Page 64 of Priestly Sins

These women!

I make my way to the kitchen, sweats on, coffee in hand, and it’s likeGroundhog Day.Clara is in her Christmas dress and setting the table while Sirona busies herself with the waffles.

“Cinnamon bun waffles this morning.” She lays them at our three places and asks, “Warm-up?”

“No, I’m good. If you keep this up, I’m going to have to figure out how to run.”

“Oh.” It’s a one-word answer and she drops into the chair next to me, allowing her hair to fall like a curtain between us.

“Baby?”

Nothing.

“Baby, that’s a compliment. Not run away. Run, like jog. I can’t eat all this without getting a gut. You’re a great cook.”

Still nothing.

“Sirona?”

I hear the sniffles before Clara reaches out.

“Mommy? Why are you crying?”

“Oh, baby girl, sometimes you cry when you’re happy. Now, eat your waffle before it gets cold.”

Clara takes that at face value while I silently call bullshit, but dig in, not wanting to waste the feast before me. When I get up to refill my mug, Sirona says quietly, “I could’ve done that.”

“Sure you could. So could I. Don’t need you to serve me.”

And that isn’t the right thing to say either, because she quietly gets up, gathers the plates and begins doing dishes. My protests do nothing. I’m losing a battle and the enemy is this unknown thing I can’t fight and I don’t have the right weapons for.

“Clara Bell?”

“Yes, Poppa.”

“Think we ought to go for a ride and see the ocean today?”

“I would love that!” And off she goes.

“Dress warm,” I holler down the hall and follow my gut. I head to the sink and circle my arms around Sirona while her back is still to me. I use my chin to slide her hair off her shoulder and kiss her neck softly and whisper, “I’m an ass.”

Nothing.

“Baby, last night was not what I wanted. I’m taking it from what you said that it wasn’t what you wanted either. Is that do-over still on the table?”

She freezes. Solid. “I don’t know.”

I pry the dishes from her hands and turn her in the circle of my arms. I tilt my head down to look into her eyes and quietly ask, “Why did you want a do-over, Sirona?”

“Because I fucked up.”

“How’d you fuck up, baby?”

“I made you mad.”

“Try again.”

“I… I… I wasn’t trying to make you mad or have you think…”