Trinity (54)

Pearl continues to tease Henry and Jackson as we make our way to the bake sale table. Jackson quips right back with a smug smile, and Henry keeps on blushing and ducking his head to hide his grin.

It takes me a few moments to realize what they’re all talking about. Henry’s crumpled, askew shirt, how Jackson keeps looking back at Henry, the satisfied crook of Jackson's mouth.

I’m not an idiot, clearly they must’ve been kissing and… well, who knows?

“Your car probably didn’t even break down,” Pearl accuses with a lift on an eyebrow.

We’ve reached the bake sale table, and Jackson plops the box down, then puts his hands into his pockets. He glances at Henry, who’s rubbing the back of his neck and staring at the floor. “The car did need a jump,” Jackson replies with a wide grin. “And since we were already going to be late...”

“Oh, you heathens,” Pearl says back, sounding pleased.

“We are sorry about being late, though,” Henry adds, looking up.

Pearl shrugs, and Jackson says, “Yes, we are. Tell you what, we’ll set everything up. How soon is intermission?” Jackson starts pulling mini carrot cakes out of the box and lining them up on the table.

“Maybe twenty minutes? I don’t know. Mmm, tablecloth first,” Pearl says, stopping him. Good thing too, because don’t think I haven’t forgotten that her shoes were on that table. “And thanks for the offer, but don’t you have to get back to Waffle Mixers?”

“I got V to fill in,” Jackson says as Pearl sets out a tablecloth.

“I still don’t know how you managed that,” Henry chimes in.

Jackson’s mouth quirks. “A secret between siblings.”

Siblings. I haven’t even told Pearl about the record player, or anything about Rory or Easter, in fact. Earlier I'd been too worried about the talent assembly. And I wonder how her Easter went? How do I always forget to ask?

Henry is tacking up a hand-lettered sign down the hall, and Pearl tries to help set out the cakes again, but Jackson takes them from her. “I’m serious, we’ll do this. You can go watch the show.”

After a bit of back-and-forth, (Pearl doesn't want to go 'watch the show') I intervene. “Come on, Pearl. You can tell me how your Easter was?”

“Thank you,” Jackson says to me, triumphant. He attempts to makes a shooing motion in Pearl’s direction, a carrot cake in each hand. “We’ll handle everything, promise.”

I loop an arm through Pearl’s and march her away before she can protest. “I forgot to tell you that I have a new record player, also,” I say to her as we walk away.

“I'm not stepping foot in that gym,” she grumbles, then perks up. “Wait, a real one? From where?”

.

Pearl and I agree that neither of us want to go into the gym, and though we could sit at the entrance table that Maggie and I had been at earlier, there are still some people coming and going and we’d rather not have to greet them.

“We could sit in one of the classrooms,” suggests Pearl.

“What if someone finds us? We’d be in trouble, for sure.”

She just snorts. After a second, she says, “The chapel?”

I give her a perplexed look. “You want to go to the chapel?”

She swats at my arm. “Not the big one, the shrine.”

Ah, yes. One of Saint Paul’s most unused features. Sometimes people call it the mini chapel, even though it’s nothing like the chapel building that we have religion class in sometimes.

In the center of the courtyard, in the center of the school campus, is a three-walled enclosure, labeled the Holy Mary Shrine. It’s just big enough for a long bench, and has tiled mosaic images of Mary and Jesus and other religion-y things built into the walls. Sometimes people go out there and light a candle or something, though as of right now I can’t think of the last time anyone did that. Mostly it just gets berated by stray soccer balls, I think.

“Alright,” I reply, as it seems far less likely that we'll get scolded if we’re found there than hiding in an empty classroom.

I’m right behind Pearl as she steps out the doors leading to the courtyard when movement down the hall catches my eye. I turn my head and watch the figure stride down the hall, quick not because of urgency but because of the length of legs that must be hiding under that habit.

I lock eyes with Sister Bertha, and freeze.

She walks right by, pausing only to comment in her deep voice, “Do enjoy the courtyard. It’s very nice weather.” It almost alarms me to see the nun’s mouth pulled into a smile, but most of the expression is in her eyes--they gleam, mysteriously pleased.

Sister Bertha gives me a nod, and continues down the hallway.

For a moment, I smile after her, realizing it’s the first time she hasn’t terrified me. She’s put me slightly ill at ease, but still.

“Trinity? You still coming?”

I realize that I’m holding the door, one foot in and one foot out of the school, and Pearl, already outside, hadn’t seen Sister Bertha at all.

.

Settled on the bench of the shrine, I ask Pearl once more about her Easter, and she tells me it was fine. As she explains it, it becomes clear that, even though she wasn’t made to attend YRJ, her family--well, her mom--didn’t pay her much attention all weekend. They had an Easter ham, as always, and a million baked desserts that her mom had made, but Pearl doesn't sound so thrilled. She does add that William was paraded around the neighborhood in a bunny onesie, which amuses her.

In return, I recount my weekend, all of it, which is probably more than she bargained for, but she did ask. It hurts almost just as much to talk about our Easter dinner as it had been then, hearing those words.

Nicholas. A very nice boy. Adorable. I was beginning to think there was something wrong with you.

I close by telling her about the record player, which leaves me ending on a high note at least.

Pearl’s sucking on her bottom lip, her eyebrows drawn together in concern. “Oh, Trinity, they really said that?”

So she wasn’t sidetracked by the record player, then. I tuck into myself, pushing my hands in between my thighs like I’m trying to keep them warm. But I’m not, because actually the weather is, as Sister Bertha had said, very nice.

I draw in a slow breath, staring straight ahead into the front parking lot. “Yeah, they did.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, scooting closer and putting her head on my shoulder.

We sit like that for a moment, then she says quietly, “You know there’s nothing wrong with you, right?”

I look down at my hands. “I think so. I mean, I guess.” I hesitate, and when Pearl doesn’t say anything, I pluck up the courage to say, “I looked it up again last night. I was always afraid my parents would find out I’d googled it or something, but I read about people who are like me. Who are asexual.”

“Did you learn anything new?” Pearl asks, not missing a beat. Her tone is completely normal, as if this is a conversation about the color of my shirt or something equally mundane.

“I learned that some are in relationships, but not all. I mean, I knew that, but still. And some people are happy being alone. Always.” I don’t like the waver in my voice, because of everything I’d read, those posts were the most impactful. To think that I could be on my own, to think I could be allowed to be on my own. But also, doesn’t that sound lonely?

“And… do you know which you want? It’s ok if you don’t, of course.” Pearl’s voice is soft, like a breeze, and I close my eyes.

“I’m not so sure I know,” I admit.

Pearl lifts her head from my shoulder. “Can I ask you a question?”

I open my eyes and laugh, because it’s Pearl, and her wide, kind eyes, and of course she can ask me a question. How could I ever say no? “Yeah.”

“Would you date someone? If they asked you?” She blinks. “Like, Kelly, for example,” she tacks this on quickly, then shakes her head. “Sorry, no, don’t answer that, I feel like I’m saying the same things your mom said.”

I smile a little to reassure her. “No, no, it’s fine. I think the difference is… my mom expects me to get married. But you’re actually asking what I want.”

Pearl nods.

I trace the band aid on my finger.

“I think I’d try it. Depending on the person. I don’t know about Kelly, though. I like him more than other people, other guys, but not really enough…” I reconsider. “Well, I don’t know, actually. I guess I don’t know what you really do when you date someone.”

Pearl stays silent, so I ramble on. “Like, Jackson and Henry. I never even considered that they would have, you know, kissed before. But that’s what people do. What do you do if not that? It’s not what I want, but maybe I’m just saying that because I’ve never…” I sigh. “I don’t know. That’s a different problem, because apparently lots of asexuals still like kissing.”

I glance at Pearl, and she’s staring up at the sky. “You know,” she says, “I’ve never really kissed anyone either.” She glances at me, looking oddly sad. “So I don’t think you have to try it, is what I’m saying. I know I’d like to, and you know you don’t.”

“What about Amber?”

She makes a noise that’s almost a chuckle. “That was, well, barely anything if I’m honest. Like, technically we touched lips but she pulled away before… Well.” She sneaks a glance at me. “What I mean is, a real kiss. Where the person kisses you back.”

I can’t help but scrunch up my nose. “But what if it’s gross?”

She laughs, a real laugh, one that washes any traces of her sadness away. “Even if it is, I’d still like to try it,” she declares, kicking her shoe against mine.

.

.

.

(first part: https://theprose.com/post/432343/trinity)

.

(previous part: https://theprose.com/post/466659/trinity-53)

(next part: https://theprose.com/post/467636/trinity-55)