Stepping Out in Faith - 14. Chapter 11a

Marcus was early to brunch. He sat in the corner with his sunglasses on and drained his Bellini. The waiter couldn’t refill it fast enough. He felt like shit; he knew he looked like shit. Not sleeping for a couple of nights would do that. But Marcus didn’t care anymore; Andy had left him.

“You’re here early.” Cheryl slipped into the other seat. “You’re never early. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Marcus said. “I just couldn’t sleep. Had nothing else to do.”

Cheryl frowned at him. She didn’t buy his excuse.

“Take your sunglasses off and tell me exactly what’s wrong.”

Marcus grabbed the sunglasses off his face and just barely caught himself before he threw them onto the table. He felt his mother’s eyes on him as he tossed back his Bellini and waved it at the waiter to ask for a refill.

When he put the glass back on the table a little too forcefully, she took it and moved it out of his reach.

“How many of these have you had?”

Marcus narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“Because you look drunk and its barely noon. Are you hung over?” Cheryl did not look impressed.

Marcus rolled his eyes and stared out across the restaurant.

“Marcus.” Cheryl used her warning voice, but Marcus detected a twinge of fear. He hated when she sounded like that, like she was worried about him. “What is going on?”

“Nothing,” Marcus mumbled under his breath. “Andy broke it off, that’s all. He’s in the closet; we all knew that. And he’s going to stay in the closet; we all knew that, too. I was just stupid enough to think I could change him.”

To her credit, Cheryl didn’t come back with a smart retort. Instead, she waited for him to continue. Marcus couldn’t stop himself from filling in the deafening silence. “I may have come down a little harsh on Christianity and its views against gays.” Marcus glanced at his mother; the concern on her face only served to irritate him more.

“He said his faith required sacrifice, and this was his sacrifice. We were his sacrifice.” Marcus shifted in his seat to try to ease the pain of those words as they throbbed in the middle of his chest. “And I said that it was bullshit, that the whole thing was bullshit, and he was just too scared to admit it. It didn’t go over so well.”

Marcus held out his hand. “Can I have my glass back now?”

“No, you’ve been drinking too much.”

“Mom!” Marcus didn’t care if he sounded like a whiney teenager.

Cheryl sighed. “Look, sweetheart, I know how you feel. It’s infuriating what some Christians think about homosexuality. It makes the rest of us look like horrible people.”

“Exactly!” Marcus threw his hands up in the air and let them drop to the table with a thud. He ignored the curious glances from people seated beside them in the restaurant.

“I don’t understand why he can’t just see things the way you and Dad see things. You’ve never had a problem with me being gay. Why is he so blind?”

“Sweetheart.” Cheryl grasped her son’s hand in her own. “You have to put yourself in his position. It sounds like his faith is everything to him, so he’s looking at things from a different perspective.”

She squeezed his hand. “Your father and I never forced you to go to church once you were old enough to decide for yourself. You always had the choice to believe what you want, to explore other faiths and other ideologies, and to make your own choices about spirituality. But maybe Andy never had that choice; maybe all he’s ever known is that very conservative version of Christianity, and it’s been so ingrained in him that he can’t separate himself from it.”

Marcus didn’t like what he was hearing, didn’t like how much it made sense. It was easier to be stubborn and angry than to be accommodating and understanding.

“You have to imagine what it would feel like to abandon everything you’ve ever known and ever believed about the world and your place in it.” Cheryl sighed. “It must be terrifying, especially if he doesn’t have the support of family behind him.”

Marcus scowled and leaned back with his arms folded across his chest. “What am I supposed to do with that?”

“I don’t know.” Cheryl’s shrug was an elegant lift of the shoulders. “I guess it depends on whether this is something worth fighting for.”

Marcus paused. Was he strong enough to put himself out there again? And yet, he was terrified of walking away from the love of his life.

“What if it is?” he whispered. He stared down at the table, unable to meet his mother’s penetrating gaze.

“Well, the first thing is to reach out to him again. It sounds like you both have a lot to talk about. But you need to be patient. Try to understand why he thinks the way he does. Don’t just dismiss it outright.”

Marcus wasn’t sure if he liked the sound of that. But what choice did he have?

*****

Marcus slipped past the heavy oak door and into a dimly lit room that looked like it had been carved out of a giant block of wood. Floodlights had been set up on the wooden rafters above, but the room was cavernous, and the light didn’t make much of a dent in the darkness.

Marcus took a seat in the back pew and then jumped up again when everyone else suddenly stood.

“The Lord be with you,” said an older man dressed in fancy robes from the pulpit.

“And also with you,” the fifty or so people intoned together.

“May almighty God bless you, the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.”

“Amen,” said the congregation, again in unison.

“Go in the peace of Christ.”

“Thanks be to God.” A quiet murmur followed as people gathered their things.

It had been a while since Marcus had attended any church service, and this was the first time he had attended a Catholic mass. He had never heard people all reciting the same words together out loud, and he had to admit he found it kind of creepy.

He waited in his seat for the crowd to thin before he made his way to the front. Andy was off to the side, dressed in those fancy robes. It was a little weird; Marcus hadn’t seen Andy in any of his priest clothing since that day at the baseball game. The sight of him brought up some naughty images before Marcus scolded himself; he was in church, for heaven’s sake.

Marcus’ stuffed his shaking hands into his pockets and hoped he didn’t look as nervous as he felt. Andy had been pretty clear about his intention to stay in the closet, but Marcus felt like he had to give it one more shot—give them one more shot. He had tried texting and calling, but when that didn’t work, the only thing he could think of was to just show up on Sunday.

Despite his nerves, Marcus felt a silly, stupid grin tug at his cheek. He hadn’t seen Andy since that night Andy walked out of his apartment, and just seeing the other man across the room affected Marcus more than he wanted to admit. He itched to run over and pull Andy into his arms, smell his woodsy scent and know the rightness that came with holding him. But Marcus restrained himself and quietly approached while Andy chatted with an elderly lady.

As he drew closer, Andy looked up from his conversation and spotted Marcus halfway down the aisle. True to form, Marcus could read each and every one of Andy’s emotions as they ran across the handsome man’s face. First was surprise, followed by a brief spike of happiness, which was quickly replaced by shock and then panic and terror. By the time Marcus was within earshot, Andy had turned his attention back to the grandmother and was doing his best to ignore Marcus.

Marcus’ heart sank. He thought that maybe Andy would be happy to see him, had harbored a flicker of hope that this was the right move. But he was clearly wrong. He shouldn’t have come here; this was a mistake. Yet instead of turning and marching out, Marcus found himself drawing closer, as if his body was pulled toward Andy by an invisible force.

Andy only acknowledged Marcus’ presence again after the grandmother turned to him with a welcoming smile. Andy’s own smile looked forced.

“Hi.” Andy jumped in quickly. “You must be new; I haven’t seen you here before. I’m Father Dylan, you are?”

Marcus froze. Of all the possible reactions he had imagined, this was not one he had anticipated. He blinked blankly a few times as his brain rushed to process what was happening. Marcus glanced at the kindly looking grandmother with the sweet smile and then back at Andy, eyes large with panic and fear.

Marcus stuck out his hand formally. “I’m Marcus,” he said flatly.

He saw Andy swallow with a bob of his Adam’s apple before he shook Marcus’ hand. Marcus gripped the familiar hand, now wet with a layer of nervous sweat, and squeezed tightly. Andy’s Adam’s apple bobbed again.

The grandmother introduced herself and welcomed Marcus to the church, oblivious to the tension between the two men. Marcus vaguely heard her comment on how nice it was to have new young people join them, but most of it was drowned out by the pounding in his ears. He dropped Andy’s hand as if it burned him.

“Thank you, Mrs.... Ma’am,” Marcus said to the grandmother without taking his eyes off Andy. “I’m afraid I have to go. Have a nice day.”

He turned and stalked out of the church quickly. He didn’t trust himself to stay in that place one moment longer without strangling Andy.

Once outside in the midday sun, Marcus stopped to catch his breath. How could he have been so stupid? Andy had made himself perfectly clear. Who was he to barge into Andy’s life and expect to be welcomed with open arms? God, he was so stupid. Stephen was right; this wasn’t worth it. The excruciating pain that threatened to cripple him on the steps of that church was not worth it.

The door opened behind him, and Marcus turned to see Andy come out, still dressed in his robes. Turning on his heel, Marcus marched away, fast.

“Marcus, wait!” Andy called after him.

Marcus ignored him and kept walking.

“Marcus!”

He stopped only because of Andy’s hand pulling on his arm.

“What? Now you know who I am?” Marcus strained to keep his voice down, not wanting half of the New York sidewalk to know his humiliation.

Andy sighed; his eyes pleaded. “It’s not like that. It’s... What are you doing here?”

Marcus laughed bitterly and looked away; he didn’t trust himself to speak. He couldn’t believe he thought it would be a good idea to come. How could he have been so foolish to believe that he was anything more than a convenient little side fuck for the priest who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants?

“Marcus, look at me.” Andy put a hand on Marcus’ arm and squeezed familiarly.

Marcus stepped back to move out of arm’s reach. “Do you really think it’s a good idea to touch me?” He snarled at Andy. “You wouldn’t want your precious parishioners to know that you’re a little gay fucker who likes to moan while taking my big cock up your ass.”

Andy paled, jaw hardened, eyes wide with shock and disbelief.

Marcus grinned coldly, maliciously. “Yeah, didn’t think so.”

He turned but stopped when Andy’s hand landed on his arm again.

“Marcus, wait.”

When Andy didn’t continue, Marcus shook Andy’s hand off. “What? Haven’t you humiliated me enough today?”

“No, I mean. Why are you doing this?”

“Why am I doing this?” Marcus spun around again. “I’m not doing anything. You’re the one pretending we don’t know each other. And you know what? That’s probably a good idea. Let’s just forget we ever met. You’ve had your little joy ride through the gay-borhood, so you can just go back to your church and rot away in the closet. We’ll both be better off that way.”

When he turned to leave this time, there was no hand stopping him. And while Marcus told himself that he had won the argument, he didn’t feel like a winner by any sense of that word.