That thought imbued her with sympathy, and she no longer wanted to kick Nathan in the shins. She wanted to kick herself. She’d been dating long enough to know better. But she was still pissed that he’d thought she was the one to be made a fool of.
“I’m sorry. You were just so beautiful. And my wife hasn’t even smiled in months.” He looked dejected, but now Sasha was getting angry on behalf of his wife.
“Listen, I don’t know what it’s like inside your marriage.” She knew a lot about what she didn’t want a marriage to be in her own life, but she also knew there was a myriad of ways that people could be fucked up in their marriages. And she was also curious. “Why me?”
“You’re just so sweet.”
She snorted again. “You know nothing, Jon Snow.”
Nathan looked as though he’d had a serious realization. “That’s the thing. I don’t understand half the things that come out of your mouth. But you’re nice to me.”
“And that made you think it was okay to date me for months before revealing that you’re not just involved with someone else, but you have a wife?” Curiosity and anger were now engaging in a war of attrition inside her. She wanted to know what it was about her that attracted this kind of bullshit, but she was also sorely tempted to beat this man about the head with her purse.
“I just—” Determined to let him get his words out this time, she took a deep breath and waited for him to speak. “I thought if I could be with someone easy . . .”
“So I’m easy?” He was digging himself into a hole that Sasha would have to push him into if he didn’t pull back real quick. “You know, I am sweet on the outside. But you remember those Everlasting Gobstopper candies that they used to have when we were really little?” She didn’t let him answer. “They have sweet layers, but every so often you get a real sour one that you just have to power through.” He nodded, apparently just then sensing the danger of his current situation. “You’re about to hit a sour layer.”
Nathan was silent for a long moment, and Sasha’s anger ebbed. He’d only seen what she’d wanted him to see. That was the whole problem. The only man she felt like she could be herself with, who wanted her because of anything authentic, couldn’t be with her. Maybe if she’d been more honest with Nathan, he’d want her for her. Doubtful. If he wanted someone who authentically wanted to smile at him, he should probably reconsider cheating on his wife.
“And I know that,” Nathan said. “About date two I realized that you were just going through the motions.”
“Why did you keep asking me out, then?”
“It felt nice for me to have your attention, even if it was temporary.”
“That’s really sad.” She wouldn’t have said that a month ago, and she was sort of surprised that it came out of her mouth now. She’d been raised to keep her mouth shut and judge silently. But that impulse had stunted her. In that moment, standing in the dark, surrounded by people and confronted with a man whom she didn’t want, her body felt too small to hold all of the things she’d unleashed—anger, curiosity, and even compassion for Nathan.
“It’s okay,” she continued. Nathan really didn’t deserve her absolution, but they’d all be going to hell if the only people who received it had to deserve it. “I used you.”
“For what?”
“To maintain the illusion that I’m just a normal girl looking for a sweet and completely ordinary guy to marry her.”
“Huh.” Nathan didn’t really seem to have the depth to process the fact that people had layers and motivations that conflicted with one another. He was simple. And she’d thought that would be safe. But it was the opposite.
What she wanted was something she couldn’t have. And she thought it was maybe time to let herself want it and be open to the distinct possibility that she might not get it. But the wanting would still be worth it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
PATRICK TRIED TO PRAY, but he was afraid it was no use. No one was listening. And he should know better. Although God could perform miracles—he really believed that—it wasn’t like those miracles included a bleach rinse for every dirty thought he’d ever had about Sasha Finerghty.
No, God spoke in whispers—having doubts and then being able to help someone in a way that assuaged those doubts, finding something small and lost when feeling small and lost. Patrick tried to slow down and listen to the whispers. But nothing came.
In spite of the fact that he didn’t feel as though he deserved to stand in front of his congregation that Sunday, he got up and did his duty. He put on his vestments and went out to do his job.
He stood at the altar and tried not to go through the rite of Mass by rote. Although the congregants could skate by on memorized ritual, Patrick tried not to. Even though it was a Buddhist concept, the idea of beginner’s mind usually helped him center.
As soon as he looked out over the Sunday morning crowd and saw her, he knew that wasn’t going to work today. He would have to block her out and rely on the years he’d been repeating the words and go through the motions.
He hated himself for how she pulled his intention. For years, everything had been tugged in the direction of God and duty and church. Now, it was only Sasha. He worshipped at the altar of the dimple in her left cheek, prayed novenas to the curve of her mouth. Her angelic visage was his North Star, and frankly it was fucked up.
Hadn’t he given enough to the Church—to God—that he was exempt from temptation? Before she’d barnstormed into my life, he’d certainly thought so. Now, he didn’t know which way was up.
Somehow, he got through the service. By some very small, inadequate miracle, he greeted parishioners as they filed out of the sanctuary. He did it because he didn’t look at her. He couldn’t expel her scent from his nostrils, but he was able to pretend that she wasn’t the impetus of his fall from grace for a few minutes.
At least until she was in front of him—looking fresh and new.
Want washed over him, erasing any grace and sanity that he’d managed to scrape up since seeing her last. Beads of sweat popped up on his forehead. They matched his damp palms and the red he was sure had crept onto his neck.
Instead of shaking her hand—touching her would be deadly right now—he rubbed the back of his neck and dared to really allow himself to take her in.
That Nathan guy was really not smart. Anyone in their right mind—anyone who could—would marry this girl immediately and take her away from everything so that nothing bad could touch her again. Patrick had been fooled by her extreme competence and inherent grace when they’d first met. He hadn’t seen the vulnerable, soft heart underneath all of that. But when she looked at him now, he couldn’t help but notice that her dark eyes had an inherently delicate quality, not unlike the glass vases that his mother used to collect—the ones that his father broke in a rage right after her funeral.