The Boyfriend of the Month Club by Maria Geraci

receive Communion that she noticed Sarah sitting by herself in the front pew. Ever since Sarah and Craig had split, Sarah had been going to church with her family again, but they went to eight a.m. Mass, which Abuela labeled barbaric. Only chickens and old people are up that early, Abuela said. Abuela, who was eighty-two, didn’t count herself a member of either group.
    Grace caught Sarah’s gaze on her way back to her seat. Sarah hadn’t gotten up to receive Communion, which was unusual. Maybe Sarah had stopped taking Communion because of the divorce. Something about that didn’t sit well with Grace.
    “Why didn’t you take Communion?” Grace asked her the second they were both outside the church.
    “Who named you head of the Communion police?”
    “Is it because of the divorce? Did you go to Confession and Father Donnelly told you you can’t have Communion anymore? Have you thought about an annulment?”
    Father Donnelly was a nice man, but he was a Catholic priest first and he played strictly by the rules. Grace herself had avoided confession for at least three years now. Not that she’d committed any biggies. No murder or theft or coveting anybody’s anything for her. But she was tired of repeating the same banal sins over and over. And the sins that were bigger, she had no intention of telling Father Donnelly. Those were between her and God. Besides, confession was supposed to make you feel better. Only in Grace’s case she always ended up feeling worse about herself.
    “It’s called reconciliation now. And it’s supposed to be private.”
    “The creep cheated on you, Sarah. What are you supposed to do? Forgive and forget? Surely the Church has to make an allowance for stuff like that.”
    “Father Donnelly hasn’t said a word to me, so you can retract your claws. I didn’t take Communion because I didn’t want to.” Before Grace could respond, Sarah pointed to Phoebe. “Who’s the Amazon with Charles in Charge?”
    Grace followed Sarah’s line of vision to see Abuela introducing Phoebe to Father Donnelly, who was heartily pumping her hand up and down. Judging by the gleam in Father Donnelly’s eyes, he looked like he was already mentally scheduling Phoebe and Charlie’s wedding Mass.
    “Don’t change the subject,” Grace said. “We were talking about your divorce from Craig.”
    “Did someone just say donuts?” Grace turned to find Charlie standing behind her. “I could down a few dozen right now.” He patted his flat stomach. “I’m starving.” Charlie’s metabolism was legendary, a thing of disgusting beauty. Grace studied her brother’s face. What she needed to know, she figured out in two seconds. Poor Phoebe. She was a goner. The only thing Charlie was in love with was a chocolate-glazed Krispy Kreme.
    “Have you no shame?” she asked her brother.
    “What do I have to be ashamed about?” He reached over and tousled the hair on top of Sarah’s head the way he did every time he saw her. “Hey, squirt. What’s shakin’?”
    Charlie had called Sarah squirt ever since Grace could remember, but the nickname hadn’t fit Sarah since they’d graduated parochial school. Sarah might be vertically challenged, but she was the epitome of elegance. Kind of like Grace Kelly but with just the right amount of curves.
    Sarah’s traditional response to Charlie’s “What’s shakin’?” was always “Wouldn’t you like to find out?” But before she could say it, Grace interrupted them. “Charlie, when did you start bringing your girlfriends to Mass?”
    He looked startled. “Who said Phoebe was my girlfriend?”
    “Are you sleeping with her?” Grace asked.
    Charlie didn’t even blink. “Nope.”
    “Okay, wrong question. Are you having sex with her?”
    “Isn’t that a little indelicate considering where we’re at?”
    “That means yes. So if you’re having sex with her and you’ve brought her to Mass to meet the family, then she’s your girlfriend. Jeez, Charlie!