“It’s a cheap gimmick—you know—‘sex sells,’ etc., etc. It’s gross,” I explain, twisting my face up like the idea of it makes me ill.
Father Patrick closes the book with his finger keeping his place. “It is a part of the curriculum, but if Elise is uncomfortable, then she shouldn’t be forced into an embarrassing public conversation.”
Mac rolls his eyes and sighs. “Fine. We’ll take a break. You get through all the naughty bits, and we’ll be back in ten, okay?”
“That works,” I say, still dreading the conversation with Patrick and Hunter but hating it a touch less, knowing it won’t be on camera. The room empties faster than if I’d yelled fire, and Patrick reopens the binder and clears his throat.
“Should I read the scripture again?”
“No,” I blurt. “I think we got the picture.”
“All right, then—what have you observed from the verses?” he asks, looking between Hunter and me. The Patrick I knew from last night is nowhere to be found. This formal young priest is a stranger in comparison.
“Uh, pretty much that we’re terrible, terrible sinners,” Hunter says, his eyes on me in that hungry way they get when we’ve been apart for too long. And I can’t stop the little involuntary smirk I get when we talk about our sex life. Which is playful, innovative, intense, and dare I say—aerobic. I shake my head, trying to discourage flirty innuendos, but I’m sure my facial expression is sending mixed signals.
“What? Don’t tell me you’re all holy now. The only time you’ve mentioned God before is when you’re screaming.”
“Hunter!” I scold, trying not to laugh. “Stop. This is serious.”
“I’m just saying—we don’t need a sex ed lecture. We know how the parts work. We’re grown-ups. You know?”
“I do, I do,” Patrick says, biting his lip and bobbing his head up and down. “You know what? Since there’s a time constraint, I’ll just read what it says here.” Father Patrick shifts in his chair and reads from the binder. “Do you live together?”
“No,” Hunter and I say at the same time.
“All right. That’s good.” Father Patrick makes a note on a form next to the binder, then goes back to the printed instructions. “It’s suggested that you refrain from living together until you’ve made your marriage covenant.”
“That one’s easy,” Hunter says. “Don’t even live in the same state right now. Is there a box to check for that?”
“Uh, no,” Father Patrick answers, scanning the page with his pointer finger, serious. He summarizes the next point without looking at either Hunter or me. “It also is suggested you refrain from physical intimacy from now till the wedding.”
“Once again, not in the same state,” Hunter says, and then mouths “for now.”
Father Patrick accepts his answer and doesn’t ask me anything directly. His cheeks are flushed, and though Hunter likely thinks he’s a sexually repressed religious ideologue, I can tell this isn’t easy or comfortable for him.
“I know we’re short on time, so I’ll read the closing of this section. It’s a good summary, and I’ll copy the pages for you to look through on your own.” He turns three pages and then points to a paragraph at the bottom of the last one.
My head pounds as he reads. “The Catholic Church teaches every act of sexual intercourse is planned by God to express love, commitment, and openness to life. It is a gift of total intimacy.” He glances up at me and then back at the page, the brief eye contact sending a shock through my nervous system. I watch his mouth make the shape of each word as he closes his reading with, “This, we believe, is only available in marriage.”
Total intimacy.
The phrase sticks with me, and I consider my relationship with Hunter. We have physical intimacy, and we have some emotional intimacy, for sure. But total intimacy? The phrase loops through my mind, creating a hypnotic buzz that overrides anything Patrick is saying.
“And just to be clear—we do have that ‘openness to life’ part. We definitely want kids. Right, Lisey?”
I blink. I want kids. I’ve wanted them since before I said yes to Dean six years ago. It’s why I pay the bill at the cryo center every month to keep my eggs safe so my biological clock wouldn’t impact my decision to be a parent. But am I ready for them now? With Hunter?
“Yeah,” I respond, catching up with the pace of the conversation. “Eventually.”
“Don’t say that in front of the priest, babe. You know how they feel about birth control,” Hunter jokes. Father Patrick’s face is flat without any traces of his usually active sense of humor.
“Children are a gift from the Lord,” he mumbles, and writes something in his binder. “You can let Mac know we’re ready to move on,” Patrick adds, turning to the next section, and I slink down in my seat, sending out a quick text to Mac, trying not to think about babies or intimacy any longer.
Hunter looks at his watch and changes the subject before Father Patrick can give any further family planning advice.
“Oh, really quick before they get back in here. Not to rush you at all, but I have a call with Australia at seven, so I’ll have to ditch out in a few. I know—bad timing, but it popped up today, and I can’t miss.”
Seven o’clock? I check the time on my phone. That’s ten minutes from now.
Thirty minutes. That’s how long he spared for this meeting. I’ve seen him make four-hour international conference calls during a merger. He’s ditched out of all our previous Pre-Cana sessions and joked his way through this one. This whole stupid documentary was more his idea than mine, but somehow, it’s ended up on my plate entirely, as though I don’t have my own life and my own business to run.
“We’ll fit in what we can,” Father Patrick says as Mac and the crew file in, and I’m glad he replies because I know my irritation will be noticeable if I respond.
“Ready?” Mac asks, and with the clack of a clapper, we’re rolling again, this time talking about safer topics like household budgeting and balancing family time with work. The subject matter is boring, and I can’t imagine Mac finding much to work with, but I love seeing Patrick doing what he’s most passionate about—helping others. He makes me feel safe to share my thoughts and emotions. He protected me when I didn’t want to have an audience witness my most private secrets.
Total intimacy.
No. It’s not something I have with Hunter. And despite what the church says, I don’t think I’ll suddenly find it when I’m married to him. But Patrick . . .
“Love you, babe. Call you later,” Hunter says as he logs off.
“Love you too,” I say back, following the age-old script for couples saying goodbye.
“Let’s call that a day,” Mac declares, and the small crew works to strike the equipment. Father Patrick stows the Pre-Cana binder in a drawer and snakes his way through the organized pandemonium. I slip my computer into my bag and follow him. He’s leaning over to rearrange the hymnals in the rack on the back of the front pew.
“Hey, sorry about that,” I say, using my thumb to point to the office door.
“What for?” he asks, sounding uninterested.