Page 44 of Gay for Pray
I’m a fool for giving so much to a man who can’t give me the same in return, but I’ve never been very good at using my head to deny my heart. There’s a big hurt barreling toward me because of the choices I’m making right now, but that sure knowledge isn’t enough to scare me away.
“Theo,” I start.
Then he shoves me away so hard I almost trip over my own feet. He goes stiff, just like he was back in the practice room, any relief I might have granted him vanishing in a blink. I barely have time to be confused before I hear Mr. Jones’s voice behind us.
“There you are,” the director says. “It’s almost time. You boys ready?”
“Yes, Mr. Jones,” Theo says immediately. “I was on my way back.”
I have my back to the director, my heart breaking all over my face as I stare at a Theo who’s a complete and total stranger, a Theo so closed off he might as well be made of ice. I swallow, clearing my throat, gathering my voice, trying to find the strength to play the game Theo needs me to play. His eyes flicker to me for an instant, a plea in those brown-gold depths, and Isteel myself. I knew this was coming. I knew this was part of the deal. It’s ridiculous to get upset about something I understood as inevitable from the very first second.
“I just need to use the bathroom real quick.”
I’m speaking to Mr. Jones, but my eyes remain trained on Theo, searching for any glimmer of closeness or humanity. He looks away, refusing to meet my gaze and dashing my hopes in the process.
I nearly throw myself into the bathroom. Mr. Jones promptly forgets about me and focuses on Theo. Of course he does. I’m a spare voice, a heathen who doesn’t belong in this church in the first place. Theo is the one destined for something bigger.
When I rejoin the choir, Mr. Jones ushers us into the church. It’s filled to capacity, people standing along the sides to flank the full pews. It’s the most crowded this place has ever been, but even when I take my place shoulder-to-shoulder with Nick and the others, I couldn’t be more alone.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Theodore
I DON’T SO MUCH as glance Jude’s direction throughout Mass. After nearly getting caught in the hall, I put as much distance as I can between us while we stand mere steps apart in the choir.
It isn’t as easy as I might hope. No matter how hard I try to focus, my mind strays to him. I swear I can hear his voice rising above the rest, that sweet, lovely pitch that’s his and his alone. It cuts through every other voice in that choir, bounding around the church’s high ceilings and reverberating in my chest. It echoes with accusation. Why do I keep running? Why am I pushing him away only to go crawling back?
I don’t have any answers for him. I don’t even have answers for myself. I need to get through this one day without inciting any sort of calamity. If I can survive the choir performance and my parents’ presence in the pews, I can deal with Jude afterward.
My voice cracks, a tripwire catching my ankles just when I think I’ve managed to steady myself. I right myself as quickly as I can, but Mr. Jones’s glance tells me I wasn’t fast enough.
That means my father noticed too.
He wouldn’t let something like that slip by. He’s listening to every note, searching for the sort of cracks that just appeared. I’ll hear about it later, I’m sure, but as long as he doesn’t ask me about Jude, as long as he doesn’t suspect I’m doing anything but singing and going to class, I can survive his scorn.
This all might be easier if I hadn’t let Jude touch me out in the hall. I was feeling weak, and he offered comfort, but I should have said no. I should have kept some distance. Then again, I should have never started this thing with Jude in the first place. If I’d stuck to my beliefs and principles, I wouldn’t be standing here trying not to glance Jude’s direction and hoping my voice doesn’t crack.
We finish the song and sit so Mass can continue. I hardly hear what the priest says. Normally, I’d be glued to the day’s sermon, but I can’t seem to focus on a single word today, as though he’s speaking a language I don’t know. My mind drifts back to Jude sitting somewhere off to my side, to the things we’ve done together, to the last time I saw him and how it felt being inside him. My body tingles with the memory, threatening to stir even as I sit in church below a huge crucifix. Faith fights a losing battle against the phantom feel of Jude’s body touching mine.
I almost miss the cue to stand. Somehow, I’ve daydreamed through the entirety of Mass. Only this final song remains, then the priest will bid everyone a good Sunday and send them on their way. Many will linger, including my parents, enjoying this rare opportunity to experience Mass at the university.
I earn another look from Mr. Jones for my near miss on the cue to stand, but I square my shoulders and pour all my focus into our final song of the morning. This time, my voice doesn’t crack, even though I swear I hear Jude shining brightly on the higher end of the range. I steel myself against my own fantasies, and somehow, eventually, the longest Mass of my life comes to a close.
That doesn’t mean I’m free.
This next part will be even worse. As most of the parishioners filter out of the church, clusters of parents and friends remain, all of them eager to greet their loved ones in the choir. My family is among them, but as I watch my fellows in the choir go to meettheir families, I notice Jude standing off to the side with his friend, Nick. Has no one come to see him? He spoke so warmly of his mother. I assumed she’d be here, even if she, like her son, isn’t particularly religious.
I want to wonder about it more, but then my family reaches me, and I dare not cast another look in Jude’s direction. The real performance begins the moment my mother wraps me in a crushing hug.
“That was wonderful,” she says too loudly in my ear. She pushes away to hold me at arm’s length, pride shining in her eyes. “And you were absolutely wonderful. What a lovely service. Wasn’t it a lovely service, dear?”
She looks to my father for confirmation, but the pride is missing from his eyes. I want to cringe away, but hold my composure. If there’s one saving grace, it’s that my sister didn’t join my parents for this little adventure. I’m sure she prefers to spend her weekend with her friends, thank goodness.
“You seemed unfocused,” my father says. “Everything alright, son?”
My blood runs cold. Did I look at Jude? I’m sure I didn’t. At least, I was sure until my father started prodding me about the performance. I was trying not to look, but what if my eyes slid Jude’s direction and I didn’t notice? My father wouldn’t miss something like that, especially because my singing was off.
“I’m great,” I say. “Just tired. Studying a lot.”
