“I have to go.” She was right, but it didn’t cut him any less. Sister Cortona could still walk in at any minute. If she saw them now, there would be no question that they had been up to no good.
Instead of saying what he wanted to, instead of asking her to stay, he nodded and she was gone.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SASHA HADN’T CALLED FOR an emergency girls’ brunch in years, and not since before Bridget joined their group. But times were desperate. And, even though she was a relatively new friend, Bridget came through in the clutch in a huge way.
Bridget was divorced from and also engaged to the scion of an extremely wealthy and politically connected family that made the Finerghtys seem hopelessly bourgeois. And now that she’d fully embraced the idea of marriage, she enjoyed little more than giving away her ex- and future husband’s money. She said it was a “recovering Catholic thing,” but Sasha wasn’t willing to dwell on the concept of recovering and Catholic in the same sentence.
Hannah and Sasha had gone to Bridget and Matt’s house because she’d not only ordered brunch in, she’d arranged to have a hairstylist fix Sasha’s truly atrocious situation while they triaged the damage that Sasha had done in her—and Patrick’s—life.
She told them everything. Even the bar masturbation part. Both of her friends were truly shocked. A piece of pain au chocolat fell out of Hannah’s mouth, and she’d never before wasted pastry on something so inconsequential as one of Sasha’s stories about a man. Bridget, for her part, had finished three mimosas by the time Sasha arrived at the part where she’d cut her hair off so she wouldn’t fuck a frocked priest on his desk.
“I’m going to hell.” Of that, Sasha had no doubt. Still, telling two people who might understand was such a relief. She felt like at least half of the elephant crushing her internal organs was off her chest.
“We’re all going to hell,” Bridget said, motioning with her empty champagne flute. “I mean, I’m obscenely wealthy.”
“And I’m a total bitch,” Hannah added.
Sasha looked at her friend. She didn’t know how many times they were going to have to go over the fact that there was a difference between a bitch and the c-word. Hannah was a bitch, but she largely used her powers for good. Since she was in a delicate condition, Sasha pointed at her. “No.”
“Honestly, I don’t see what you did that was so bad,” Bridget, the lifelong Catholic, said.
Sasha put a piece of fruit in her mouth. She had been so sick about her inability to stop seducing Patrick, even though she’d really, really meant to, that she hadn’t been eating. “I cannot control myself around him.”
“Which I am totally grossed out by, by the way,” Bridget said. “He’s like my brother.”
“You were engaged to Patrick’s brother, which meant you were sort of engaged to your own brother.” Hannah had a smirk on her face that said she’d thrown that out just to get a rise out of her sister-in-law. While Sasha appreciated her friend’s effort at levity, this was a truly serious situation.
“Yeah, he was like my brother, which was one of the many problems with our relationship.” Bridget poured Hannah more orange juice and pulled another bottle of Veuve Clicquot out of the refrigerator. “Speaking of. The last time we talked, you were dating some guy who it sounded like you mildly preferred to major surgery.”
“Nathan is nice.” Sasha didn’t know why she was defending him. She didn’t want to have dirty sex with him. Which was fine. Because the only man she wanted to have sex with was definitely off-limits. Why weren’t her friends more scandalized by this? Patrick was their friend, too. Sasha was ruining his life. “Why aren’t you guys more upset about this?”
“Because the vow of celibacy is total bullshit. And Patrick is nothing like my brother, so I can see what a huge waste of—potential—that is.” Hannah grabbed another croissant. It was good that she hadn’t turned a little bit green even once this morning. “I think you should suck the celibacy right out of him.”
“Hannah!” Both Bridget and Sasha yelled at the same time.
“What? You both know I’m right.”
“I just wouldn’t have said it that way,” Bridget said. “Listen, the way I see it, there’s the letter of the law and the spirit.”
Of course Bridget would come at it like the prosecutor she once was. “Well, we’ve broken both.”
“And there has to be a reason for it. Did Patrick seem as into it as you were?”
Patrick had instigated the kiss beyond what she’d intended. She’d just been reacting, and then he’d acted. His touch had been possessive; thinking about it now gave her a chill. That night at the bar, there had been no question of who was in control: him. She could have said no, but she would have done anything he asked, short of a crime.
“Yeah.”
“So you’re both breaking the letter and the spirit of the law. This is a conspiracy and there’s no victim here.” Bridget shrugged.
“It’s not that simple.” There was a victim—multiple victims. Sasha hadn’t missed how the people in the parish regarded Patrick. They looked at him as though he were the Savior himself, and not just because his crooked smile was enough to turn water to wine and panties to dust. Even when he was stern, his compassion and generosity were a beacon. Even if she didn’t believe in God, he was a good man, and he brought something good to people’s lives. She refused to believe that she wasn’t one hundred percent responsible for his downfall, and she refused to participate anymore.
“Hannah, I need you to handle the carnival.”
Her best friend grimaced. “I’m in a delicate state.”
Bridget called her out. “You’ve been back in spinning for weeks now.”
“Fine,” Hannah said. “But I think you’re running away, and I think it’s a terrible idea.”
“My wedding’s going to be a mess. Again,” Bridget said with a laugh. She was getting married to Matt again two weeks before the carnival. Patrick would be a guest. “I fucking love it.”
“What the hell am I supposed to do?” Sasha asked, not really expecting an answer. She was already a disappointment to her family, and even though her friends wouldn’t judge her, she was worried that Patrick would grow to hate her. She’d seen his commitment to the parish, to the pre-K program, and whatever he thought God was. If she asked him to walk away from all that, and they didn’t work out as a couple, there was no way he wouldn’t grow to hate her.
She couldn’t survive that. She’d rather have to see Patrick from afar and wonder if they could have been something great than fail at a real relationship with him.