A Little Too Far

by Lisa Desrochers

  Abby puts in the DVD and settles onto the couch next to me, picking up the bowl of popcorn and setting it in her lap. “Who’s the bloke?”

  “Just someone from back home,” I say as Harry Connick, Jr. starts crooning “It Had to Be You,” and the opening credits of When Harry Met Sally start to flash on-screen.

  “Is he hot?” she asks.

  I roll my eyes but answer truthfully. “Yes, but that’s not why I love him.”

  She huffs a derisive laugh. “Yeah, and I’m the Virgin Mary.”

  And that makes me think about Alessandro. I’m leaving tomorrow, and I’m surprised at the pang when I realize I’m not going to see him before I go. I struggled with whether to get him something for Christmas and finally decided against it for three reasons: 1) I don’t want him to think I think there’s anything “personal” going on between us; 2) I don’t even know if almost-priests do the whole gift-giving thing; and 3) even if they do, what the hell do you get an almost-priest?

  I stare mindlessly at the movie as Harry and Sally meet. “I love him,” I finally say, “but I shouldn’t. We could never do anything about it even if he’s not in love with someone else.”

  “Bugger!” she shouts, and it scares the snot out of me. When my eyes fly to her, her tennis-ball yellow contacts are about to pop off her eyeballs. “It’s the bloody priest, isn’t it?”

  I roll my eyes again. “I said it was someone from back home.”

  “Yes, you did,” she says with a skeptical squint, “but you’re a sodding liar. I’ve seen the way you get when you’re talking about the places he took you.”

  “Because I like art.” I jam my thumb into my chest. “Art history major, remember?”

  She sinks deeper into the couch, dejected. “So then, who?”

  “No one. Forget it,” I say, turning back to the TV. I sip on my tea and lose myself in Harry and Sally’s cross-country conversation.

  “What are you going to do?” Abby asks a long time later, so softly I hardly hear her. When I look at her, it’s obvious she’s really asking for advice.

  “Damned if I know.”

  THE BASS FROM the bar downstairs vibrates my bed as I fold only the clothes I’ll need for three weeks at home into my bag. I bawled my eyes out at the end of When Harry Met Sally again, and I would have given anything for Trent to have been there to hold me this time. Abby asked if I wanted to stay the night, but I hadn’t even packed, and my flight is in the morning, so I headed home. I also really needed to get my thoughts together. If I’m going to say something to Trent, I need time to figure out exactly what it’s going to be.

  “I’ve thought a lot about what happened between us before I left, and I realize it happened because I’ve always wanted it to. I love you, Trent.”

  See. Not so hard. But as I play it back in my head, I realize how stupid it sounds. I’ve told him I love him a hundred times, but I’ve never meant it like this. What if he doesn’t understand? What if he doesn’t feel the same?

  The only thing that’s kept me from going totally insane is that Trent and Sam go to different schools. Sam’s at UC Santa Cruz, and Trent’s in LA—five hours apart by car. They haven’t seen each other since Thanksgiving, which, according to Sam, guarantees that Trent will be crazy for her by winter break. They’ve already gotten the foreplay out of the way, she says, because they’ve been sexting all semester, so as soon as they get home, they’re sealing the deal.

  Which gives me exactly one day before it will be too late.

  I’ll beat them both home by two days. Trent will be home on the twentieth, and Sam is coming home on the twenty-first. I need to be ready, or I’ll miss my window.

  “I’ve really missed you, and I’ve been thinking a lot about us. I realized that I’ve been in love with you for a long time and—ugh!” I throw up my hands. “I so totally suck at this!”

  I drop onto the bed next to my bag and rest my head in my hands. “Think.” What can I say so he understands that I’m serious?

  I try to picture his face, how he’d react if I said it. Because there’s the very real possibility that he’s totally repulsed by what we did and just wants to forget it.

  “Shit.” Shitshitshit.

  It seems counterintuitive to pray about what to say to the brother I had sex with to make him understand I’m in love with him, but I do it anyway. I rest my head in my hands and breathe deep. “Please, God. I know I’ve screwed up a lot of things … well, mostly everything, I guess, and I don’t live how You want me to, but I need to know what the right thing is here. Should I tell Trent I love him? Because I do. I really do, and I think maybe I always have. I know it’s probably a sin, but I can’t help it. If we’d just met, like, at school or the mall or been living anywhere other than under the same roof, then there’d be nothing wrong with our being together … but shit—pardon my French—what if he’s trying to forget the whole thing? What if he’s already in love with Sam? What if he says no, that he doesn’t want me? Telling him will just make everything worse. And what about our parents?” I weave my fingers into my hair and yank. “What am I supposed to do? Just send me some kind of sign. I’ll take anything.”

  I jump as the buzzer for the door rips through my silent apartment. Nobody ever rings that bell. Probably just drunk kids from the bar.

  I stand and move to the window, throwing it open and looking down at my door … and see Alessandro. He smiles up and waves.

  “I’ll be right down!” I call. I pull open my apartment door and skip down the stairs before I realize I’m wearing nothing but a thong and Trent’s Loyola Wrestling T-shirt. I run up the stairs and grab the pair of jeans off my living-room floor, tugging them on, then head back down. It’s misting outside, and Alessandro’s hair and black wool jacket are covered with tiny sparkling droplets of water. As if he weren’t already too tempting, he looks like someone sprinkled sugar on him to make him just that much more tasty.

  “I’m sorry not to call, but I was on my way back to the rectory from the youth center when I realized I still had your Christmas gift.” He pulls a small, black felt pouch from his jacket pocket.

  His eyes slip for just an instant to my chest, and I realize the cold air has hardened my nipples, which is impossible to miss through the thin cotton of Trent’s T-shirt. I grab his hand and pull him through the door. “Come out of the rain.”

  We tread up the stairs to my apartment, and I pull him inside. “Tea?” I ask as he peels off his jacket and hangs it on the back of a dining-room chair.

  He settles into the love seat as I move to the kitchen. “Something hot would be perfect. It’s chilly out there.”

  I fan myself a little as he runs a hand over his dark waves, and the water beads up and rolls onto his collar. Nope, nothing hot and perfect around here, I think to myself as I put the teakettle on to boil. “Isn’t it late to be at the youth center?”

  “I’ve been working with a kid, Franco, quite a bit,” he answers as I come in and sit next to him. “He’s got potential.”

  “So you’re putting in overtime?” I ask with a smile.

  He smiles back. “No rest for the weary.”

  I remember the way his muscles rippled under his skin in the gym that day and resist the urge to fan myself again. “You never seem weary to me.”

  “The Lord sustains me,” he says, matter-of-factly, as the teakettle starts to whistle.

  I pull myself off the love seat and pour our tea. When I come back with our cups, he’s standing at the window to the patio, looking out at the rain. “When do you leave?” he asks, turning back toward me.

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  His lips press into a line, and he gives a small nod. “I thought so.”

  “I’m back on the sixteenth of January. When is our next tour?”

  “The nineteenth.”

  “Oh! My birthday. Perfect.”

  He moves toward me, lifting his cup out of my hand. He produces the black felt pouch from his pants pocket and hands
it to me. “I wanted you to have this before you left.”

  I cringe. “I didn’t get you anything.”

  A smile ticks his mouth. “I didn’t expect anything.”

  “But …” I say, holding up the pouch.

  “I’m afraid it’s not much.”

  I set my tea down on the side table and flip open the flap of the pouch. When I turn it into my hand, a small coin drops into my palm. I flip it over and examine the front. “St. Christopher.”

  He nods. “The patron saint of travelers. I want you to be safe.”

  “Thank you.” I pull him into a hug, and it’s only when he stiffens that I remember I’m naked under my T-shirt, and I’m pressing my boobs right into him. I let him go quickly and sit. He lowers himself down next to me and sips his tea.

  “I’ve decided to tell Trent I love him,” I blurt.

  His eyes lift to me, and his lips press into a line. “If that is the direction the Lord has sent you, then you should.”

  Is it? When I asked for a sign, I got Alessandro. Is there some other message there? “The more I think about it, the more I realize I’ve loved Trent for a long time. Even when I was with Rick, there was always something between Trent and me. It’s like I just wouldn’t let myself feel it, you know? But making love with him brought it all to the surface, and now I can’t pretend it’s not there. I love him.”

  He bites the corner of his lower lip between his teeth as he nods. “Then it sounds like you know what to do.”

  “I do. I will.” I will. I sip my tea and set my resolve. It feels more doable now that I’ve said it out loud. I prayed for a sign and got Alessandro. I needed to talk it out, and now I know this is the right thing to do. I lean my head into his shoulder. “Thanks for listening.”

  He loops his arm over my shoulders and pulls me close to his side. “The strength for all righteous tasks can be found in the Lord.” It sounds more like he’s talking to himself than me, but I draw strength from it—from him.

  I can do this.

  “I’ll miss you,” I say after a long while.

  “I’ll miss you too.” He kisses the top of my head and lets me go. “But I’m afraid I’ve got to go.”

  We stand, and I open the hand that’s still clutching the St. Christopher metal. “Thank you for this.”

  He shrugs on his jacket. “Just be safe and call when you get back.” His hand slips around my neck and he kisses me again, this time on the cheek, then reaches for the door handle. He hesitates for just a second, and it looks like he wants to say something else, but finally, he pulls the door open and disappears down the stairs.

  I watch for a second after he leaves, then go to my bedroom window and watch him walk down the street. And when I look up, Grandma Moses is standing in the drizzle, tsking me again. This time, I don’t even know what my offense is.

  I’M NERVOUS WHEN I get off the plane in San Jose. I’ve still got two days before Trent comes home Wednesday, but seeing him is all I can think about. I’ve gone over and over what I’m going to say, and I think I have something that works, but whether I’ll actually be able to get it out of my mouth when the time comes is still questionable.

  I grab my bags and clear customs, then head for the exit. I spot Dad and Julie in the sea of people waiting outside security before they see me. Julie nudges Dad and points when she finally sees me on the escalator. She’s bouncing on her toes by the time I clear the secured area.

  “Oh, honey!” she says, wrapping me in her slender arms. “Oh, you look so beautiful! Oh my word, I can’t tell you how much we’ve missed you!”

  Dad takes my backpack and my roller bag from me as I peel myself out of Julie’s embrace. He gives me a one-armed hug and a kiss on the cheek. “How was your trip, kiddo?”

  “I had to change terminals in Heathrow, which was a pain in the ass because I had to go back through security, but otherwise, no problems.”

  “We expect a full report on your first semester abroad on the trip home!” Julie says, bouncing on her toes again.

  Dad starts toward the elevators, and Julie and I follow. “You already know most everything,” I tell her.

  She grasps my hand as we walk. “We know you’ve seen a lot of sights and you like your classes, but we haven’t heard much about the people you’ve met or friends you’ve made.”

  I shrug. “There really aren’t many. I mean, the people are great, but I’ve only really gotten to know a few.”

  “Like your deacon?” she asks with a squeeze of my hand as we step into the elevator to the parking garage. “It seems he’s been a godsend.” She lets out a little giggle. “Literally.”

  “He’s been great,” I say. “The school tours we’re doing have given me the opportunity to get up close and personal with Vatican artwork. It’s been incredible.” I’ve never told them how the whole thing came about—as my penance for sleeping with Trent—and I hope they never think to ask.

  “I want to hear all about everything you’ve done together.” She presses her shoulder into mine as the elevator opens, and we follow Dad into the garage. “I still can’t believe he got you to climb the St. Peter’s dome.”

  There’s a tingle in my stomach with the memory. “Me either, but it was amazing.”

  When we find the car, Dad loads my luggage in. Julie is grilling me for information before we’ve even left the garage—everything I learned in my classes, what foods are my favorites, have I learned any Italian—and I answer her questions as best I can. She asks again about friends, and I tell her about Abby, leaving out the parts about drunken clubbing and Italian porn. I’m relieved when she finally runs out of questions and starts telling me about things at home—until she gets to Trent. She clasps her hands in front of her face excitedly. “He’ll be home on Wednesday and we’ll all be together again.” She looks at me over her shoulder. “I know he’s dying to see you.”

  “What?” It’s out of my mouth before I can rein it back.

  “He can’t wait to see you,” she says, like I just didn’t hear her.

  I heard her. I’m just having a hard time believing it. He hasn’t texted me in weeks. “Me too,” I say.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I SPEND TUESDAY trying to pretend everything’s how it’s always been. I sleep late, trying to get adjusted to the time change, and because none of my friends are home yet, I spend the rest of my time going through pictures with my parents. But I can’t stop thinking about how this is going to go. I have the words, but I don’t know how Trent is going to react to them.

  When I hear his motorcycle pull into the driveway Wednesday afternoon, my insides are wound so tight that I’m sure I’m going to throw up.

  “Lexie!” Julie calls up the stairs, “Come on down! Trent is here!”

  I focus on breathing and move to the window. Trent cuts the engine and pulls off his helmet. His chocolate curls are shorter than I’ve seen them in a while, and as he lifts his leg over the bike and pulls his duffel off the back, it hits me that he’s bigger. As in, bulging biceps and pecs stretching the cotton of his Army green T-shirt. My heart thrums just watching him.

  “Lexie!” Julie calls again.

  “Coming!” I pull myself away from the window as Trent strides up the front walk to the door, and before I’m even on the stairs, I hear Julie calling out the door to him. I tread slowly down the stairs, and when I spill into the foyer, Julie has Trent wrapped in a bear hug. He lifts his eyes, and, as they connect with mine, an electric jolt hits me, just like when I stuck Dad’s keys in the light socket when I was a kid I smooth my hair down, sure it must be standing on end.

  “Hey, Mom,” he says, his eyes still on me. His forehead crinkles in a question, but I don’t know what question he’s asking. “I’m not the long-lost offspring. That would be Lexie.”

  “I just worry about you so much on that death trap,” she says, shooting a glare out the door at his bike. “I wish you’d get a car.”

  “I’m fine, it’s not a death trap,
and I don’t want a car,” he answers as he pries himself out of her grasp and pushes the door closed.

  Dad gives him a quick man hug, two pats on the shoulder, then break. “Good to have you home, son. Need help with your things?”

  “Thanks, Randy, but all I have is this,” Trent says, holding up his duffel.

  “Lexie!” Julie says. “Come give Trent a hug.”

  I move slowly from where I’m frozen at the bottom of the stairs to where he stands, near the door, staring at me with a look that seems to say either, “Do I really have to do this?” or, “Does she really want to do this?”

  I wish I knew which.

  “Hey,” he says, pulling me tight into his arms. “Missed you.”

  “Me too,” I say, but it’s automatic, because all I can think about is the warm, spicy smell of him and the feel of his body—his actual body, not just some fantasy—pressed against mine. I can’t stop my fingers from sweeping over his biceps, memorizing the contours of his muscles, and I feel his goose bumps. “You look … great.”

  “Trent’s decided to get serious about his training,” Dad says, giving him a pat on the back.

  “Oh?” I look at Trent, and his eyes drop to the floor.

  “He’s moved up a weight class with the extra bulk, and he’s still undefeated this season.”

  Trent shrugs. “It’s no big deal.”

  “It’s a huge deal.” Dad beams. “His coach thinks he may be looking at a top four finish at the NCAA Championships in March.”

  “Wow.”

  Trent’s jaw is tight, and his neck and ears turn pink. “It’s really not a big deal.” He steps past me toward the stairs, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m going to shower and unpack.”