“We did,” I agreed. “And her idea of ‘birth control’ is the rhythm method.”
“Natural Family Planning,” Sara said. “That’s what they call it in the Church. It’s more than just the rhythm method, but I don’t know how, exactly. The priests gave these pamphlets to couples who were getting married. I was too young to care and had bigger problems anyway.” Her pause was as good as a shrug. “Is that what you wanna complain about?”
“Yeah. I’m not happy with it, whatever it’s called.”
“Don’t like schedules and having to pull out?” she chuckled.
“No, but it’s more than that. It’s mental as much as physical. I mean, I worry about what happens if I ‘forget’ to pull out. And what if she gets her dates wrong? She has a little calendar she uses, but I don’t know if her math is right in the first place. What if she added wrong or forgot to subtract or something? I worry about this crap every time we have sex. Okay, not every time, but before and after. The rest of the time, too. It’s exhausting!”
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Sara said after a long pause. “Have you talked to her about it?”
“Till I’m blue in the face. Her girlfriend did too, and she’s an actual scientist.”
“Hold on… Wren? I thought she was some kind of PR person.”
“Her other girlfriend, in San Diego.”
Sara laughed. “How many girlfriends does she have?”
“As many as she wants.”
“My kind of woman. And… it sounds like she’s a swinger already.”
“She sort of is. More about that later. Right now I’m complaining about her birth control.”
“Sorry.” Her sarcasm came through loud and clear. “I almost forgot.”
“I’m sure you think this is funny,” I griped, “but it’s really starting to bug me. It’s all I think about sometimes, and we’ve only been sleeping together a
week. She doesn’t want kids yet—”
“And you believe her?”
“Yeah, I do. She can’t lie to me. But still… if she doesn’t want kids yet, why won’t she get on the pill?”
“Catholic guilt.”
“Seriously? It can’t be that bad.”
“I don’t think you understand what it’s like. For girls, especially. They tell you to obey the Church. Obey your parents. Don’t ask questions. Do what you’re told. And they make you feel like it’s your fault if you aren’t pure and innocent. Everything’s a sin and you should feel guilty about it. Nothing you do is good enough.
“But they don’t really care. It’s all about appearances,” she added bitterly.
“They ignore cuts and bruises as long as you’re wearing a pretty dress. And they blame you for all the bad shit that happens to you. Never mind that your father’s a piece-of-shit drunk. But hey, he’s a man, the head of the house.
You’re supposed to honor and obey, and feel guilty if you don’t.
“The priests are the worst, though. They do some awful shit, while the Church covers it up and pretends nothing ever happened. No one does a thing, about any of it, even when it’s staring them in the face. They’re all fucking hypocrites!”
I didn’t know what to say.
Sara drew a ragged breath and slowly composed herself. “Sorry,” she said into the awkward silence. “I didn’t mean to go off like that. It’s just… I hate those people.”
“I can imagine.”
“No, you can’t. So fuck you!”
I knew she wasn’t angry at me, so I bore it in silence.
“Sorry,” she repeated after a moment. She sniffed and cleared her throat.
“Maybe I should call you back.”
“No! I mean… no. Take your time.”
“Okay, then hold on.” She set the phone down and blew her nose. She returned after nearly a minute. “Coffee. Should help,” she said. “Anyway, yeah, Catholic guilt. It fucks you up. It’s worse when you think that maybe you actually did something to deserve all that shit.”
“You didn’t.”
“You think I don’t know that, asshole?” She took a breath and tried to calm down. “Aw, fuck it. I don’t know why I’m yelling at you.”
“Sometimes it helps to vent. Like now. Besides, I know you aren’t angry at me.”
“I am for scaring me earlier.”
“Yeah,” I chuckled. “Sorry ’bout that.”
“It’s okay. Just don’t do it again. And don’t get annoyed at Christy because she won’t do things your way. She’s probably a lot more fucked-up in the head than you are.”
“I… hadn’t thought of that.”
“Well, you should’ve.”
“You’re right. Still—”
“Look, I know this isn’t what you want to hear,” Sara said, “but she’s sleeping with you, right? And you aren’t married. So she’s already disobeying the Church. Her parents, too. And she isn’t like me—she still believes this shit. Hell, she’s probably convinced herself that you’re married, at least in her head. And the birth control is her way to do it and still obey the Church. It might not seem like a big thing to you, but it’s important to her.”
I struggled to process what she’d just said. Oh, I understood it. I just didn’t like it. “Yeah, you’re right,” I said eventually, “that isn’t what I want to hear.”
“Too bad.”
“I know. Sex is a big deal for her, and sometimes I forget how much it goes against her upbringing.” Not to mention all the other things she does that aren’t on the list of Church-approved marital activities.
“Mmm hmm,” Sara said, faux-sweet. “Now, was there anything else you wanted to talk about?”
“Tempting, but… I think I’ve had enough fun for one day.” After a suitable pause I said, “So, how’re you? I know that sounds glib, but I really mean it.”
“I’m fucked-up in the head,” she laughed. “Worse now that you got me thinking about the past and shit I can’t control.”
“Sorry about that.”
“I know. It isn’t your fault. But I’m not really in the mood to talk anymore. No offense.”
“None taken.”
“What time is it? Jesus, it isn’t even seven thirty! Okay, I’m’a get dressed and take my camera out for a while. I need to be alone.”
“I understand.”
“Call me sometime this week. I’m working till Wednesday, but catch me any time after that.”
“Will do. And, Sara…?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad you survived. The world’s a better place with you in it.”
“Thanks,” she said softly. “You too.”
Christy flew up the stairs and into the bedroom, where I was sitting on the bed with my sketchbook. I wasn’t actually drawing anything, though.
Instead, it was an excuse to tell myself I was doing something when I was really just brooding about what Sara had said.
“Hello, Mr. Wonderful,” Christy chirped. “It’s a beautiful day. Come see!” She threw open the curtains and bent to open the window.
I stayed right where I was and admired the view of her slim backside. She was wearing a knee-length floral-print dress, frilly white ankle socks, and pink low-top Chuck Taylors. Her legs were toned and tan, and I didn’t need much imagination to picture her without the dress. She struggled with the window, so I set my sketchbook aside and went to help.
“It sticks unless you do it just right.” I wiggled the sash until it opened.
Christy nibbled the tip of her thumb and gave me a suggestive look. “You can do the same to me if you’d like.” She tugged my hand. “Come away from the window.” She glanced back as she neared the closet door. “I was thinking about you all the way home.”
“Good thoughts, I hope.”
“Very good. Very naughty.” She tilted her face up for a kiss and then ran her fingers through my hair as our lips met.