Chapter 2 – The Date
Peter awoke the very next day with new eyes. Although experience had failed him, he had it on good authority that new relationships bring with them a whole melting pot of conflicting emotions which didn't belong in the same sentence, let alone emotional equilibrium.
Fear, elation, despair, joy – he'd had felt them all within the last 24 hours and the best was yet to come. The curate went about his usual morning routine – coffee, toast, teeth, shower – before dressing in his standard ecclesiastical attire, all the while, thinking of her.
He was always thinking about her.
Their situation was far from ordinary. He was still, for all intents and purposes, an ordained Priest – the gargantuan elephant in the room, which he and Assumpta were doing a stand up job of ignoring. His vow of celibacy didn't factor into their decision. It didn't get a vote. Perhaps it was implied that he should be seeking an exit from his vows – he was all in after all. But somehow Peter didn't feel now was the right time to add another layer of complication to the mix.
It was an excuse – he knew that. In truth, he was afraid. The Church was all he'd ever known and although he'd made peace with the fact that this was an all-or-nothing situation they were in, Peter understood that there was a right way to leave, as well as a wrong one. He would leave, that much was certain, but he'd do it on his own terms – in his own timeline.
This did make episodes, like the one from last night, nigh on impossible while he still wore the collar – he realised as much now. Eamon's inadvertent intervention was perhaps a blessing in disguise. As with leaving the priesthood, there was a right way and a wrong way to consummate their relationship – and the decision to do either shouldn't be taken at all lightly.
Last night, he decided, was a one off – for now at least. As much as he wanted her, as much as he craved her, Peter needed to keep a sensible head and remember his resolution.
Whatever it takes, Assumpta… I'm all in.
For the good and the bad, he was all in. He'd do everything he could to make this work and if that meant waiting a little longer to finish that kiss – that ground-shattering kiss which even still, shook him to the core – he would. Because that was the right thing to do.
He just needed to keep convincing himself of that.
Assumpta was firmly aboard the same rollercoaster of emotions as the curate. Worry and frustration filled her every thought, but all the while she couldn't prevent herself from smiling.
Her good mood didn't go unnoticed by the regulars – Brendan, Padraig and Siobhan – who did a good job of propping up the bar this Friday lunchtime.
"Someone sure is please with themselves…"
"The cat that got the cream."
The publican dismissed their good-natured jibes with the usual repartee, which did nothing to quash their curiosity.
"C'mon, out with it Assumpta. Who's got you grinning from ear-to-ear?"
She shrugged, nonchalantly. "Who says it's a someone?"
Siobhan looked on doubtfully – "You don't wear a smile that wide without a someone in the picture, that's for sure."
"We need a name, Assumpta."
As if on cue, Peter walked through the door.
"Peter." The publican made another attempt at nonchalance, checking and rechecking the cadence of her voice as she offered him a pint of stout.
If they picked up on anything, the regulars didn't give anything away, opting instead to return to a long-standing debate about the correct height of a head on Guinness.
Peter took a table at the far end of the bar, out of ear shot from anyone but Assumpta, if he had warranted her attention.
Which, following the activities of the previous night, of course he had.
"Looking pleased with yourself there, Father…"
"It is a rather spectacular day."
"Birds singing, sun shining…"
" – and the rest." Peter smiled dopily before adding, without a second thought, "I love you."
Assumpta had heard this from the curate before of course but it still caught her off guard. He'd hinted as much during those perilous, early declarations – all angst and abject torment. Then he'd said it again during the all in conversation, more definitely this time, before assuaging her of his intentions – his confirmation that this thing he felt couldn't be ignored.
But no matter how often she'd heard it, each time caught her completely off guard.
And it was wonderful.
"Would you take that thing off before you say such a thing?" Never one to embrace sentiment, the publican instead drew attention to his very-real-and-very-current dog collar.
"Can't help it."
"I know." Assumpta sighed, playfully. "It's a problem."
A panicked expression crossed Peter's face. "The dog collar?"
"When coupled with I love you." Assumpta clarified. "Surely that's a tenth date sort of assertion for a curate?" she joked, nervously
"Ten dates, you say?" Peter took a fortifying drag of his pint. "Strictly speaking we've yet to have a single one."
"Is that right?" She smirked, preventing herself from finishing the sentence with 'and last night was…' Instead Assumpta took a breath. "How do the rules stand on asking a Priest out?"
Peter gulped. Would he always be this nervous around her? "Strictly verboten, I'd say."
"Verboten, huh?" The publican smiled. "How do the rules stand on being invited out for a free supper on the Brewery's dime?"
"A Brewery dinner, you say?"
"Perks of the job."
"Well, who ever said no to a free meal?"
"It's a date, then." Assumpta smirked, vindicated. "Or not-quite-a-date."
The curate leaned in, noticeably closer, as he told Assumpta in a hushed tone, "I'd call it a date."
"A date." Assumpta's smile reached her eyes – an expression which, as every past or present BallyK resident would attest to, was as rare as hen's teeth. But lately, this disgruntled publican had been doing a lot of smiling. In fact, recently, Assumpta Fitzgerald had been doing very little else.
And it made the curate love her all the more.
"Tonight?" he asked, before quickly adding "It's been a while since I picked up anyone for a date so you'll have to refresh me on the specifics."
Assumpta met him halfway across the bar, before telling him "Well, I think it's customary for you to arrive at eight. To bring the Javelin, of course."
"Of course."
"To wear something other than – this" Assumpta gestured to the Priest's current attire.
"Not sure I own anything else, but go on…"
"and you're to have me home before 11" she added with a smile. "Curfew."
Peter beamed from ear to ear. "And flowers? Don't the men in the talkies always bring flowers?"
"Customarily, something with carnations."
"I'll take a look in Hendley's"
"Don't even think about it."Never one to adhere to proper date convention, she was touched by the sentiment all the same. She had a date with Peter. They were actually going to go on a date! Her stomach flipped in anticipation.
Peter drained his pint in one fell swoop and stood up to leave.
"I'll see you tonight, then" he said just loud enough for her to hear him.
Assumpta fell back onto her other foot, unaware that's she'd been doing a precarious balance this entire time. She watched the Priest leave. Her Priest – her Peter – before allowing herself the luxury of a fresh intake of breath.
They were going on a date. An actual date. Sometimes she felt the need to pinch herself about how well this was all going. Last night's unfortunate interruption aside, they were off to a good start. It was so entirely refreshing to be with a man who made good on his intentions. A man who spelled out how he felt before they progressed any further. Every man in Assumpta's life had disappointed her in that respect. Whether it was her father, who kept her at arm's length right up to his dying day, or the men who'd come before and since, men who insisted on playing those tiresome games which she'd never had an ounce of energy for.
Assumpta always spoke in plain English – and she liked to surround herself with people who did the same. Peter had forever been an enigma to the publican, which frustrated and intrigued her in equal measure. Sure, he'd piqued her interest over the years – this much was certain, but Assumpta could never relinquish that nagging doubt that she was being set up for an almighty fall. She was going to get hurt.
Now at last, he was speaking to her in the right language. They were on the same page. He loved her. They were dating. Let the chips fall where they may, she could at the very least hold onto this.
And yet again, the publican smiled from ear to ear.
...
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