I Kissed A Girl

15: Exodus 20:13

Mackenzie's P.O.V

Being home felt different. I could always tell what day it was when I was here. Every day had its feeling. Mondays felt like abominations, almost as if they should have never existed. Tuesdays felt better. It felt better because you start to look forward to the rest of the week. Wednesdays were neutral, they weren't too much of this or that. Then Thursday rolled around and you start wishing it was already the weekend so you tell yourself that you just have one more day to go.

Fridays were very happy days, laid back and chill because you knew you had the weekend to yourself. Saturdays felt lazy, hot, and lazy, and the perfect day for a swim in the Summer and the perfect day to moze around and find a movie to watch in Winter. Sundays always felt heavenly to me, pure and fresh. In Glenwood, Thursdays felt like Thursdays and Tuesdays felt like Tuesdays. I missed that about Glenwood, I could always tell. The sun just felt different on my skin, the birds sang a new tune, and the air smelt fresher. Today felt like a Sunday.

We sat near the back since we were late for Mass. Mom was peeved though she didn't say anything, we all knew what she was thinking. She hadn't made a scene thanks to Anna but I knew if Anna hadn't tagged along she would have yelled atrocities at us. I understood why, at church, you always had eyes on you and you were doomed to be judged. It was the most judgmental place in the world but I felt at home there.

All my memories in this church were pleasant. It was where I would come when I wanted a break from mom and dad. Maya... even, after I found out about Xavier... I came and sat in this very pew then cried about it. Just being in the presence of an entity that was larger than life itself made my problems seem a little smaller.

This whole thing must've made better sense to Anna. The nerd without a life was... well, a church-loving nerd without a life. I didn't really scream Christian. I wasn't one of those Catholics who announced their faith to the whole world, not that I've ever been afraid to but everyone in Glenwood Springs sort of just knew. But Quinton wasn't Glenwood. We went to church every Sunday, everyone knew I was the Greys' kid, that this is where I grew up.

We took Communion, all except Anna and then prayed. Her perfectly mascaraed eyes were glued to her phone screen while, ever so often, getting up to respect the church's practices. She agreed to come and I've never seen her so out of her element. Anna was debating committing a sinful act in the presence of God and even if I was taught to believe it was wrong, I understood and respected it. I'm sure being in a church full of people who would judge her and condemn her was number one on her list of places she didn't want to be.

If I were her, I'd want to put my mistakes behind me and move on. Maybe I'd opt for the same solution or perhaps the guilt would get to me first. The choice was completely hers and not an easy one, at that. Whatever she chose, it would be something she would have to live with. Mom had me as an older mother. After Maya, having another baby became even riskier. Though she was advised against it, she gave birth to me. She must've been convinced that aborting me would be a sin that she wouldn't be able to come back from. My mother's faith was strong. She would have chosen death over living with sin as heavy as that.

After Mass, the drive home was slow. Mom and dad were talking about the service, Maya was on her phone and Anna was staring out the window, the entire time. When we got to the house, mom started dinner, Anna offered to help. She wasn't herself after mass and she seemed like she could use some space.

I headed up to my room to get free of this stupid itchy church dress then lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. My head hung over the edge of the bed and I looked around my upside-down room. The paintings on my walls pretty much looked the same, and awarded certificates I got from community competitions, trophies and medals from blue ribbons to Champion awards.