'This Church is a Quiet Place'
A thousand thanks to Lily, for cheerleading and proofreading this💖 TW at the bottom 🩷🩵🤍
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The church is quiet. In Max's memory, there were always sounds. Footsteps and bells and whispers, a cacophony of worship compounded in one place.
Maybe the church her mother brought her to is different from this church. Maybe her memories as a child were simply elaborated on, made big and bright and alive by the passing of time.
This church is not softened by the sounds of the living. This church is silent, still. A breath held, a heartbeat not yet formed.
Light shines through the stained glass windows, and Max walks through the tinted air. Green, blue, red, orange.
The colours are as vibrant of God's love for you, her mother used to whisper, an arm wrapped tight around her slim shoulders.
God the Father, she'd say. In the name of the Father and the Son.
Promise me you'll keep your faith Max, she also said, voice a soft murmur as they sat side by side in the pews. Max nodded. It's important to pray. God listens to our prayers Max, he's our Father.
And Max had tried, to begin with. The first weekend, she asked Jos if they could visit a local church to light a candle. Jos' nose wrinkled.
What for?
Max felt her mother's promise whisper away. She shook her head.
I don't know.
Her dad gave her a look, lips thin. Your mother's after making you too soft. You're an adult now, not some child in need of fairytales.
Max nodded. She never asked again.
Her mother knew. She must've figured it out, that she stopped asking her opinion on the weekly sermon, stopped answering her questions on her faith.
It seems strange, to think she once believed in it all. She walks softly up the aisle, her footsteps a gentle cadence reverberating through the church. There's an elderly woman at the front, head bowed as her fingers worry a Rosary. A man behind, reading the Bible. And Max. The imposter.
She doesn't have the faith anymore. It disappeared somewhere on the never- ending motorways, the Sundays spent racing instead of praying, nights spent reciting strategies in the darkness instead of the blessings her mother used to whisper. Her fingertips grew blackened, dipped in oil rather than blessed water.
Max thinks faith is like youth. Once it's gone, it's impossible to get it back.
Daniel still believes. He pretends not to, but Max knows he does. She found a rosary once in the back of his bedside drawers. The beads worn smooth, colour long flaked away. She had sat and ran her fingers over the string of knots and wooden pills, imagining the countless times he must've done the same. In secret, hidden away. Counting each prayer off, voice nothing more than a whisper.
Daniel crosses himself before each race. Daniel bows his head whenever a funeral parade passes on the streets. Daniel has a tiny, inked cross on his ribs. Max found it, nestled amongst the other loud and brilliant decorations he's designed into his skin. She traced it, and Daniel had started as if Max had slapped him.
This is new, Max had said. He'd laughed, roughly tugging his shirt on.
No Max, it's always been there. You just haven't been paying attention. He tossed a smile at Max, easy and in love.
She finds the candles nestled in the corner, just beneath the altar. Three rows of darkened tealights, only one offering a feeble, dying flame.
'Donations only!!!' is scribbled over a money box, and Max digs in her pockets, fishing out all her loose change.
She feels wrong being here. A fake. Like a woman who's been caught having an affair, and is now returning, head bowed and feet dragging. Kneeling, fingers clasped, repenting.
Has she no shame? Her mother would ask. The summer before the divorce, her mother's side warm against Max's as they watched TV together. These women, they always take men like that back, she tutted, reaching for the popcorn Max was holding. You won't be like that, will you Max? You'll be better than us all. You'll stand your ground if someone wrongs you.
She shook her head. I won't ever get married, she replied. It's lame.
Her mother huffed a laugh, even though Max hadn't been joking. Just wait till you fall in love Maxy, then -
I won't ever fall in love either, Max declared, watching the woman on screen embrace the man. She wrinkled her nose. She had seen what love did; she wanted no part of it. Max's mother simply laughed again, running her fingers lightly through her tawny locks.
She should phone her, it's been nearly a month since they last spoke. Sophie is always happy to hear from her, but she's preoccupied now with other things. Managing her new boyfriend's fledgling company, helping Victoria with the kids. Her life is full and Max is not really a part of it anymore. Hasn't been for decades, since she turned twelve and barely lived in the same time zone as her, let alone the same house.
Daniel's close with his parents. He calls them every second day, time zones carefully navigated around. Up early, doing yoga on the terrace as he chats to his dad about the latest news. Evening, Max already in bed, listening to him laugh softly through the walls as his mother tells him the local gossip.
What can you even have to talk about? Surely you've spoken about every possible conversation point at this stage, Max said, only half in jest. Daniel laughed, wrinkles creasing around his eyes in a way she knows he hates but she loves.
They're my parents Maxy, he replied with ease, as if that's the only answer she needs.
He's over there now. With Grace and Joe and Michelle. Max feels distant from him, from the life he must be living. On the ranch, dust gathered in the creases of his skin as he worked under the sun. Going out with childhood friends to pubs where everyone speaks how he does. His nephew and niece, adoring their overseas uncle, returned.
She lights the first candle. The flame is strong, and she feels stupid for taking such stock in the image, as if the strength of the flame is akin to the sureness of her future.
She doesn't know how to do this. Whisper? In her head? Address it all to God, like a formal letter?
She suddenly feels very young. Her mother beside her, handing her the childhood book of Bible verses she received for Christmas. Pray, Maxy, she murmured, bowing her head.
Max looks up. The light is tinted blue and white, shining in through a maritime scene created in the windows. There's a framed painting hung on the wall. The Virgin Mary with Baby Jesus. A pale woman with dark hair. Arms wrapped around a bundle of dark blankets. A baby, pale and young and smiling, looking out at the viewer. Looking at Max.
She closes her eyes and prays.
-
Maybe some people aren't meant to be parents Maxy, Daniel had said after the twelfth negative test. 12. A year of trying and failing. Max isn't used to failing at anything; she doesn't know how to do it.
What? She twisted on the bed, staring at him. He just continued staring at the ceiling.
Maybe some people aren't meant to be parents, he finally repeated, tone soft.
She scoffed, turning back around. It hurt. It hurt a lot, and the stinging somehow grew, like when she was a kid and she had accidentally gotten some chemicals on her hands. Corrosive. Her dad had grabbed her, dragging her to the garage's sink and scrubbed at her red hands until the burning finally abated.
She sat up and then stood quickly. Sports bra, an old Nike shirt and her leggings. Burning, burning, burning.
Max, Daniel sat up too. Wait.
I'm going for a run, she told him without looking at him.
Maxy, he tried again. I just mean maybe we should -
She slammed the bedroom door on her way out. She thought he might follow her, but he didn't, and she tugged her shoes on roughly. The burn in her chest was spreading. It's corrosive, her father had told her. She had never learned that word before, and he had had to explain the meaning as he wrapped her palms with gauze.
-
Outside the church, the sun is beginning to weaken. Shadows length in the carpark, and Max stands against the church's wall, taking out her phone.
She asked him to leave. She needed a break, time to figure herself out. She thought he would fight her on it, and was irrationally hurt when he had just nodded, lips thin and brow pinched.
Alright, he said. If that's what you want.
She didn't want any of it. She didn't want a body seemingly incapable of life, didn't want the 12 pregnancy tests lined neatly in her memory, didn't want the empty study room next to their own bedroom that they both refused to ever address.
"Maxy," he picks up the first ring. He sounds happy. She doesn't know if it's because it's her he's speaking to, or if he's always happy, now he's home again.
"Hey," she says. "How are you?"
"I'm good," he says, and she can tell he's meaning it. "How are - are you outside?"
She looks at the birds above in the trees, singing sweetly. Their songs are getting picked up, listened to halfway across the world. "Yes," she says softly.
"Going for a walk?" He asks, sounding like he's walking somewhere too. She can hear his slightly laboured breathing, the vague crunch of his footsteps on the dried grass.
"I went to a church, " she tells him.
"A church, " he repeats, as if she's named some alien planet. "You went to mass?" Disbelief clear.
They're not broken up. She doesn't really know what they are now. Other than in love, of course, but that was never in question. She had asked him to leave and he had left. They still text every day, call a few times each week. She doesn't know what he told his family, and she's too scared to ask him.
"No, not mass. Church. As in, I went inside a church."
"Why, a horde of vampires were chasing you?" He asks. She can hear the smile in his voice. Longing fills her chest, the ache almost visceral.
"No, this is Monaco, not Transylvania. You are the one out of the two of us who needs to be worried about that," she tells him.
"It's too hot Maxy, all potentially murderous vampires would be burnt to dust before they'd get close to tasting this sweet, sweet blood. You know, today it was almost 40 degrees? Climate change is fucking us all up, but at least it means i can take a few hours off from the ranch because it's too dangerous to work outside in this heat."
Max hums softly. There's a nest in one of the branches - that's why the two birds were singing so loudly.
"You are having a good time then?" She asks.
"Yeah. It's always good to be back here." he pauses then, as if to weigh up his words. "I'm looking forward to being home, though."
She frowns. One of the birds slips into the brown mess of twigs, and sheep's wool balanced on the branch while the other is left outside; a guardian. "Why, are you not at the ranch right now? Where are you then?"
"What? I mean," he interrupts himself with a quiet laugh. "Maxy. I meant home. Home home."
"Home home," she repeats dubiously.
"With you," he adds, voice suddenly soft and vulnerable.
She looks away from the birds. She swallows. He's quiet, waiting for her to speak. The air is cooling down, dusk creeping closer.
"I miss talking with you," she finally says.
"We still talk. We talk nearly everyday. We're talking right now " he says softly, and she supposes she deserves this, him making her say it aloud.
"I miss you," she amends. "I miss... I miss you a lot Daniel."
He laughs. Not because it's funny, but because his happiness needs an outlet, needs to be vocalised and released in some form. Laugh or cry, Maxy, he used to tell her. Gotta be one of them.
"I miss you too," he says.
"You should come home," she tells him.
"I should."
"Home home."
"Yeah, home home."
They're quiet for a bit. She looks up, her gaze caught by a flutter of movement. One of the birds darts away, the other staying by the nest. She wonders if she concentrated very hard, would she be able to hear the chirping.
"I'm sorry," Daniel blurts out. Max frowns.
"For what?"
"I..." He pauses. He's definitely walking somewhere, she can hear his footfall over the terrain.
"I was wrong," he finally says. "About us... About... About what I said. About how some people aren't meant to be parents. I was thinking and... I mean, sure I wasn't wrong about that because some people definitely shouldn't have kids, but us, me and you, we should, I mean if you still want to, because we're, we would... we would be good, or I don't know, maybe we just are good, like good people and good partners and I shouldn't have said what I said, because it's not true, we'd be the best and coolest parents and -"
"Daniel," she interrupts him. He instantly goes quiet.
"I think so too," she says. He laughs, relieved and happy and excited, all melded into one.
"Because I've been doing some research," he begins again, words rushing into each other in their hurry to be spoken. "And there's a clinic we could try, or maybe -"
Max nods, letting Daniel's chatter wash over her like water, pure and clear and blessed. The lone bird sits above, and continues to sing.
(((TW: infertility)))
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