FH: Just Found Heaven Ch. 04: Ben

I still sighed before I placed the Bible on the nightstand. "I'll talk to him but I'm not going to promise that anything he says won't go right back out of the ear that it enters through."

"I'll take whatever I can get, you beautiful, obstinate man."

Charlie grinned as he ignored the indignant puff of sound that escaped my throat as I stood up again to rearrange and smooth the covers up and around his body. I knew that Charlie hated it when I fussed over him but considering that he was making me face demons I'd long ago trapped on the highest shelf of my mental closet, in a box that was reinforced with every kind of tape, and adhesive known to man because I hated the idea of coming face to face with them again, I felt like a bit of quid pro quo was in order.

"I'm going to make grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch."

"Ooh the one on brioce bread with fontina cheese, arugula and glazed pears?"

I grinned, letting go of my irritation for the moment because Charlie had always been a foodie. His appetite was limited these days so when he got excited about food, it was an extra incentive to cook for him. My enjoyment of time spent in the kitchen had always worked out well for us since Charlie couldn't cook worth a damn, and I enjoyed both the quiet time alone, and the comradery of sharing the meal afterward with someone else.

I'd come up with that grilled cheese recipe one day after making a recipe for a pear tart. I'd ended up with too many leftover ingredients and hadn't wanted to just throw them out. Waste not, want not had been a mantra in my family because with so many of us, we couldn't afford not to use up everything we had before going grocery shopping again. Charlie could afford to get rid of things we didn't need but I still preferred to try and find ways to clear out our refrigerator that didn't involve filling up our garbage bags. Our local homeless shelter wasn't able to accept already made meals due to legal restraints, so I always went through the refrigerator, and played MacGyver before I went grocery shopping to see what could be used up in interesting ways.

The fontina and pear grilled cheese sandwich was one of Charlie's favorites, as was my self-dubbed "clean out the fridge pasta," which was made up of whatever type of pasta I had in the pantry as well as any, and all vegetables that were on their way out and could go together nicely. I stirred it up with some pasta sauce or wine and butter if I was feeling ambitious. It was always different but generally delicious. The grilled cheese was easy in comparison, but I'd chosen it deliberately because I knew that Charlie liked it, and it took a little more time to prepare which meant I would have some time alone to clear my head.

"Yes, along with the honey and tomato bisque."

Charlie chuckled. "Do you think that inducing a food coma for me will get you off the hook? Your promised, Ben."

"I did, and if Father O'Brien decides to wander into the kitchen after spending time with you, I'll probably still be there doing meal prep for the rest of the week. You said he was Irish right? He can help me peel potatoes and feel right at home."

Charlie laughed so hard he ended up in a coughing fit, but after he managed to drink from the water glass on his nightstand on his own, he grinned widely.

"There's the sass. Good. Hold onto it, and when he challenges you, fight back. Father O'Brien won't take offense. He didn't when I argued against the idea that God chose us before we were born. He just showed me that God loves us, and that He heals. You just have to allow it."

"Do you think God will still feel that way if I seduce one of His people in the kitchen like you suggested earlier? That island is large enough that we might not even disturb the stack of potatoes while I make him hear choirs of angels."

Charlie chuckled again but when he leaned back a little more heavily into the pillows, I could tell he was tired. I stroked my hand over his jaw before I leaned over to brush the lightest kiss across his mouth, and then another to the top of his head. Like every time that I kissed him lately before leaving the room or the house on an errand, I wondered if this would be the last time that my lips ever touched his skin. He was fading faster than either of us wanted to acknowledge, but I kept that thought to myself. Charlie didn't need to deal with my anxiety, and I needed to keep my head level just in case Father O'Brien decided that he was both brave, and Irish enough to corner me in the kitchen later for a potentially awkward debate about the salvation of my tarnished soul via religion.

"Rest," I said before I pulled back.

Charlie's eyes were already closed though his breathing was steady, and warm across my fingertips when I held them just above his lips for a moment to make sure that I felt it. I pressed another kiss to his head, and then went downstairs.

The kitchen was ridiculously massive for only two people, but Charlie was old money, and during the days that he'd hosted lavish dinner parties, every inch of the kitchen would be crowded with cooks and waitstaff, the walls practically vibrating with warmth and excitement. These days however, it was just usually Charlie and I in the house by ourselves unless his doctor came to make a house call. Very few of his friends came by anymore, out of respect for Charlie's wishes for them to remember him the way he used to be before the cancer, not because they didn't care. Charlie had made it very clear to everyone early on after his terminal diagnosis that he didn't want anyone's pity. He'd flat out told me one day that he didn't want elevator style funeral music at his wake. He'd insisted on Mozart and Bach, and had smirked when I'd 'helpfully,' suggested sliding in some AC/DC as an intermission soundtrack.

Charlie had still had the strength to flip me off back then, growling about taking me with him on the way to hell, before he'd pushed me up against the island counter and dropped to his knees to take me in the opposite direction of fiery wrath. Some people were squeamish about kitchen sex but as long as you were an avid cleaner, and believer in disinfectant like I was, the kitchen was just another multipurpose room for enjoying something in your mouth. It'd been almost a year since the last time we'd disrespected the kitchen, but I still ran a clean dish rag sprayed with natural disinfectant over the granite out of habit so that I could start meal prep on it.

My lips twitched when I reached the corner that had left a light red mark on Charlie's midsection for a couple of hours after I'd drilled him into it. I doubted that God would approve of that particular memory if He was watching, especially when one of His shepherds was coming to offer words of comfort to Charlie, and possibly to exorcise me. Charlie had said that Father O'Brian was openminded, and compassionate but in my personal experience, there was a big difference in how people treated me when they met me casually without knowing my past profession, and how they reacted to me if they knew what I used to do for a living.

I forced myself to stop worrying about Father O'Brian' s potential judgement, then set the ingredients that I needed for the bisque on one end of the island counter for when I was ready to use them. The bisque took longer to cook than the grilled cheese did, so I always cooked it first, but the oven-roasted pears in the grilled cheese sandwich needed more prepping. While they baked in the oven, I'd work on the bisque.

I quickly washed and peeled the 2 large anjou pears before slicing them in half. Then I scooped out the middle before I seasoned them with coconut oil, coconut sugar, honey and a touch of lemon to add a balancing acidity. After I'd stuck them in the oven at 350 degrees, and set the timer for 20 minutes, I went over to the small Bluetooth speaker that I kept in the kitchen on the edge of the expansive island and connected it to my phone. Charlie had a very expensive home stereo system but I preferred this because it was portable, and I could easily adjust the volume so it wouldn't disturb Charlie when he was asleep, even though he liked to tease that it was just a, 'high-end boom box for young people.' I'd always countered by saying that if he really wanted to age himself, all he had to do was remember that he'd been in high-school when he'd watched his favorite movie in the theatre while I'd been playing with my Gi-Joes because I hadn't been old enough to watch anything rated higher than cartoons.

He'd always laughed, able to take as much as he gave. At least until the last few weeks when he'd begun to decline steadily a little more every day. Our OK-Corall worthy showdown upstairs had been the first time in months that I'd seen Charlie that passionate about anything, which was why I was down here making enough lunch for 3 people instead of just him and I.

I grumbled beneath my breath as I flipped through the playlists on my Spotify app, most of the grumbling just random dirty words in Spanish, though the curses were interspersed between what Charlie referred to as my, 'exasperated dinosaur noises.'

My playlists were eclectic, loaded with everything from the lively salsa I'd grown up with, to the afore mentioned AC/DC, and other rock bands. There was also an embarrassing amount of pop songs. I had a secret love affair with Beyonce, Brittney, and Lady Gaga. Everyone had their quirks. I settled on the pop playlist that began with Lady Gaga's, 'Telephone.' It was a tune that I could sing along with easily without paying attention to the words because it was cheerfully upbeat trash in verbal form, just like my favorite soap operas.

"Hello, hello, baby, you called, I can't hear a thing. I have got no service in the club, you see, see... Wha-wha-what did you say, oh you're breaking up on me. Sorry, I cannot hear you, I'm kinda busy. K-kinda busy, k-kinda busy..."

"Are you busy?"

I paused in my tribute to Lady Gaga when I heard an unmistakably Irish lilt in the masculine baritone that had asked the question. I tensed for a moment before I turned with an eyebrow arched.

"Father O'Brien I presume? How'd you get in?"

Not the most polite greeting toward a stranger. A valid question, yes, but if he hadn't startled me, I'd have been more socially civil.

I got a broad, amused smile that revealed even white teeth that were framed by a thick, but neatly trimmed, blonde beard that matched the curls on his head that were a little longer than I ever wore my own, but not unkept. The style brought more attention to the vividity of his eyes which were as Charlie had said, as green as Ireland's rolling hills. Between those qualities, and Father O'Brien's dark jeans, and plain charcoal gray sweater, he could've been any random, attractive man in his early 30s. Certainly not what I imagined a priest to look like.

As if he noticed my silent onceover, his grin deepened.

"I haven't had a chance to get a haircut. My mother says it's more rocker than gospel, but I always remind her that Adam and Eve didn't have access to beauty salons."

I blinked, and my lips curved as I automatically slid my hand into his when Father O'Brien held it out. His grip was strong and confident. I felt hard callouses on his palms as if he'd done a lot of manual labor in his life before he'd decided to start tending to the needs of lost souls.

"Sorry, that was rude, Father O'Brien. I'm Ben. It's nice to meet you."

"It's ok," he said as he released my hand. "Charlie must've forgotten to tell you that he gave me a key a few weeks ago so I could let myself in if someone wasn't around to open the door for me. I heard the music, and decided to pop in so you wouldn't be startled by coming upstairs and seeing me speaking to Charlie."

Charlie hadn't told me about the key, but considering the brain fog side effects of some of his medications, I couldn't fault him for that. And now that Father O'Brien had explained himself, I felt more chagrined by how I'd spoken to him. It wasn't his fault that Charlie was sick, or that I was in a bad mood.

"That was considerate, and I really am sorry. I usually have better social skills."

"Please don't apologize," he said with another warm smile. "How about you just call me Patrick, and we can consider ourselves even."

Two fingers lightly topped against the side of his neck, indicating the crew style of his sweater where there was no white collar visible.

This time I was the one who grinned. "Off the clock?"

"I'm never off the clock but I don't usually wear the collar unless I'm preaching or doing something at the church that requires the visual symbolism. The collar tends to make some people anxious, especially when they're not used to talking to a priest."

"Or when they don't want to talk to a priest," I said, though I gestured for Patrick to wash his hands before I pointed to the wooden cutting board on the counter where there was a knife, vegetable peeler, celery stalk, and the large carrot that the bisque recipe called for. To his credit, Patrick didn't miss a beat. He just pushed the sleeves of his sweater to his elbows, and went to the sink. After he washed and dried his hands on a dish towel hanging over the handlebar of the oven, he moved dutifully to the other side of the island opposite me, moving the cutting board and kitchen utensils to that side in front of him as well. I didn't say anything about the positional change which I suspected was so that we could talk face to face instead of the more detached side by side.

"What are we making?"

"Tomato bisque soup and fancy grilled cheese."

"I didn't know that grilled cheese could be fancy."

"Then you've never been to a pretentious restaurant."

I saw Patrick's lips twitch with amusement when I glanced up.

"According to Charlie, you're anything but pretentious. It's a quality he admires about you as well as your intelligence, and passion for life."

I arched an eyebrow. "I thought your conversations with Charlie were faith based."

"They are," Patrick agreed as he finished peeling the carrot then began chopping it with impressive efficiency. "But preaching at someone for an extended amount of time if they're not committed to a pew for a sermon tends to make their eyes glaze over, so I like to encourage conversation about whatever they want to talk about. Charlie likes to talk about you, and the life the two of you used to have, and the one he hopes you'll have in the future when he's gone."

I tensed for a moment, but forced myself to focus on the onion I was chopping so that I didn't accidentally lose a finger. It was bad enough that my eyes were watering from the onion's scent, and could be mistaken as sad tears depending on which direction the conversation went.

"Charlie should be focusing on his health. I'm fine."

"Are you?"

I glanced up, surprised by the blunt question. Patrick read my expression and pushed the little pile of carrot rounds towards me before reaching for the celery stalk. He sliced it in half before starting to chop it with as much efficiency as he'd shown with the carrot.

"Did you ever work at a restaurant?" I asked as a way of delaying having to answer his question.

Patrick let the evasion slide as he continued chopping the celery into tiny pieces. "I did actually. It was a part time job while I was in seminary. Just at a small local diner, and it was mostly dishwashing and garbage removal, but when we were short-staffed, I was allowed to do some of the easy prep work. It wasn't bad. It gave me time to mentally go over the scriptures and reading materials I needed to memorize for my classes."

"Sounds like a good way to focus."

Patrick smiled. "It was and it gave me some kitchen skills which is helpful in everyday life. The way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

I piled my diced onion into a bowl, and then added Patrick's piles of celery and carrot to it as well. "Charlie said you were gay. I didn't believe him."

"Why?" Patrick's head tipped to one side like a curious puppy's after he'd wiped his hands on a paper towel. "Because I'm a priest?"

I nodded as I popped a small piece of carrot into my mouth to chew it. "He suggested I seduce you, just so you know."

Patrick grinned broadly. "Did he now? Right here in the kitchen?"

"Mmm hmm, on the island, but we currently have food on here, so a raincheck is all that's happening today."

Patrick's grin deepened until dimples appeared to soften the strong angles of his face. "That would probably be amazing, and if I thought you meant it, I'd be helping you to do the dishes after lunch, so the counter was pristine in preparation of you rocking my world, but I'll keep my fantasies centered around fancy grilled cheese instead."

I didn't want to smile when he called out my glibness but I lost the battle, and Patrick winked.

"The Episcopal church doesn't believe that only men can preach the Word of God because that completely dismisses women. We believe that God is the one who plants the desire in a person's heart to both follow and preach his word so that it can reach as many people as possible. That's why we also don't believe that being gay is a sin. God made us and knew us before we were born."

The phrase was almost exactly what Charlie had said to me earlier, and I told Patrick that.

Patrick smiled, deep lines forming at the corners of his green eyes when they crinkled. "Psalm 139: 11-14," he said. "If I say, "Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me, even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you. For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful. I know that full well."

I'd been raised devoutly Catholic but even though my family had attended Sunday services every week for as long as I could remember, I couldn't truthfully say that I knew actual scripture well, at least not anything I could recite flawlessly from memory. Certainly not with the same level of calm conviction that Patrick just had.

His eyes and smile warmed as if he saw the wheels turning in my head. Patrick was throwing out the bait but I wasn't ready to be caught just yet. The original fisher of men hadn't saved me from my family's abandonment or turning to a life of very monetarily lucrative hedonism.

I'd liked the money and the excitement of getting to go to events among people so far up the social and political food chain that there'd never have been any other way for our paths to cross. And I'd met Roman and Charlie, two of the most important people in my life whom I'd also have never met if I hadn't traveled down that life path. I knew all of that. It still didn't mean that I liked feeling like I'd somehow been manipulated into becoming who I had simply because God thought it was His right to choose my path. I actually hated it, but Patrick was smiling openly, trying to draw me in to drink the holy Kool-Aid.

No thank you.

"With all due respect, Patrick, I told Charlie that I'd speak to you, and hear you out. And I did, so I kept that promise. But now I think you should keep yours by going up to see him like you told him you would. I'll bring lunch up when it's done, and if you're still here by then, you're welcome to stay. Do you have any food allergies or intolerances?"

Patrick swept me with a look that I managed not to squirm under after years of practice but it wasn't easy. I didn't know why I was finding it so difficult to put up my usual walls with this man. He was attractive but it wasn't a sexual, or even potentially romantic spark between us that was drawing me toward him though I'd have been more comfortable with that then with the reality that slipped stealthily into my mind.