatly, with no trace of amusement. “He’s pathetic coming to church, trying to trick you into thinking he’s good enough for you.”
I stood taller. “I don’t think he was here for me.”
“How can you be so naïve?” he said, keeping his voice low. “Why else would he show up at our church?”
“He felt something yesterday when he came into the church. A presence in the tabernacle,” I said.
Thomas closed the gap between us. His eyes seemed to change color in front of me: all hint of blue was gone, in its place … darkness.
“He’s such a liar,” he said. “I can’t stand how much he lies to you.”
I backed up, bumping into someone as I did.
“How are you this morning, Thomas?” Gigi said from beside me.
I exhaled, relieved she was there.
Thomas stepped back. “I’m doing well. Thank you for asking, Mrs. Cameron.”
“Did you enjoy the festival?” she asked, looping her arm through mine.
“Yes, it was very nice,” he said, sipping the coffee he held in his hand. “The silent auction was quite successful.”
“So I heard,” she said. “That’s kind of your parents to head that up every year and nice of you to help,” she said, subtly steering me away from him.
In the distance his mom was watching us, she and her friends cheerfully whispering as they pretended not to watch.
What had he told her about us?
“I’m always happy to help the church,” he said.
“Yes.” Gigi gazed up at him. “I’m sure you are. Siena, your dad is ready. Excuse us, Thomas, we are all tired after yesterday.”
Gigi and I turned while Thomas came beside me, touching my arm.
“Wait,” he said. “Can I come over this afternoon?”
I hesitated. His mom’s eyes were on me, though she could not hear our conversation. “No,” I said.
“No?” he asked, shocked at being turned down.
Gigi grinned and released my arm. “Avila, put down that donut,” she demanded, and joined my sister.
I focused on Thomas. “I think it’s best we go back to how things were before, when you weren’t trying to manipulate me and I wasn’t trying to convince myself you weren’t.”
“Siena, I told you I never meant that about you.”
Again, his fingers touched my arms.
“And what would you say right now, if you had?” I said, staring up at him.
He blinked.
“Exactly,” I said, holding back tears as I slowly walked away. I desperately wished I could believe Thomas wasn’t the boy he was.
Gigi was waiting, holding the parish hall door open for me. Avi was skipping toward our car.
“I’m proud of you,” Gigi said as I passed her.
My shoulders drooped. “It’s not like we were even dating or anything.”
“That’s the point. He was pursuing you and you stopped it immediately. That’s the best time to stop something, before it starts.”
“I guess,” I said, feeling miserable, far more miserable than I ever thought I’d feel at ending things with someone I wasn’t even officially dating. But I liked him. I hadn’t thought I did, but I did, and turning him down meant more than simply turning him down. It meant turning the dream of him down.
“Why did I like him?” I asked Gigi as we walked to the car.
“Nothing is as attractive as a boy who gives attention to a girl who is starved for attention,” Gigi said.