If Sol is the sun, then I’m a sunflower. His words, the way he looks at me, pours warmth in me, making me thrive with false hope. I love and hate myself for being this person. Why am I wired this way? Why is it so hard for me to resist him, huh?
Where is your pride, Grace Miller?
All of a sudden, the knot of anticipation in my stomach uncoils. Anger burns through me, anger at myself. My inability to walk away.
I lift my hands and slam them into Sol’s chest. Caught off guard, he stumbles back, his eyes wide with shock.
“You want to know if I miss you, huh?” I shove him with my hands again. This time he’s expecting it. He doesn’t move, but the startled look on his face deepens. “I miss you and I hate myself for it. Is that what you wanted to hear?” I lift my arms, intending to push him, slap him, punch him. . . I don’t know. All I want is for him to feel the pain I’m feeling.
He grasps my wrists with his hands, then stares down at me. His mouth opens, but no words come out. He licks his lips, then tries again, shaking his head once. “Yes—no. I don’t want you to hate yourself because of me.”
I laugh, but it sounds bitter in my ears. “So what do you want?”
He stares at me for several seconds, drops my hands and steps away from me. My body sways, missing its anchor. I almost beg him to put his hands on me again.
Almost.
“I want you to be happy,” he mutters.
“I am happy. Can’t you tell?” I quip.
He eyes me doubtfully and says, “Um, you look pissed off.”
Ugh.
“Look. You need to focus on being a priest and I need to—”
All of a sudden, his hands are gripping my shoulders and his lips mesh with mine, cutting me off. I didn’t even see him move, which is quite a feat considering how huge he is. My hands move, ready to shove him away. Instead they curl around his jacket, because my knees feel weak and I’m afraid if I left go, I’ll drown in euphoria.
The weird thing is that he’s not even kissing me. Our lips are only pressed together. Yet, my heart is beating faster than before. I feel alive.
Oh, God.
Sol pulls back, still holding me as my resistance starts to wear off. “You and your mouth. You shouldn’t put it anywhere near me when we’re arguing.”
He laughs. “Sorry.” He doesn’t look sorry.
We stare at each other for a few moments as our breathing normalizes. Sizzling chemistry or not, we’re playing a dangerous game. My heart has already been a casualty of war once. Am I ready to risk it again?
No.
Yes.
No.
“But how can we continue?” My mouth opens and the words pour out. “When will I see you again?”
I sigh, the weight of what I’m asking for settling in the spaces between my soul. This imprudent, bold, stubborn, untamable soul of mine willingly jumping into the fire, just to feel the heat of the flames once again.
His chest deflates as breath rushes out of his mouth as if he’s been holding it for a while. “I still haven’t figured it out yet. All I know is I’ve missed you so much, Gracie.”
My eyes drift closed, and I blow out a long breath. I can’t believe I’m considering this because it seems wrong, yet it feels right at the same time. The thought of not seeing him again makes my heart twist painfully in my chest. I suck air sharply and nod before I can change my mind.
“So I’ll see you soon?” he asks, with hope in his voice.
“Yes. I mean, unless you change your mind once you get to Boston . . .” God, Grace. What the hell are you doing? “You won’t change your mind, will you?” I ask as I get in my car. It’s a plea. A warning.
He ducks his head into the car so we’re at eye level and cups my face in his large hands. “No, I won’t.” He leans forward and smashes his mouth to mine in a quick, hot kiss. Then he pulls back. “Go on. I’ll follow you with my truck.”
“So creepy,” I tease him and laugh when he looks at me confused. I roll my eyes and nod.
After he slams my car door shut, I watch him jog to his truck and jump inside. Within seconds, we’re driving back to Portland.
When we arrive, I glance up at the rearview mirror and see Sol waving before making a left and heading toward the rectory. Once I get home, I start dinner for my mom, wondering when I’ll see Sol again. That thought makes my heart beat faster. It’s so wrong, but it feels right.
I think back to the day I drove to Boston, intending on finding closure and moving on with my life. Watching Sol leave was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I thought I’d be okay and that time would heal my broken heart. What I didn’t count on was what would happen if I ever saw him again. And then he was sitting across from me at Thanksgiving dinner, looking at me with those eyes that said everything his mouth couldn’t. I felt a rush, the kind of rush I hadn’t felt in so long. There was so much love and heat in them it took all my power to hold on to my cutlery. My blood roared in my ears, and my heart raced so fast in my chest I thought it’d rip through. It was the kind of high I’d been craving since he left for the seminary. I was addicted. I wanted more, and at that point, I would’ve done anything to keep feeling like that.
Then his lips on mine a few moments ago sent my craving for him and resistance colliding into each other. They crashed and burned, and the end result is a woman who’s more than ready to accept the little slice of Heaven she can get from the love of her life. Pride and caution take a back seat. I’m a slave to my heart. Now I understand why some women willingly enter into a relationship with a man who is committed to someone else, yet they risk everything just to be with him. I never thought I’d fall into that category. Love makes us stupid. Love makes me stupid.
What does that make me? A sinner, a woman in love, or both?
It’s been a week since Thanksgiving. I still haven’t heard from Sol, and I don’t even know what’s going on. His Facebook page hasn’t been updated in ages. Did he change his mind? I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up because it only leads to disappointment.
Right after another school visit to James Fredricks with my mom, we drive home. Mom talks excitedly about driving me to college next fall, how happy she is that I’ve finally found what I want to do in college. For just a moment, my disappointment about Sol is pushed to the back of my mind, and I choose to enjoy this time with my mother. We’ve gotten so much better at communicating since we started therapy, so we’re in a good place. She has been organizing a food drive with Luke for the past month or two. She seems to thrive on it.
Later on at home, I’m lying in bed in the dark, waiting for my mind to finally shut down so I can get some much-needed sleep, when I hear my phone beep with an incoming message. I fumble around in the dark and flip on the lamp. Squinting at the screen, my heart starts racing inside my chest as I sit up on the bed and read the words again.
I miss you.
I stare at the screen for a long time, a smile curving across my lips.
Me: me too
It takes a while for his message to come through. I start thinking he isn’t going to respond when a message pops up on my screen.
Sol: Can you get away on Sunday during the food drive? Meet me?