One week ago, I was certain no one had the ability to make my blood sing. To make goosebumps rise on my skin with just a smile. Then Sol came along and proved me wrong. When he walked up to my booth, offering his friendship, he shattered parts of my resistance.
He clears his throat and asks, “You’re going to Brown in the fall, right? I overheard your mom talking to my uncle about it.”
“Yes?” I say it like it’s a question, then quickly cover it with, “And you’re going to Saint Bernard’s Seminary in Boston.”
“Yes, I am.” He sounds so sure of his decision.
A feeling I know far too well stabs my chest. I’ve always had a hard time being around people like Sol. People who seem so sure of who they are and what they want. That’s never been me. I’ve been lost for as long as I can remember.
“You’re frowning,” Sol says. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No!” I blurt out, then clear my throat and glance back at him. “It’s just that . . .” I bite my lip, wondering if I’ll sound too whiny. I shake my head. “It’s nothing. Are you excited about the seminary?”
“Yeah.” He smiles, looking peaceful and content. “I’ve been looking forward to this since I knew I wanted to be a priest.”
I’m trying not to feel like a loser here, but to be honest, it’s getting more difficult by the second.
“You don’t seem too enthused about Brown,” he muses. “You can talk to me, Gracie.”
Gracie.
Gracie.
He called me Gracie. My name on his lips sounds like a melody.
In his eyes, I see sincerity and patience. He’s completely focused on me, and it makes me feel like I’m the center of his universe.
“You’re going to make a good priest, Sol. There’s just this vibe about you. People won’t hesitate to pour their hearts out to you and confess their sins,” I say teasingly, enjoying the subtle flush that appears on his cheeks. “No wonder Seth looks at you like you hung the moon.”
I remember last winter when he took over the youth group at church. The way he spoke and his actions commanded everyone’s attention in the room.
He doesn’t realize it; that much is clear.
Sol shifts on his seat as if my words make him uncomfortable. “He’s a great kid.”
“Aw. You’re blushing. It’s adorable.”
He rolls his eyes and rubs the back of his neck with his hand. “Can we not focus on me?”
“Am I making you uncomfortable?” I tease, nudging his leg with the tip of my peep-toe heel.
“Would you stop if I said yes?”
I push my lip in a pretend pout. “But teasing you has just become my favorite thing to do.”
Sol laughs, the sound deep, warm, and joyful. So alive and unguarded. “I’m glad you’re having so much fun at my expense. Change of topic. Let’s talk about your sins, or whatever it is that’s bothering you.” The mood shifts from playful to serious. I blow out a breath, pondering if I should tell him. Maybe telling someone will help untangle my thoughts.
“I’m not sure of who I am. Who I want to become. What I really want to do at Brown. Some days, I think I’ve figured it out, then the next, doubt creeps in, and I’m back to square one. That’s why I want to take a year off. Take time off to think about what I really want to do in college for the next four years of my life. For the rest of my life, really. But so far, I’m still just as clueless. And now in a few weeks, I’ll be heading to Brown, and I’m . . . scared.”
“I think it’s normal for you to feel that way. We’re all a little lost, Grace.”
“I’m eighteen. I should have figured this out by now.” I bite my lip, twisting my fingers as the familiar worries and nervousness creep inside me. “Did you always know you wanted to be a priest?”
He laughs and shakes his head. “I wanted to be a magician.”
I sit up straight and lean forward. “Really? Can you do tricks or something?”
“A few, yes. Like this one.” He reaches his hand behind my ear, and when he pulls back his hand, he’s holding a penny between his index and middle finger.
I press my lips, fighting a smile. “A penny? I could have sworn there’s a twenty back there.”
His shoulders shake with laughter. “Looks like my tricks need a little brushing up.”
His eyes narrow into slits as if he’s trying to remember something. “It started out when my teacher in middle school asked the class what everyone wanted to be when we grew up. I just knew, I guess. It’s like there’s this pull in me. Like God was speaking to me. Then Seth came along. He was really messed up in the head over some stuff that happened at his church back in Baltimore. Thinking about anyone else going through what he did . . . I was even more determined about the path I’d chosen.
“Every time when I hear about some of the negative stuff happening in the Catholic Church nowadays, I feel even more certain this is who I’m meant to be. People have lost faith in the church and forgotten the good things, and I want to change that. I know I’m just one person, and I’m probably being foolishly optimistic, but I believe it takes faith, no matter how small, to move a mountain. Last summer, I traveled to Peru with a few guys from church for a home building mission sponsored by the diocese. It was a life-changing experience.” He pauses, determination and passion shining a bright fire in his eyes.
I nod, remembering his uncle talking about it during Mass.
“That trip reaffirmed my sole purpose for the path I’d chosen. Dedicating my life to being God’s instrument in spreading hope and faith.” Then his expression turns somber.
“After my mom and dad passed away, I was a wreck. I carried so much hate in me. Luke was . . . he was just amazing.”
“I’m so sorry about your parents, Sol,” I whisper, leaning forward and placing my hand over his, hoping to comfort him.
“Thank you.” His gaze drops to our hands, but not before I see a slight shimmer in his eyes. He clears his throat, but his voice cracks a little when he says, “I’m better now. Really, I am.” He sounds as if he’s trying to convince himself. “Besides, you told me everything would be okay, and it was.”
Wow. “You believed me?”
“How could I not?”
I’m elated by his words, but at the same time, my heart hurts for him. I feel selfish and ungrateful. This boy lost his parents, but he survived and managed to sort out his life.
I sigh and run the tip of my finger around the rim of my glass.
“Isn’t it weird that we never really talked after that day in your uncle’s office?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He huffs out a laugh. “I wasn’t brave enough to approach you.”
“You talked to other people, though.”
He looks at me from the corner of his eye, then looks forward. “They weren’t you.”
What does that even mean?
A hand touches my shoulder, interrupting my thoughts, and I turn around to find Mom. She splits a glance between Sol and me, and her eyes light up. It’s so weird to see her responding to Sol that way even though she’s spent most of my teenage years protecting me. She warned me about boys and their ability to break hearts. I’m grateful she had Beverly’s wedding to keep her mind off things. She looks relaxed, like she’s enjoying herself. But I know from experience that even though she seems happy now, it won’t last. The next few days are still going to be rough on her.