Moving On
Three months has passed since hot pries told me that he loved me and walked out of my life followed by a fox. Usually when someone left me I would go on a shagging spree. This time it felt as though I were cheating on him, even though he had left me. And not even for another woman or a man, but for God
Right now, I wished t had been for another woman or man. Then I could feel self-righteous about it. But when it was God, I somehow felt that I should have known better. In a way I had. Even I had been in shock when I realised, I was in love with a priest.
They say, although I don't know who they are, that misery loves company. That is usually how I get myself into trouble. So instead, I barricaded myself away in my flat and got every recipe book I owned, which is two, out and focused on creating new recipes for my café.
Six attempts in and two trips to the supermarket, I have come up with a recipe that is edible and tasty. Not even the birds are tempted by the other five. At least there is something to try out for chatty Wednesday.
I've made the decision somewhere during recipe attempt number five (never mix a savoury and a sweet recipe thinking it's a guaranteed success. That rarely happens.), that I should focus on loving myself. Part of that was staying away from Godmother, who is not happy unless she is putting someone down while boosting herself up. Any excuse not to have to see those monstrosities she calls art.
My plan is working well. I make it through chatty Wednesday despite not feeling very chatty. My baking creation goes down a treat. The only downside was a Cop turning up to ask us to keep down the noise.
The usual approach from me would be to flirt with him with a possibility of jumping him. Today all he's getting is a free muffin. Clearly, I am experiencing self-growth. I only think about hot priest once that week. For four hours.
Another month passes and my heart aches a little less. I have taken up hobbies instead of me. I tried pottery but that just reminded me of that scene in ghost. So, I tried oil painting but that just gave me something in common with Godmother and we can't have that. Writing gave me a creative outlet although I have yet to try and get anything published or even know if I want to. Still, I find it therapeutic.
Six months later and Clare calls to let me know the divorce from Martin has been finalised. Reason enough to celebrate and my skin can stop crawling from his presence at family gatherings. Better news is that Clare is marrying Klare. My sister who I admire most of the time has finally found someone who is worthy of her and doesn't have a creepy son.
Another three months and I'm wearing a pink bridesmaid dress which is so not my colour. I check to see who is conducting the service, but it is one of Clare and Klare's friends who got ordained for the occasion online. It's a lovely service even with Godmother making an ongoing commentary throughout. It is a blessing that the newlyweds don't notice. That looks nice being in the euphoria of wedded bliss. I leave the reception early since I have to open the café tomorrow and Godmother is getting on my wick.
Despite being incredibly overdressed, I stop by the mall for a few things. Ignoring the curious stares is easy, after all I've been ignoring Godmother for years. But his voice is difficult to ignore especially in the produce section.
"I didn't realise it was black tie to shop these days." That Irish lilt gets me every time. Please let him be grossly disfigured when I turn around.
"Only on a trial basis." Nope, not grossly anything. God, he's even better looking than ever. How is that even fair?
"How have you been?" How can he look so calm when I'm internally freaking out?
"Fine. Busy. Clare got remarried today." Keep the conversation on Clare instead of mentally undressing him.
"Oh wow. That explains the outfit." He never looks away when he speaks to me. All of this intense eye contact is arousing me to the point that I may melt in front of the telegraph cucumbers. "Anyone I know."
"Not sure if you met Klare from Finland." Clare was travelling to Finland and back at the time. I had only met him twice before Clare dumped Martin and left our father's wedding to try and catch up to Klare at the airport.
"She married some who is also named Clare and he's from Finland." This is one of the things I love about him. He's not judging, just clarifying information.
"Yeah, only his name is spelt with a K." Not that it makes any difference. "They make a lovely couple." I should go. "Well, it's good seeing you. I have to get some baking done for the café." I feel his hand on my arm as I go to leave.
"You talked about Clare but how are you?" Damn, I was hoping he would miss that.
"Fine. The café's doing well. And you?" It's easy to switch the conversation back onto him. After all, he doesn't want to hear that I miss him. That I have gotten used to being alone, but life is better with him in it.
"I miss you." His hand slips down my arm to take my hand. He takes a step closer, and his scent brings all of my memories of that night back.
"You chose God." Alright I'm still a little bitter about that. I mean seriously, who can compete with that?
"I wish I didn't have to choose." He smells so good.
"You don't. I think the wardrobe was the deciding factor. Otherwise, you would have found a way to serve God and be with me." I need to go, now.
That made him look away, but not for long. "You may be right. Is there someone else?"
"No." I thought about lying for a minute but that seemed a bigger sin that having sex with him last year. I had been completely honest about that and both of us took part in it. I gently remove my hand from his. He knows where to find me if things changed. I can see in his expression that he understands that I need to go. We can't be friends. We'd already tried that.
Even though it is the last thing I want to do, I walk away my trolley in a bridesmaid gown. I quickly finish my shopping and head home. You know I'm quite proud of myself. I chose to do the right thing.
