Daniel hid behind a car parked away from Saint Monica's, his curly black hair sticking out from behind it, the only evidence that he was there. Sister Janice stood outside the main entrance, smiling politely and nodding as an elderly man talked on and on like he had all day at the parish.
Janice was beautiful, in a subtle way. Her brown eyes glowed when she smiled at him but what he loved most about her facial features was her dimples. Every smile displayed them boldly, lighting up her face and he could spend the day looking at her.
At eighteen, Daniel thought he had outgrown such foolishness and he had until Sister Janice arrived at the parish.
At thirteen, he had been convinced that Sister Theresa was the most beautiful woman in the world. His mother had laughed so hard the first time he confessed it that he wished the kitchen floor would swallow him. It felt like love and he had been too young to understand why everyone else found the idea ridiculous.
When his mother explained that Sister Theresa had chosen a life that did not include dating, marriage or the kind of love he had imagined, and that having a crush was not shameful but it might hurt him. He had listened with a red face and stubborn silence.
Then Sister Theresa left the parish and that was the end of the matter. Or so he thought until Sister Janice arrived.
She was younger than the other nuns and nicer with a calm voice. Daniel began volunteering at the parish more often and they spent time together, getting to know each other.
He told himself it was different this time because he was older and understood the boundaries. It seemed his heart had learned nothing from his mother's lecture.
One night at dinner, she gave him the same look she had given him years ago. “Don't tell me you have eyes for another nun,” she said and everyone else paused eating, their eyes on him.
Daniel groaned and looked away but he could not hide his smile. “Stop, Mum. I'm not a child anymore.” He stood and left the table before anyone else could say anything.
A week later, Sister Janice stopped coming to mass and parish gatherings. He was a mess and asked other nuns and priests. No one said anything meaningful. Some of them smiled awkwardly and shooed him away like a child but their eyes said something he couldn't fathom.
After mass one Sunday morning, he saw her. He froze like he had seen a ghost.
She stood beside the parish priest, no longer wearing their loose robe that usually concealed her figure. Daniel stared, breath held, at her slightly protruded stomach unmistakable beneath the pale blue dress she wore.
The noise of the congregation seemed to disappear around him.
Sister Janice was no longer a nun. She was pregnant.
I hope you enjoyed reading this short piece. It's inspired by the Freewrite #dailyprompt phrase "another nun”.
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