Apeiron Review | Issue 17

‘Sister’s wedding,” he said, omitting that he was officiating, not just attending.

“That’s lovely; sorry the weather’s such shit,” she said, and he held in a chuckle.

Nobody ever cursed in his presence, and the hard consonant in ‘shit’ made him smile.

“Let me get you a pint.” Before he could refuse she was already back with two ciders, thin lines of carbonation trailing up the glass like untethered balloons.

“Thanks, you didn’t have to,” he started, confidence vanishing, but she sat down and cut him off.

“Oh stop, I’ve never met anyone who actually liked this,” she tapped the closed book on the table. She took a long sip, and he did the same, feeling guilty. Oh well, just a little more for confession. After all, he’d tell her eventually he was a Catholic priest, but for the first time since he entered the seminary it was refreshing to talk to an adult without the power dynamic at play. Conversations feel so stilted when one can absolve the other of wrongdoings.

“His depictions of women are so flat and mindless, they’re like sex zombies with huge tits,” she said, nodding at the text.

“I should read more closely,” he said with a grimace. She chuckled.

He found out her name was Sarah. He introduced himself as Kyle, just Kyle. She was a lawyer, though she said barrister, but loved reading mysteries. They drank and before he could stop her she’d rose from the table again.

“Can I get this round?” He asked, patting his thighs.

“Nope, I’m the one who talked to you. Let’s push back on chivalry,” She said with a smile and turned to the bar.

They drank again, more cider. They discussed what authors worked for them, and which didn’t. Father Kyle was impressed at how well he kept up with this “normal” conversation, despite rarely having them, thankful they clung to that narrow column of knowledge to which he could speak.

In the bathroom, a muggy tiled space, facing himself in the mirror, he untied the 23