Celibate. Maria Giura

pity for us—I am more me with you than I am with anyone else. You’re a gift from God. I love you, James.

      The following night I was standing at my stove nervously waiting for the kettle to whistle. James was sitting in a chair that he’d pulled out far enough that he could cross his legs, which had made the backyard sensor light go on. Even though I knew it was far from prudent, when he asked if he could come over, I said yes, hoping that in person I’d finally have the nerve to tell him.

      “Last night was so nice,” he said.

      “It was,” I said, smiling nervously, my thoughts drifting back to Julie’s question. I picked up the ceramic decanter from the center of the table even though it wasn’t in the way and was about to place it down on the counter when the kettle whistled. I jumped, almost dropping the decanter. James looked at me as if he should help, but he turned red instead and then looked relieved when I steadied it. I pulled out a potholder from the utensil drawer, poured the water in the mugs, and let James walk me through his mother’s secret for getting honey out of a jar without dripping it, which made him self-conscious again.

      “Straight from Maria Infanzi’s kitchen,” he said. The sound of my name next to his made my hands shake again.

      “How was your day?”

      “Good. I met with a young guy who is thinking of converting.”

      “That must be so rewarding for you. Someone who’s actually choosing the faith and not just taking it for granted, because it was handed to him.”

      “It is,” he said, seeming surprised and grateful to have someone ask about his work. “Nice guy, too. Then I got a workout in. The stairmaster. Felt great.”

      “Like your blood is clean.”

      “Exactly.”