Page 35 of Alone With You in the Ether

Someone cleared their throat behind her. It was time for communion.

She moved to release Aldo’s hand, about to trudge up to the altar, but he tightened his grip, stepping back to let the others pass. A slow trickle of four or so people slid by them, making their way to the center aisle, but Aldo sat down, not releasing her. She sat beside him, their joined hands floating between them for a moment before Regan decided to place them in the narrow vacancy between her leg and his, resting atop the wooden pew.

Then she swallowed, placing each of the tips of her fingers onto the raised calluses of his palm. They were more noticeable this way, when his hand was relaxed. She placed them one by one, index-middle-ring-pinky, and he curled his fingers around hers, drawing a slow circle along the knuckle of her forefinger.

They were both staring up at the altar, the rest of their respective pieces motionless and still, and she slid her fingers between his, interlacing them carefully.

His thumb stroked a hovering line over hers, journeying upwards from second knuckle to third.

She drew hers along the crease of his wrist.

The music ended. Prayer resumed.

Aldo turned her hand over, this time twining the backs of their fingers together.

She gave him a single pulse of pressure, heart banging in her throat.

The priest announced something about canned foods.

Blessings, blessings, blessings. Their palms met up again. Aldo’s fingers stretched out below her sleeve, running over her wrist. She grew increasingly conscious of her breath. She breathed in through her nose, swallowing, and breathed out. Her ribs expanded, stretching out to make room. She felt intensely aware of her breasts.

Around them, the congregation rose, and Aldo released her.

Her hand floated back to her side.

Shuffling out once the priest had gone was the most mundanely halted process. Regan felt mortal again; sapped of reverence, drained of any magnitude. She felt heavy, corporeal and dull, the sky outside no brighter than it had been when they arrived. She turned to face Aldo, opening her mouth to say something, and stopped when his eyes fell on hers.

He wasn’t just unconventionally handsome, she realized.

He was uncommonly beautiful.

“What did you learn?” he asked neutrally.

That I could study you for a lifetime, carrying all of your peculiarities and discretions in the webs of my spidery palms, and still feel empty-handed.

“You do… martial arts,” she said, clearing her throat, “or something. I thought maybe weight-lifting at first,” she explained, struggling with her grudging return to normalcy, “because of the calluses on your hands, but I don’t think so.” Not after knowing you. “Your knuckles are bruised.”

If he was disappointed by her answer, he didn’t show it. “They are,” he confirmed, nodding.

“And you?” she asked, a little breathless. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this kind of apprehension, or possibly anticipation. “What did you learn about me?”

He reached forward wordlessly, taking her right hand and twisting her Claddagh ring to the side.

She looked down, noting the paler skin revealed beneath it.

“You don’t take this off,” he said, not looking up.

“No,” she agreed.

“Who gave it to you?”

It was a traditional piece of jewelry, usually passed down through generations.

Usually.

“Me,” she said, and he nodded, releasing her hand and returning it to her.

“An unusual form of conversation,” he remarked. “Does it count?”

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