Love May Fail Read Online Free Page B

I ask.
    “I don’t know if I ‘go around saying’ that. But, yes. I am married to Jesus.”
    “If all nuns are married to Jesus, that would mean he currently has thousands of wives and has had maybe millions over the past two thousand years, right?”
    “Well, I guess so.”
    “You’re okay with Jesus having multiple wives? Jesus the polygamist.”
    “You can’t think of it that way—it’s not sexual, or anything like that. He’s not your Ken, after all.”
    Ha! Funny old nun. Still sharp as a razor blade in a Halloween apple.
    “You would totally have sex with Jesus. Admit it,” I say. “He has an amazing body.”
    Maeve shakes her head, laughs, and looks up. “Oh, Lord, what have you sent me this time?”
    “You talk to Jesus?”
    “Every waking hour of every day.”
    “Right now. You can talk to him here?”
    “Certainly.”
    “What does Jesus say about me? Ask him.”
    “He says you need more vodka,” Maeve says.
    The flight attendant returns on cue with glasses of ice, which shehands us before bending down and pulling the mini bottles out of her pocket and slipping them to my nun friend with a wink.
    “Enjoy your flight, Sister,” she says and then proudly strides away down the aisle like she’s just done a good deed.
    As if Sister Maeve makes such sneaky deals every day, she simply pours two glasses. “To new beginnings.” She hands me mine. We tap plastic and begin sipping citrus-flavored alcohol.
    “So you’ve never had sex?” I wonder if that would have been a good decision for me—complete and utter abstinence.
    “Do you always handle pain like this?” she says. “By trying to make others uncomfortable?”
    “Pfft.” I wave her words away with my hand.
    We sit in silence for a time.
    “I just want to be a good feminist,” I say out of the blue as the plane takes off and we begin to fly. “I really do. But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you? Nuns are the opposite of good feminists, wouldn’t you say? Submitting to men is sort of your thing, right?”
    Sister Maeve smiles and nods, and then she even chuckles.
    “Have you read Gloria Steinem?” I ask.
    “No, I have not.”
    “‘A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle,’ she said—Gloria Steinem. I wonder if she’d include Jesus as a man.”
    “Wouldn’t know.” Sister Maeve’s voice seems tired and distant now.
    I’ve already worn her down with my flippant and obnoxious comments—I’m very good at wearing people down whenever I’m upset, although I’m not proud of this.
    I wish I had been nicer to Sister Maeve, but what can I do about that now? I can’t go back in time and start over. And I’m having abad day. When you catch your husband screwing a girl half your age, you are permitted to be bitchy, even when talking to adorable nuns on airplanes—nuns who buy you vodka, even.
    Right?
    No.
    I’m a terrible person.
    I’m sorry , I think I say, but I’m not sure if I’ve actually moved my mouth and tongue, which is when I realize I’m fantastically drunk.
    Maybe I should have used Ken’s Colt .45 on myself.
    Suddenly nothing seems funny anymore.
    I stare at the seatback in front of me for a minute or so before I pass out.
    When I wake up, I’m disoriented and my head’s throbbing.
    My shoulder is wet from my own drool.
    “Where am I?” I say.
    The nun to my left says, “Welcome to Philadelphia. I drank your vodka for you, Ms. Lightweight. Time to exit.”
    I look up. The plane is empty.
    “We’ve been shaking you. I think they might have gone to find a doctor,” the nun says.
    “I’m okay,” I say, but when I try to stand, I feel sick.
    I make it to the bathroom just in time to empty my stomach.
    Someone is knocking now, aggressively.
    “Ma’am? Are you okay?”
    I wash out my mouth in the sink. “Coming.”
    I look in the mirror and see a monster.
    An old-looking mythical creature.
    Red eyes.
    Makeup running.
    I might as well have snakes for hair.
    “ Great .” I