The Nineteenth Night.

 

We were halfway through our second game of crapaud when Nick said to me—in that completely casual way he likes to bring up topics that matter deeply to him, as though pretending not to care at all:

"You know we talked about you in my therapy session?"

"I’ll have to tell her it’s all lies and misunderstandings."

"Idiot," he said, laughing. "But seriously, we hardly ever talk about sex. She was the one who brought it up. I mean... everyone has sex and..."

"Would you like to have sex with me?"

He stopped, taken aback, and blushed.

"I... I don’t know."

I replied, "If I were to have sex with you, we’d be setting ourselves on a short and straight road to Hell—and I’d bear the heavier sentence. That being said, freedom obliges me to reject that option."

"You mean even if you wanted to... you wouldn’t?"

"Yes."

"You Catholics are all crazy."

"We always have been," I said, smiling. "In a broad sense, we Catholics always decide with two things in mind: first, the consequences of our actions; and second, our death—which is the gateway to eternal life. It’s like a compass. Does this action bring about a good that leads to Heaven, or an evil that drags me to Hell?"

He paused his game to mull over my words, and I paused too, to give him time.

"I’m thinking of my dad. He... he..."

"He only wanted to satisfy himself to feel happy."

"Yeah."

"Assuming there is a God, and that He loves you—and given the consequences of your father’s actions on your life—it’s only just that your father should receive some form of punishment from God. To love someone means to hate whatever harms them."

"I used to think all dads were like him."

"And I think we need to try that tea liqueur I made last week," I said, standing up to fetch the small glasses and the green bottle.

"Sorry for ruining your night," said Nick, wiping a tear from his cheek.

"You didn’t ruin anything. On the contrary—you’re making it richer. A friendship made only of fine wine and good laughs will never be solid. Cheers! To us!"

"Cheers!"

After a sip, Nick said:

"Whoa. This is good! Tea liqueur? I didn’t even know that was a thing."

"Anything is possible."

"You must think I’m an idiot."

"Never. You know, my godmother used to say: if you work with roses, your hands will smell like them. Could anyone go through what you’ve been through without bearing scars? That’s exactly why I respect you so much."

"If my dad had thought like you, I wouldn’t have been corrupted the way I was. Did I ever tell you my dad was Catholic?"

"So was Judas Iscariot. Worse—he was a bishop!"

"If I talk to my therapist about this conversation, I’m gonna drive her crazy!"

"Might be worth a try," I said—and we both laughed.