Author’s note: Merry Christmas 2018! This short story below, which I’ve been percolating for a decade, is my gift to you. Warning: if your background is conservative religion, and you struggle with that, this may make you emotional.
Ruth Finnegan Derby held out one arm for Mrs. Adams to lean on as the elderly woman sank slowly into the second pew.
“Thank you, dear,” she whispered as Finn handed back her cane.
“Merry Christmas Eve, Mrs. A,” Finn murmured. A flash of motion caught her eye, and she looked up to see her father beckoning discreetly from the door to the sacristy. She excused herself and headed for the short flight of stairs, hugging the wall to be as circumspect as possible. Behind her, the church hummed in anticipation as members and guests alike gathered to celebrate the holiday.
She slipped into the small room, closed the door behind her, and found her father adjusting the set of his clerical collar in the mirror.
“Ah, Ruth,” he said when he saw her. “Could you duck out and check that the candle wicks are trimmed enough? Holly’s mother called to say that the poor child is absolutely petrified about making a mistake tonight.”
“Sure, Dad.” Finn hoped her face didn’t betray the flutter of emotion in her chest at his reference to the Greer family. Forcing herself to focus on the task at hand, she stepped up to the closet, selected her usual robe, and tied the white rope belt with practiced efficiency. Then, she returned to the sanctuary and crossed to the altar, pausing briefly to bow her head before leaning over to inspect and adjust the wicks of the two cream candles.
Satisfied, she turned to the lowered Advent wreath, its four pink candles standing guard around their purple cousin nestled in the midst of fresh pine branches. She inhaled deeply and smiled. The evergreen smelled clean and cold and pungent. Just to be on the safe side, Finn scratched some excess wax off the tip of the Christmas candle before finally returning to the sacristy. On her way, she rapidly surveyed the crowd, her green eyes flicking back and forth between the rows of simple wooden pews.
Not here yet. Tamping down the swift surge of disappointment, she pushed open the door to find eleven-year-old Holly Greer approaching tears as she vainly attempted to fasten her own belt. Stifling a grin, Finn knelt down in front of the girl.
“Need some help there, Hol?”
“Y-yes!”
She quickly tied the knot and adjusted the robe. “Where are your sister and mom?” she asked, smoothing a gentle hand over Holly’s golden curls. “I didn’t see them out there.”
“They stopped to talk to… somebody.” The bridge of Holly’s nose wrinkled into a frown as she tried to remember. “Mom said I should hurry here or I’d be late.”
Finn nodded, and the knot of unease in her chest loosened. She reached into the closet for a taper and handed it over to Holly, who immediately slid a quarter-inch of wick out of the slot at the top. Finn nodded approvingly.
“You’re good to go,” she murmured, her voice low and serious. “I’ve checked all the candles out there, and none of them are trouble. Just remember—count to three, double-check, and move on.”
“O-okay,” Holly replied, stuttering slightly. She was white as a sheet and her hands trembled against the metallic surface of the taper—but she faced the door resolutely as the organ began to play Adam Lay Ybounden.
“There’s your cue,” Finn whispered. “Go get ’em, tiger.”
She caught the door as Holly marched out toward the altar, leaving it open just a crack so she could watch the child’s progress. When Holly successfully lit every single candle and collapsed into the acolyte’s seat to the left of the altar, Finn smiled, shut the side door, and let herself out the back, hurrying to join the small group at the rear of the church.
The organist launched into an enthusiastic prelude to O Come All Ye Faithful, and Finn stepped into place immediately behind her father just as the crucifer strode out into the aisle. She faced forward throughout the entire procession, but as soon as she reached the chair next to Holly’s, she turned toward the congregation, her gaze traveling eagerly over the familiar faces.
There.Finn’s breath caught in her throat and she stumbled over the familiar refrain. Naomi was sitting in her usual place—the third pew, just behind Mrs. Adams and next to her mother. She was wearing a black dress and a red cardigan, and a simple gold chain rested in the hollow of her throat. And she was smiling—a soft smile Finn knew was just for her. The church blurred slightly as she felt herself return the expression.
Finn sang the remainder of the hymn from memory, her eyes locked with Naomi’s. Merry Christmas, love. I’ve been thinking of you all day, and I love you so much, and—
“Be seated,” her father’s deep voice rang out. Finn blinked and quickly took her seat as the rest of the congregation did the same. She smiled encouragingly down at Holly and gave her a surreptitious thumbs-up as the lay reader for the night began to read from Isaiah.
For the remainder of the service, Finn looked at Naomi whenever she could. And whenever she did, Naomi was always looking right back. When it came time to celebrate the Eucharist, Finn took her place to the left of her father, moving slowly down the line of kneeling parishioners with the common cup. She had served as Assisting Minister so often that the ritual was as routine as breathing—a but when Naomi ascended the steps to the altar and gracefully knelt next to her mother, Finn’s palms began to sweat.
Heart pounding, she handed her the cup—and when their fingers brushed lightly, she couldn’t suppress the shudder that raced beanth her skin. Naomi’s dark, wavy hair brushed fleetingly against her shoulders as she tipped her head back to drink, and all Finn could think about was the way that hair had felt, sliding through her hands when Naomi had last kissed her. One month ago—a lifetime. Finn’s lips burned at the memory.
Naomi returned the chalice, and Finn had to move away. But she remembered the gentle touch of soft fingers against her knuckles for the rest of the service—and when her father stood up to say the benediction, Finn knew she was already blessed.
#
Finn stood shoulder to shoulder with her father in the atrium of the church as the congregation trickled out of the sanctuary doors. Holly bounced impatiently to Finn’s right, shifting her feet in anticipation of the gift-laden stockings that awaited her at home. A line of people formed quickly, each of whom wanted to exchange holiday greetings.
“Merry Christmas, Pastor.”
“Oh, Ruth, you do such a lovely job as Assisting Minister.”
“Holly, dear, how very sweet you look in that robe!”
Finn shook hands and smiled sweetly and said, “Have a blessed Christmas,” well over a baker’s dozen times before Naomi and her mother finally reached her. Mrs. Greer looked directly into Finn’s eyes and smiled as she offered her warm, dry hand.
“It was a lovely service, Finn.”
“Thanks, Mrs. G,” Finn replied softly. She reached out to tousle Holly’s hair with her free hand. “Holly did a great job, you know. That Advent wreathe is tough.”
“We’re very proud of you, Holly,” Mrs. Greer replied, leaning down to briefly cup the side of her daughter’s face. “Aren’t we, Naomi?”
“Of course,” Naomi agreed. She sighed, almost inaudibly, as Finn enclosed her fingers in a gentle grip. “Thank you for watching out for her, Finn. That means a lot.”
Finn felt as though she were falling into Naomi’s eyes. They were wide and dark, nearly the same color as her hair, and yet they sparkled with an inner light that made Finn swallow convulsively. Stargazing on a warm summer night. That’s what looking at you feels like. “I love Holly very much,” she said deliberately. “I wanted to make sure she’d be okay out there.”
Naomi smiled brilliantly and squeezed Finn’s clammy hand once before letting go. “Have a wonderful Christmas,” she murmured.
“And you,” Finn whispered back. Her throat felt dry and rough.
The remainder of the greeting line was a blur. Finn knew she must have done and said all of the right things, because no one looked at her strangely or asked what was the matter, but her insides felt as though she had downed a cup of liquid fire.
As the last of the ushers let himself out the door, Finn turned to her father and smiled, hoping she looked tired. In the hollow of her chest, her heart beat swiftly. “It went well, Dad.”
“I agree.” He idly scratched the right side of his neck just beneath the starched collar. “Let’s go home.”
Finn hung up their robes as her father turned off all the lights in the sanctuary. The short drive to the parsonage was made in silence. Finn pretended to yawn as they turned into the driveway. “I think I want to stay up and read by the tree for a while,” she said quietly. “I’ll let Benji out when I’m about to go to bed.”
“That’s fine,” he said. As he slowly got out of the car to open their garage door, the slight stoop of his shoulders forced her realize that he, unlike her, really was tired.
And he’s getting older, she thought suddenly. The moon glinted off his white hair, and for a moment, his head was surrounded by a silvery halo. Can’t teach an old dog new tricks. The excited fluttering in the pit of her stomach momentarily became pain.
She closed the garage door on the chill night while he let them into the house. Finn heard Benji bark once, softly. His tail thumped against the doorframe. “Hey, boy,” she greeted, as she followed her father inside. “Merry Christmas, Ben.”
The dog trotted after her into the family room, nosing at her hand as she bent to plug in the Christmas tree. Its bright, twinkling lights reflected merrily off the bay windows, and Finn smiled. Despite everything that had happened over the past few months—despite the terrible secret, bitter like John’s scroll in the pit of her belly—Christmas hadn’t lost its magic. But this year, the joy of the season was attended by grief. Finn knew what she had to do. She also knew what would happen when she did it. Never again would she be welcomed by everyone in the church as she had been tonight. Her own father might even disown her. In the space of a single sentence, she would fall from grace.
But turning her back on Naomi was unthinkable. Finn was certain, somewhere beneath even instinct, that to renounce Naomi would be to renounce herself. Everything had already changed, though she was the only one who knew it.
“Good night, Ruth.” Her father’s baritone interrupted her introspections. She plastered a smile to her face and turned to hug him briefly. He patted her between the shoulder blades twice and pulled away. “See you in the morning.”
“Sleep well, Dad.”
Finn heard him make his way slowly up the stairs. She heard him open the medicine cabinet in the upstairs bathroom, and then she heard the distinctive rattle of pills upon plastic—the sleeping pills that had been his nightly companion since her mother’s death. Finn could picture the bottle so clearly. She remembered the heft of it in her palm, and the way the lid had resisted her trembling hand’s first efforts at pressing and twisting in concert. She remembered staring down into the cylinder, witnessing the cluster of capsules that stuck together like so many mothballs. She had considered shaking them out into her palm, enough to obscure her lifeline, and then swallowing them all.
But then she had remembered the comforting, exhilarating sensation of Naomi’s lips against hers. Never again would she experience that feeling. Never. Her mind had shied away from the thought, and she had replaced the bottle’s lid without extracting a single pill.
Now, Finn threw herself down into the embrace of the worn reclining chair, and covered her face with her hands. “Naomi,” she whispered into her palms. “Soon, I promise.”
After a long moment, Benji nosed at her stocking-clad foot and whined deep in his throat. She sat up and uncovered her eyes with a shaky laugh. “You love me anyway, dontcha, boy? Even though I’m…” she swallowed, unable to say the words in her father’s house. Even though I’m in love with a woman. Even though I’m a lesbian.
“Keep my secret, Benji,” she whispered, looking down into his deep brown eyes that momentarily reflected the twinkling lights of the tree. “Please. Just for a little while longer.” He whined again and rested his head on her knee, and she gently stroked his long nose.
Several minutes later, Finn roused herself enough to go upstairs and change out of her obligatory skirt and sweater. She put on her softest pair of sweats and a baggy hooded sweatshirt. Her father would never allow her to leave the house wearing such unfeminine clothing, but she was finished asking for his permission.
When guilt trickled down her spine, Finn pushed back with logic. She was eighteen now—old enough to make her own decisions in the eyes of the state, if not in the eyes of her own father. Unbeknownst to him, she had painstakingly laid the groundwork for going away to school next year. With a little luck, one of her scholarship applications would come to fruition, and she would be able to get by with only one part-time job, instead of two or even three. Finn wasn’t afraid of hard work, and she would do whatever was necessary to be with Naomi. To fall asleep in her arms every night was worth any price.
She returned downstairs in a much more cheerful mood and glanced impatiently at her watch. Only fifteen minutes had passed. Not yet, she told herself. Be patient. Wait. Suddenly restless, she combed the bookshelves for something to read. Bibles, commentaries, history books. A precious few works of fiction—Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, Middlemarch. Mom’s books. But although she had read and loved them all, they did not call to her now. Every sense was taut with anticipation. When she returned to the couch and closed her eyes, Naomi’s face appeared in the darkness—so familiar, so beloved. Finn longed to touch her face, taste her lips, hear the throaty moan that sometimes escaped while they were kissing.
At twenty-five minutes, her will broke. With quiet, deliberate steps, she walked to the hall closet and put on her heavy winter coat. “Come here, Ben,” she called. The dog trotted up obediently as Finn slipped her feet into her sneakers. There were still a few inches of snow on the ground, but running well in boots was nearly impossible.
She opened the front door for Benji and stood with him for several minutes while he rooted happily in the snow and raced around the house and investigated the perpetually curious smells around the mailbox. Finally, she called him back, laughing softly as he skidded to a halt in front of her in a shower of snow, his tongue lolling out happily. “Time for you to sleep, buster,” she muttered as she let him into the house. “Don’t scare Santa, ‘kay?”
As Benji lunged inside, she quickly felt for her keys, then shut the door. The moonlight clearly illuminated her watch: five to eleven. She grabbed soft fleece gloves from both pockets and slipped them on before breaking into a jog. Just a little over one mile. The roads were empty and the sky was bright and the stars blinked happily down at her—they knew where she was going. And to whom.
“Christmas,” she breathed. The word left her mouth as a white cloud. Our first Christmas. Now. Together. Tonight.
The air was cold but her skin was hot. Her lungs filled with the sharp north wind, but she didn’t even think to slow her pace, and only stopped running when she could see the silhouette of the Greers’ Christmas tree in their brightly lit front windows. Then, she slowed to a walk. She didn’t want Naomi to open the door and find her gasping for air. She didn’t want anything to spoil any part of tonight.
Finn smiled as the door began to swing open from the inside—then blinked in surprise at the sight of Mrs. Greer in a fuzzy white bathrobe and equally fuzzy slippers. Anxiety pierced her like a spear. What was Naomi’s mother doing up so late? What if she had decided not to be supportive, after all? What if she had stayed awake just to turn Finn away?
“Mrs. G,” she stammered. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you’d still be… I’ll just go—”
“Come inside, Finn,” Mrs. Greeg said softly. She smiled and opened the door more widely. “It’s cold out there.”
Finn hesitated, but the brightness and the warmth and Mrs. Greer’s patient smile pulled her into the house—and then she was kicking off her frozen sneakers and shrugging off her coat and following obediently into the kitchen. Within moments, she had both hands wrapped around a large mug filled with hot chocolate.
“Naomi is still tucking Holly in to bed,” Mrs. Greer explained as she offered Finn the bag of small marshmallows. Finn smiled shyly and reached in for a handful. “Holly asked for ‘The Night Before Christmas,’ and Naomi—”
“Oh, she wouldn’t be able to resist that.” Finn interrupted, nodding enthusiastically. In a way, she felt almost jealous. I want her to put me to sleep. I want to hear her voice helping me drift off, soothing me under, reassuring…
“…should be finished soon,” Mrs. Greer was saying, as Finn managed to tune back in.
Suddenly at a loss for words, Finn nodded and sipped at her cocoa. The silence was not comfortable, precisely—she could feel Mrs. G’s gaze on her, and very deliberately continued to look into the swirling contents of her mug. When she realized that her shoulders were hunched, she tried to straighten them. What does she want me to say? I’m not what she wanted for Naomi, I know that, but it’s not like I can stop—
“Finn.” The single syllable was spoken so quietly and gently that it made her want to cry. She raised her head wordlessly. “You love my daughter,” Mrs. Greer continued.
“Yes,” whispered Finn. Despite the warm drink, her lips felt numb.
“She’s happy with you. I see it in her face, in the way she moves. I can hear it in her voice.”
The left corner of Finn’s mouth twitched up in the ghost of a smile. “I’m glad,” she managed to croak. Her left hand trembled against the white counter top.
“What I want to know,” said Mrs. Greer as she covered that hand with her own, steady warm one, “is whether that will be enough.”
Finn swallowed noisily. “I want it to be.” When the older woman simply nodded, Finn cleared her throat. “I… I love Naomi. I’m so thankful for her. And for you—for your family. For your acceptance.” She cleared her throat again and looked back into the mug. “I believe she’s a gift. From God. I do. But my father, and the church…” She looked back up into Mrs. G’s sympathetic face and shook her head as unshed tears clogged her throat.
“Finn, love,” Naomi’s voice, soft and firm, came from the direction of the doorway. She stood just inside the kitchen, somehow elegant even in a pair of flannel pajamas. There was no telling how much of their conversation she had overheard. “It’s time to come with me, now.”
Her tone brooked no arguments, and Finn rose from her chair immediately. Mrs. Greer took Finn’s mug and poured its dregs down the drain.
“Sleep well, both of you,” she told them. Her smile was sad.
Subdued, Finn followed Naomi up the creaky staircase. She watched the long, dark curls swish back and forth against Naomi’s plaid-covered shoulders—and suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to feel that thick hair sliding along her collarbone as Naomi bent to kiss her. But how could she deserve such a benediction, plagued as she was by self-doubt?
Naomi opened the door to her bedroom and moved aside. Finn stopped in the hallway and looked at her. “Go in, silly,” Naomi told her, and Finn obediently shuffled into the room. She had been there on many past occasions, but never officially as Naomi’s girlfriend. The walls were decorated with the trophies of youth—a photo collage, a poster of a rock band, academic awards, her framed high school diploma. The setting was familiar, but also alien. Every other time she had been in this room, Finn had wondered whether Naomi wanted, just as she did. Did she want to be kissed? Did she want to be held? Did she want to be touched?
Now, Finn knew the answers to all her questions. Even so, she didn’t feel worthy. Naomi was so strong, so confident, while Finn felt like a frayed thread in danger of unraveling. Uncertain, she stopped a few feet inside as Naomi pulled the door shut and locked it. She walked past Finn to sit on the bed. The first button of her pajama top was just low enough to reveal a subtle swelling, a pale hint of her breasts.
“Please, Finn,” she said quietly, her eyes as wide and dark as they had been at the altar rail. “Please, come here.”
Finn shook her head and stood her ground, her misery only intensifying. “I don’t—I’m not…” A single tear slipped out of the corner of her left eye to track down along the side of her nose. “I’m so afraid he’ll make me change my mind,” she said finally, all in a rush. Her breaths were coming too quickly now. “Please don’t let him change my mind.”
“He doesn’t have that power,” Naomi murmured urgently. She leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “Your mind isn’t his to change.”
“I want to be good enough for you. And I’m not. If I were good enough, I wouldn’t be… scared.”
Naomi shook her head sharply. “That’s ridiculous. You’re frightened because he’ll be angry, and you’ll care. Because he’ll say things to hurt you, and they will. Because no matter how many scenarios you imagine, there might be one you’re not ready for.” She stretched out her hands, and after a moment, Finn stepped forward to grasp them. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I love you,” Finn whispered, pressing her thumbs gently into Naomi’s palms. “You make me believe that’s enough.”
“Oh, love,” Naomi replied softly. She tugged on Finn’s hands, until Finn was sitting next to her. And then she pushed on Finn’s shoulders, toppling her backward into the softness of the pillows, the mattress. “It’s enough,” she whispered, leaning down over Finn, her dark hair a curtain around their faces. “It’s everything.”
“Yes,” Finn managed to reply, just before Naomi bent down and joined their lips. The kiss was soft, but possessive. Naomi pressed her hands into Finn’s biceps, holding her to the bed with gentle force as her mouth moved across Finn’s lips, along her cheekbones, touching down at the corners of her eyes like a butterfly sipping nectar. Finn groaned.
“Do you believe it’s wrong when I kiss you?” Naomi whispered fiercely. She claimed Finn’s mouth, then—her tongue plunging briefly inside to scrape against Finn’s teeth, before resurfacing to trace along the full curves of her lips. When she pulled away, Finn gasped for the air to answer.
“No-o.” Her voice hitched. “Never.”
Naomi slipped both hands under the hem of Finn’s sweatshirt. They wrestled her shirt off together, Finn sighing deeply as Naomi’s touch returned to her bare skin.
“And here,” she whispered, as she finally cupped Finn’s breasts in both hands. Her thumbs slid simultaneously over both nipples, and Finn bit her lower lip to stifle a low moan. “Do you think it’s wrong when I touch you, here? Like this?” She moved her thumbs again.
“God, no!” Finn gasped, her back arching involuntarily. “When you… like this, I f-feel so much.”
Naomi smiled and kissed her again—swift, gentle kisses in time with the slow, rolling movements of her fingers and thumbs. Finn’s hips bucked beneath her, but Naomi kept her pinned firmly to the bed. “Don’t move,” she murmured, as she slid her weight to Finn’s right side and began to rub light circles against the skin of her stomach. Gradually, the focal point of the circles shifted, until Naomi’s hand slid under the waistband of Finn’s sweatpants.
“Naomi,” Finn whispered hoarsely. Her eyes were wide and nearly black. “Naomi, please—” She raised her hips obediently as Naomi drew her pants down her legs, then urgently kicked them off as those exquisite hands caressed the hollow below each hip bone.
“And… here?” Naomi asked, as she finally slid her fingers into the wet warmth between Finn’s legs. “Do you believe it’s wrong when I touch you here?”
Finn let her thighs fall open, exposing herself to Naomi’s tender stroking. Naomi’s arm cradled her head, and Naomi’s lithe body was pressed against hers, and Naomi’s voice whispered, “I love you, I love you, I love you.” Over and over and over.
“So good,” said Finn, brokenly. “The way you… t-touch me. Only good.”
It was nearly impossible to resist the overwhelming urge to move her hips. Finn felt herself begin to tremble, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Naomi’s fingers danced across her skin like tongues of flame.
“You’re so strong, Finn,” Naomi murmured. “Stronger than I think you know.”
Her fingers stroked more firmly, and Finn whimpered deep in her throat—a low, hoarse expression of pure need. Naomi smiled down at her, fierce yet tender. Never had Finn felt so safe, so comforted, and yet also so exhilarated.
“Remember this, love,” Naomi breathed, even as her fingers began a delicate, circling motion. “Remember how strong you are. Remember.”
And then she was inside and outside, all at once, and the walls of the room fell away, and Finn was floating in the black and the stars were rushing into her, swelling her body with light and fire and glory, radiance blazing through every pore—until, with a silent roar, they rushed out again. And it was good.
Time passed. Her breathing slowed. Eventually, she realized where she was—lying on top of Naomi’s bed, warm and naked, as Naomi’s fingers stroked wisps of hair back from her sweaty forehead. “Naomi,” she whispered. Her voice was rough.
“Here, love,” she replied. “I’m right here.” A gentle kiss on the soft skin below Finn’s right eye, then her left. The skin was damp, she realized belatedly.
“I love you.” Finn struggled to prop herself up, exclaiming wordlessly in dismay when Naomi pressed her back down to the mattress with a gentle hand between her breasts. “But I want to… don’t you want me to—”
“I just want you to hold me, Finn,” Naomi said quietly. She bent her head to nuzzle the dip between Finn’s neck and shoulder. “Hold me while we sleep for a little while.”
“Will you—” Finn swallowed as her dry throat betrayed her with a croak. “Will you set the alarm?” As Naomi leaned over to press the buttons on her clock, Finn grasped her waist and squeezed lightly. “It won’t always be this way, I swear,” she murmured. “Next year. Next year I’ll stay all night with you.”
“In my apartment,” Naomi replied, settling herself into Finn’s new, yet familiar, embrace. “Our apartment.”
Finn rested her left hand just beneath Naomi’s breasts, her body curled protectively around her lover’s. “We’ll be able to smell the Christmas tree in the other room,” she said softly. “A blue spruce. And we’ll have spent the whole day baking Christmas cookies—so many that we won’t even want to eat any once we’re through.”
Naomi laughed, but the laugh was also a sob. Finn hugged her tightly, feeling the bottom drop out of her stomach. “Oh, love,” she whispered. “What is it? Have I hurt you?”
Naomi covered Finn’s hand with her own and pressed down, hard enough for Finn to feel the pulsing of her heart as though it were beating in her palm. “Maybe we should just go away,” Naomi murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “Far away. Somewhere no one knows us—” Her words choked off in another barely-repressed sob.
“Wherever you want,” Finn told her urgently. “Anywhere. I’ll go with you anywhere, and so help me God, I’ll stay with you forever.”
Naomi sighed and pressed even closer, but she remained quiet for a long while. Finn buried her face in the indentation between her neck and shoulder, her heart aching as she silently offered whatever comfort she could, until Naomi finally spoke.
“Look at the time,” she whispered, squeezing Finn’s hand gently. “Past midnight. Merry Christmas, love.”
“The best.” Finn took a deep breath as she nuzzled the soft skin of Naomi’s throat. Naomi’s scent surrounded her; Naomi’s face filled her vision.
And in spite of everything, Finn knew peace.