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senior year | december
december 11th, 2021
“Sebastián?”
Quinn peers out the window of the car for a moment more, after getting his boyfriend’s attention, watching the world outside as he finishes his thought. “You’re… going the wrong way.”
“No, I’m not.” Sebastián’s reply is so confident and quick that it’s enough for Quinn to look away from the street and toward the driver’s side. When he does, he finds Sebastián smiling, and he looks Quinn’s way long enough to give him a smile that’s both sincere and sweet. Which just confuses Quinn all the more, because his response doesn’t make any sense.
“Yes, you are,” he argues, and looks out his window again. The streets of downtown Kiersey are gray and snowy, and the sky, by the looks of it, might have more snow left to give. Sunset is coming, but it’s not quite here; the streetlamps haven’t turned on yet. “You just missed the turn,” Quinn explains, and points backwards, toward the street they were supposed to turn right onto, for emphasis. “The church is down that way.”
Sebastián, when he consults him again, is still smiling. This time, he doesn’t take his eyes off the road. All he offers as an explanation is a brief, cheerful, “I know.”
Quinn squints at him. Sebastián seems to be operating under some kind of ulterior motive, which Quinn does not know. It’s enough to almost make him second-guess himself— the church is down that street back there, right? But Quinn knows better than that; of course the church is back that way. It’s his fourth year living in Kiersey; he should hope he knows his way around the downtown area by now. Does Sebastián know some other way to get there, he wonders?
He folds his arms, and waits. Sebastián, meanwhile, is unrelenting in his secrecy. He even turns up the radio, which is playing Christmas music— it’s one of Ben’s presets in the car— and sways to the beat of “Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree,” which, Quinn will admit, is very cute, but answers precisely none of his questions. The buildings of downtown Kiersey pass by the car steadily; they’re not even remotely headed in the direction of the church at this point.
“Sebastián,” Quinn says, again, with an eye on the dashboard clock of Ben’s Prius. It reads 3:55, which is concerning. “We’re going to be late. Church is in five minutes.”
Sebastián’s smile has grown, well— almost mischievous now, Quinn thinks, as if he’s pleased with himself for being up to something, for so clearly having some kind of secret plan. Quinn can’t help that this secret mission is putting him a little on edge, though— after all, they are supposed to be going to church, and the Saturday afternoon Mass at Kiersey’s downtown church starts at 4:00, and if there is one thing Quinn has learned about himself and church in the past year, it’s that he cannot stand walking in late. He feels self-conscious enough drawing attention to himself in church at all to begin with— a year of going to Mass with Sebastián has taught him plenty and brought him a lot of peace, but still hasn’t been nearly enough to shake the feeling of not belonging, the feeling that people are looking at him funny, the feeling that people can tell he shouldn’t be there, and that they want him to leave. Walking in late, for Quinn, just adds to this self-consciousness. He prefers to arrive early, and to sit quietly next to Sebastián in the pews. A whole year of doing this together, and they’ve gotten it down to a science. Getting to church ten or fifteen minutes early is just enough time for Sebastián to say his rosary— beads in his left hand and Quinn’s hand in his right. Quinn never thought church could be that peaceful, but he’s never felt closer to, well— whatever is up there— than when they sit there in those quiet minutes, candles flickering, stained glass reflecting onto the carpet, other churchgoers waving hello on their way by.
Quinn has truly, wholly come to enjoy that experience. Which is why he doesn’t want to be late. And why he doesn’t understand why Sebastián is driving so far out of the way right now. “Sebastián,” he presses, and smooths a crease in his own tan dress pants. “We’re late—”
“Don’t worry, baby,” Sebastián replies, his voice as steady and smooth as ever. “We aren’t going to Saint James today.”
“Oh?” Quinn pauses. He looks over his shoulder again— they’ve now driven so far past the turn for Saint James that backtracking would be silly. In hindsight, this does make sense. But it still leaves him with unanswered questions— namely, why aren’t they going to Saint James today? And where are they going instead? “Do you… care to elaborate?”
“Eventually.” Sebastián’s self-satisfied smile is back. He meets Quinn’s eyes across the dash for a moment, then reaches to squeeze his hand where it’s resting on his knee. “Just sit tight, baby.”
Quinn keeps his fingers laced in his hand, but leans back in his seat, quirking an eyebrow at him. One thing is for certain— they won’t make it to the 4PM Mass at Saint James, that’s for sure. And the road Sebastián is taking leads directly out of downtown Kiersey altogether— towards the highway, in fact.
“Are we… not going to church?” he tries asking, but Sebastián shakes his head before he even finishes his question.
“No,” he replies, “we are.” He’s looking at the road again. There’s a stoplight coming up, and it turns to yellow just in time for them to come to a slow stop. Finally, Sebastián offers something of a slightly more sensible explanation for the change in routine. “We’re trying a different church today.”
“I see.” Quinn pauses again, and racks his brain. He supposes, at least, that the whole ‘driving to church’ thing makes a bit more sense now that he knows they aren’t going to Saint James. Saint James is, after all, only a ten-minute walk from campus at most, and he and Sebastián have made quite the habit of making that walk together on Saturday afternoons or Sunday mornings, especially this semester. It was something they agreed on together, when they moved in for the school year. Sebastián , Quinn remembers having said, in bed, on a lazy Saturday morning in August, the weekend before classes began. Do you want to go to Mass tomorrow?
Sebastián’s smile had seemed brighter than the sun itself, late summer light streaming through the bedroom window. Baby , he’d said. You’d want to?
Of course I would want to , Quinn had said, because he did. Over the summer, spent together in Arizona, he had been to church with Sebastián’s family every weekend. It had become part of his routine— and with that, he’d seen firsthand just how much going there really meant to Sebastián, how much fulfillment it brought him, how happy it made him. In the previous three years of their relationship, while at school, Quinn had heard of him going to Mass here and there while they were at school— but living in Arizona made it much more real, and helped Quinn to understand.
So when they got back to school this year, Quinn made a promise to himself. To the best of his ability, he was going to help Sebastián keep that fulfillment in his life during the school year. And so, all semester, that’s what they’ve been doing. Hockey and theatre schedules permitting, on Sunday mornings or sometimes Saturday afternoons, they take a walk downtown to Saint James, hand-in-hand, and go to Mass. It’s become part of their on-campus life, and Quinn is happy with that. It makes Sebastián happy, and that makes him happier than he knows how to say.
Today, though, it seems Sebastián has other plans. It’s particularly chilly outside this afternoon, which is the reason it made sense to Quinn when, earlier, in the kitchen at Beech Street, Sebastián asked to borrow Ben’s car. You can drive my car to church , Ben had replied, provided you don’t try to make me go with you.
Jesus would want you to come with us , Sebastián had said, but I won’t force you. I’ll just cry later.
Ben had thrown his keys at him across the counter. Give Jesus my regards.
Now, alone with Sebastián in Ben’s famed Prius of many off-campus adventures, Quinn keeps watching as he bobs his head to the music, and wagers a guess. “Spanish Mass?”
Sebastián flashes a grin, but shakes his head. “Good guess, baby,” he hums, “but no. Not today.”
Quinn smiles a little, too, now. He may be confused, but this could become a potentially entertaining guessing game, to pass the driving time between now and when he finds out the truth. He supposes there’s also always Christmas music, but still. “Interesting.”
Sebastián winks at him now, still looking thoroughly pleased with himself. Clearly, the boy has planned something. Right under Quinn’s nose. “I don’t think you’ll guess it,” he says.
Since they’re stopped at the red light, Quinn leans across the console to kiss his cheek. “I’ll give it my best.”
Sebastián softens, and Quinn takes the opportunity to admire the view. They’ve both made a habit of dressing up for Mass, because, as Quinn likes to remind him, it doesn’t have to be game day to dress nicely. Today, for Sebastián, that means his nice, brown dress pants, and a maroon button-down that’s just his color. He’s even wearing a tie. Quinn will never fail to be grateful for how nicely his boyfriend cleans up.
To be fair, though, Sebastián is cute all of the time, from dress clothes to hockey gear to sweats, and everything in between.
The light turns green, and as they accelerate again, Sebastián starts singing. Badly, but still, he’s giving it his best. “ You will get a sentimental feeling …”
Quinn laughs, and straightens his bowtie. “There’s Christmas karaoke tonight at Bluegrass,” he says. “You should get onstage.”
Sebastián finishes the phrase: “ ... DECK, the halls with boughs of holly ,” and then stops singing to ask, “Will you sing with me?”
“Of course!” It would not be their first time dueting karaoke. Their rendition of “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” last Spring Weekend was a show-stopper, if Quinn dares say so himself. “What song are we singing?”
Sebastián takes a second, like he’s thinking about it, and then his smile gets mischievous all over again. “What about ‘Baby, It’s Cold Outside’?”
Quinn laughs into his hand. “Oh, my goodness .”
“Or maybe we could do Mariah Carey.”
“Will you hit the high note?”
“Uh, obviously.” The mischief has reached Sebastián’s bright eyes now. “We both know that I’m an incredible singer.”
“Mm.” Quinn smooths his own pants again. He ironed them before they left Beech Street, but he feels that he must have missed a few spots. “You should have auditioned for Legally Blonde .”
“I really should have.” Sebastián signals to merge into the right lane— a surefire sign that they’re getting on the highway, since the on-ramp is only a few hundred feet up the road. They’re headed east, and Quinn is all the more curious about where this new church is that Sebastián wants to try. Especially if it isn’t Spanish Mass, since that would seem like the most obvious second option aside from Saint James in Kiersey. They went to Spanish Mass a month ago, for Dia de los Muertos, and they had to drive a little ways to get to a church that offered it. It was nice— an early, chilly Tuesday morning; they were two of only six people in the entire church. Quinn only understood some of what was said, but for Sebastián, it was a piece of home.
“I’m so curious as to where we’re going,” Quinn remarks, but not because he thinks this will get an answer out of Sebastián— he knows, at this point, that Sebastián’s lips are sealed until they reach their destination, since that’s how Sebastián is with surprises; he always has been. He more says this to speak it into the universe, like perhaps it’ll help him think.
All Sebastián says is, “I think you’ll like it.” His self-satisfied smile has returned. Goodness , he’s so cute. Whatever he’s planning, Quinn trusts that it’ll be time well spent. It always is, with him.
As they get onto the highway, the song on the radio changes— and what a transition it is. The unmistakable music box intro of “All I Want For Christmas” dings at them through the speakers. Sebastián lets out a gleeful gasp, then cranks the volume to 20. “We can practice for tonight!” he cries.
Quinn laughs into his hand again. “Give me your best Mariah, dear.”
“ I don’t want a lot for Christmas …”
*
They drive at least twenty minutes, but it goes by quickly— car rides with Sebastián normally do, especially today, with the impromptu Christmas music sing-along.
When they finally pull into a church parking lot, Quinn reads the sign out front. Our Lady of Grace Catholic Parish. Mass Times: Sat 4:30, Sun 8:30 & 10:30. Daily Mass 12:15 PM. Confession Sat 4:00 PM . The church building itself looks pretty, and it’s clear that they’re here for the 4:30— there are plenty of other people getting out of their cars in the parking lot, and the church’s lights are all on. It’s not the largest church Quinn has seen, but it’s bigger than Saint James in Kiersey. “So this is it?” he asks, as Sebastián puts the Prius into park.
“This is it.” Sebastián lunges across the dash to give him a kiss, and Quinn smiles, cupping his cheek in one hand. He just shaved before they left for church, and Quinn can tell; the side of his face is smooth. “You ready?” he asks.
Quinn nods, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t confused. They drove on the highway for a random, new church? “Is there something I’m missing?”
“Just roll with it, mi rey ,” Sebastián sings, as he opens up the car door. Quinn takes a moment to smile at him, then tucks his scarf into his peacoat, and gets out the other side. They meet around front, and Sebastián slides the keys into his pocket.
Quinn arches an eyebrow. “Did you lock it?”
“Do you think I want Ben to kill me?” Sebastián replies, then holds out a hand for him to take. “Course I locked it.”
“I’m only making sure.” Quinn slides his hand into his, and they start across the parking lot together. “Bianca is his child, after all…”
“I know. He’d burn me at the stake.” Sebastián gives him a squeeze, and Quinn can’t help his smile as he returns it. A year ago, the thought of walking into a church while holding his boyfriend’s hand would have probably given him a small heart attack out of fear. In fact— he realizes this as they approach the front doors— his very first time attending church in the first place was a year ago, right to the weekend, in fact. He remembers this because of the wreath on the door. It’s balsam, for the upcoming Christmas season, but with a pink bow. It matches Quinn’s tie, and Quinn did this on purpose— last year on this same Saturday night, Mrs. Hernandez told him that this is one of only two Sundays per year where the church decorates itself in pink.
It symbolizes rejoicing, because Christmas is soon , he remembers her saying; he recalled this while he fastened his bow tie in front of the mirror before they left. It’s the third Sunday in the Advent season, so they’ll light the pink candle on the Advent wreath in the church.
Sure enough, when they walk through the double doors, Quinn can see the pink candle on the wreath up on the altar. It’s not yet lit, but Quinn knows, because of last year, that they’ll light it during Mass. Last year, on this weekend, his very first time going to church with Sebastián’s family, Sebastián’s little sisters got asked by the priest to go up and help light the pink candle.
There’s a name for this weekend, Quinn knows— but off the top of his head, he can’t remember it. He leans over to Sebastián, who is blessing himself with holy water from a font they passed on the way in. “Sebastián,” he says. “What’s today again?”
Sebastián pauses, like he’s confused, and then replies, “It’s the eleventh, I think.”
“No— no.” Quinn laughs a little, and shakes his head. He supposes that he wasn’t really clear with his question to begin with. “I can’t seem to remember what the pink day is called.”
“ Oh .” Now Sebastián laughs, too. Quinn follows him into the main church; the interior is pretty in a simple way, with stained glass windows on either side, and a statue of the Virgin Mary off to the left in the front. There’s a lady dressed in all black up that way, standing in front of the statue with a music stand; she must be one of the church’s singers. Sebastián starts to lead him that way, en route to find a pew. “It’s called Gaudete Sunday,” he says. “It means rejoicing.”
“ Right .” The name rings a bell in Quinn’s head now; he can remember it from last year. He smiles up at him as he remarks, “I like that.”
“Me, too.” As they walk, Sebastián takes his hand again. Quinn feels warm all over, despite the chill outside.
The church is mildly crowded, but there’s still enough space to sit. What confuses Quinn is that Sebastián keeps bypassing perfectly good places to sit, and getting closer to the front. “Dear,” Quinn murmurs, tugging at his hand, tipping his head toward the open seats. “There are places here.”
“We have to be in the front,” Sebastián replies, without further explanation, and Quinn raises an eyebrow at him, but Sebastián isn’t looking at him— he’s back to wearing that smile, like he’s up to something. Then again, this isn’t the first time today that Quinn has been confused. They are, after all, at a church that’s completely out of their way.
As if he can sense the continued confusion, though, Sebastián does provide a little more context for his cryptic behavior. “It’ll make sense in a minute, baby.” Directly after he says this, he stops, abruptly, by a pew that’s only two rows away from the front, and drops to his knee to genuflect as he crosses himself. Sebastián always does this before he takes his seat in a church— his whole family, Quinn has observed, does it, too. Quinn always feels just a bit awkward not doing it, but he isn’t technically Catholic, so he just walks into the pew after Sebastián, no kneeling required. It’s the same as when they go for communion— when Sebastián, and all his family members, receive the wafer for communion, Quinn holds his arms over his chest, and the priest gives him a blessing instead of a wafer. It’s another of those things that has always been a little odd, but it’s gotten more familiar with time. He likes the way the priest at Saint James says the blessing— May God bless you and protect you, always .
Quinn settles into his seat next to him, and from there, almost like clockwork, they fall into their typical pre-Mass configuration— Sebastián pulls his rosary beads out of his pocket, and tucks Quinn’s hand into his free one, and that now-familiar tranquility descends on Quinn as they sit there together. Sebastián prays just under his breath, but he does it in Spanish, so his words are quick and barely comprehensible. The rosary beads were a gift from his abuela; she bought them for him at a famous shrine in Mexico City.
He doesn’t want to interrupt Sebastián while he’s praying, but even as he takes in the peaceful surroundings of the church, and smiles politely at the friendly, mainly elderly churchgoers in their general vicinity, Quinn is still thoroughly confused about why they’re there. He sits tight in hopes that Sebastián’s words— it’ll make sense in a minute — come true.
It truly is a nice church, though. The two previously lit candles on the Advent wreath flicker away in the low light. They’re both purple, and they match some of the decor within the church— beyond the altar, on the back wall, hang purple banners with Christmas scenes printed on them, like the Star of Bethlehem and the Three Kings on camels in the desert. There’s a manger with a nativity scene off to the other side of the front, opposite the Virgin Mary statue, but the baby Jesus isn’t actually in the manger yet, just a bunch of shepherds and farm animals.
Three elderly people, a man and two women, make their slow way up the aisle and into the pew directly in front of them. Quinn smiles at them on their way by; the man gives him a nod, and one of the women waves. They seem to know the woman in black up front, too, who gives them a bright smile as they take their seats.
What happens next clears all of Quinn’s confusion, but in the most unexpected way possible. When he notices it, Sebastián is praying the Hail Mary in Spanish, a gentle, comforting background noise. He watches as the newcomers in the second row settle in— and then the woman in black makes an unmistakable gesture. Quinn would recognize his first language anywhere. “How are you today?” she signs.
“We’re doing well,” replies one of the two women, the one who waved at him when she passed.
“We’ve heard we’re getting snow tonight,” adds the man.
Quinn is in awe. He can’t remember the last time he saw an interpreter in public, besides on TV. He edges forward in his seat, but at the same time, feels odd eavesdropping— this is, after all, a conversation between the interpreter and the three elderly people, not exactly meant for his observance. But it’s all just small talk, and as it goes on, he notices that Sebastián is watching, too. There’s a smile on his face, and he’s finished his rosary, or maybe paused it.
“There’s an interpreter,” Quinn whispers, which is, by now, extremely obvious.
“I know,” Sebastián replies, simply, with that beautiful smile he’s been wearing all afternoon, and then, as if on a beautiful, perfect cue, the bell at the front of the church rings for the start of Mass.
An organ starts playing, and Quinn gets to his feet, following the rest of the congregation. A singer— apparently up in a choir loft— starts an opening hymn: “ O come, o come, Emmanuel …” But the most wonderful thing is happening— the interpreter is signing the words. So Quinn turns off his hearing aids— who needs them?— and feels the organ through the floor, and watches the hymn through sign instead.
Next to him, meanwhile, Sebastián is beaming. “Surprise,” he signs.
Quinn swears he has never loved him more.
From there on out, it’s by far the best Mass he has ever been to.