APPLE AND ITS TREE.

February. I'm 21, still wearing my habit for how natural it now feels and for how unmotivated I still am to take it off. Still on my knees in prayer…𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺.

The news of my brother's wedding were as random as snow in July, a letter to my name in which my mother wrote about it in explicit details. Who the girl was. How nice she was. The color of her eyes. Her education. How she and Lucas had met. How happy they were to have met one another, and what future they were planning. Jennie, her name was…𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘐 𝘨𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘧𝘭𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘵.

The only unnerving thing was the location my family had chosen for the event, which happened to be 𝘮𝘺 fucking monastery. I wondered if that was their super delayed response to my I-miss-you letter.

Did they think including me in their offspring's matrimony would make up for their prolonged silence? What about showing some love? Warmth and joy after long separation? A simple explanation for not replying, maybe? Nope. Nothing. Nada.

I regretted ever expressing my feelings to the people that still did not express theirs to me. There was just no connection between us, no love. If anything, being around them felt like a chore.

So as I watched my brother and his wife-to-be practice their vows, I could only roll my eyes, impatient for them to be done with their nonsense. But they inched to their goal like turtles, got distracted by one another so much that nothing would really get done. I especially hated their unending cooing that made my ears bleed.

"I love you, baby."

"I love you more!"

"Well, I love you the most then!"

"Well, then, I love you the mostest!"

"And I love you the mostest-est-est!!!"

𝘖𝘩, 𝘴𝘩𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺! I screamed internally each time they did that crap. One time, though, I had a good internal laugh.

"Oh my god, you're so funny!" She'd giggle.

"Just funny?" He'd wink at her.

"And gorgeous." She'd add.

"And extremely smart." He'd prompt.

"Babe, you're the most intelligent man I know."

𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘺, I thought to myself, remembering our Harrisburg's family dinners, usually of non-wheat carbs with non-meat meats all glued together by non-dairy sauces, and Lucas's highly "intelligent" physiognomy while he tittered wickedly, rolling, for instance, meatballs from one side of the plate to the other, meal after meal.

My parents once told us they had become vegan during mom's first pregnancy to make sure the baby was born healthy and would not lack anything. But watching Lucas's plant-based retardation, his nasty food wars, or how he'd always leave the table by – suddenly – jumping up and sprinting upstairs blaring like a fucking ram, I always thought, well, clearly the bastard lacked something. Braincells, for example.

Or how he'd never get a grade higher than a C–. Or the way he'd throw tantrums when something didn't go his retarded way.

Or the way he'd hiss mockeries into my ear, or stick out his candida tongue when he ran out of words to win an argument.

Or when, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘯𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯, he'd throw solid objects at my face.

Or how he'd block my way to any door and demand his preposterous passwords.

Or how he'd piss on granny's plants while she wasn't looking.

Or how he'd spread rumors about me to his not-less retarded friends.

He was 15 then. But to me even at 24, turning 25, he still looked demented. 𝘎𝘰𝘥 𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘑𝘦𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘦, I thought to myself, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦…

†††

On the day of the wedding, more people from my past showed up. 𝘞𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘶𝘭, I thought. 𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴. We had to make extra room and bring more chairs to situate everyone.

My family and I took the pews nearest to the altar where Lucas stood grinning ear-to-ear in his black suit along with his best men and a priest. Only my parents and grandparents sat on the right one and I sat on the left.

Between us shuffled a tiny flower girl, sheepishly scattering rose petals right and left to a beautiful cello tune. Then followed the bridesmaids. Finally, to Pachelbel's Canon masterpiece down the aisle walked Jennie in her snow-white gown, flowing veil and gleaming pearls, tenderly escorted by her father.

I was not moved by the beauty, for that word now carried a different meaning, something felt, not seen. And since I felt nothing towards that girl – I did not care.

I only remember listening to the cringy vows she and my brother exchanged in front of us all and thinking of Val's fluent sarcasm. She'd surely trash their "eternal love" (that would probably last 2 years tops) if she were here watching it – how she'd call it – angelic shitshow. 𝘝𝘢𝘭–

Someone's presence brought me back to the present, to roses and vows and dreamy sighs. Next to me was a boy of no more than 10 who was not there a moment ago. 𝘈𝘩, 𝘺𝘦𝘴, I recognized him, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘳.

By that time he had already completed his job, carried a pair of gold bands to the happy couple and was now watching the rest of the angelic shitshow with me. His feet dangled excitedly, eyes sparkled with interest, lips stretched joyfully. He clearly savored the emotional spectacle that unwrapped before him.

"Do you think the bride is pretty?" I couldn't help but whisper, amused at how mesmerized he seemed. The boy looked my way, big, goldish eyes sparkling with innocence.

"Pretty, ma'am?"

"Yes, like beautiful."

The boy glanced at Jennie appraisingly. "She is okay. But not my type."

"Oh? May I ask what's your type?" I joked. But the boy took it seriously, pursed his lips thoughtfully and for a good minute stared first at his hands and then at me.

"Well…you, I guess." He smiled sweetly.

"Me? Why me?"

"I don't know." He shrugged. "You look cool."

"Aww, thank you, sweetie." I laughed. "What's your name?"

"Asher, ma'am."

"Nice to meet you, Asher. I'm sister Eve."

"Nice to meet you, sister Eve," said the boy, gawking at me with anticipation. "Will you be my Valentine—sister Eve?"

I forgot to mention, Lucas got married on February 14th. 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤.

"Er…I'm fluttered," I replied, blushing. "But I am a nun. Nuns are…how do I say it—off limits."

"Why?"

His innocent face with those clueless puppy eyes made me go 𝘢𝘸𝘸𝘸𝘸.

"Nuns are already taken, you see."

"By whom?" He frowned.

"Christ. We are His wives."

The boy considered. "Can't you just cheat on him?"

Again he made me laugh. "No, sweetie, I cannot." I said. "I am devoted only to the Lord. I vowed on it."

The boy, sulking just slightly, turned his attention to Lucas and Jennie. I followed suit, watching the newlyweds shake with horny excitement ready to seal their vows with a horny kiss. I heard Asher mutter then.

"And they say the devil is a liar…"

I stared at the boy's soft profile. He looked at me, smiled.

I raised a brow.

His smile widened.

My other brow followed, confusion turning to shock.

We scrutinized one another a long moment.

"𝘖𝘩…𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘯." I mouthed, watching Asher's goldish eyes dim to darkness. "𝘈 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘪𝘥?"

"You're missing the point, 𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘌𝘷𝘦," he replied in his boyish voice, which sounded absurd now that I knew who was really talking. "Being a kid is actually quite fun. You just never know what preposterous lie will your ear swallow next."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean, name a better entertainment than listening to, say, a dirty whore deeming herself a chaste virgin?"

My teeth gritted furiously against each other. "I hate you. I hate you so much." I hissed. "I—"

"…present to you husband and wife." The priest declared over my already invisible voice.

Everyone got up, filling the room with loud applauses. Lucas and Jennie held hands and beamed, taking in people's cheerful ovations.

I clapped too, but really I glared at Asher, who kept sitting on his fucking seat dangling his fucking feet. I knew it wasn't the boy's fault. I didn't even know him. But I already hated him wholeheartedly, his face and that repulsive smirk with which he leered at me.

I didn't even notice – with my eyes glued hatefully to the little shit – that the applause had ceased and the setting had changed.

My father – my mom had mentioned in her unnecessary letter – wished for a wedding with a twist. And so instead of following the newlyweds outside to a rain of petals, people were asked to hold their horses and 'please sit down'.

My brother and his wife joined my parents, giving way to Sister Rosalyn with a quire of sixteen Asher-looking boys clothed in white robes. Musicians followed to purposely vacant chairs behind the altar. An interval of preparatory silence was interrupted by Sister Rosalyn's voice.

"Dear guests…"

I felt a drilling gaze. Asher. 𝘈𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘶𝘴, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺.

He was staring at me like at some foreign breed. Then he turned to Sister Rosalyn and back at me, pursing his tiny lips and narrowing his kiddish eyes until they minimized to suspicious slits. Another glance towards the altar and now not only his head but his whole body repositioned so that he could better gawp at me with those laughing, inhumanly dark eyes.

"What's your problem?!" I barked.

"How very interesting…" He drawled, smirking. "The apple, indeed, does not fall far from the tree…"

"What the hell are you saying?" I undertoned.

"I'm saying you're just like your mother."

𝘙𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮…? Grimacing as if chewing on a lemon, I looked at my mom who sat elegantly in her elegant cream attire, with elegant pins in her elegant blonde hair, smiling her elegant smile. "No, we're not."

The kid didn't even glance my mother's way but instead gaped at the altar. "Why, yes, you are. The resemblance is striking."

"Who are you looking at all the time? My mother is over there."

The little boy raised a brow. His surprise was the mildest, but more than anything he was entertained.

"Right there." I pointed in my family's direction.

He shook his little head no, smiling wider.

"𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 my mother." I insisted, pointing harder.

"Hollie Catherine Griffith, sitting next to my father, Colton Wayne Griffith. And those two love birds are my brother Lucas Albert Griffith and my newest sister-in-low Jennie-whatever-now-Griffith. And see those two Squidward-looking-mean-looking creatures? My grandparents. Elouise and Nathan MacQuoid."

The boy – the demon – never bothered to throw a glance their way but only watched me with mounting amusement. "You are indisputably your father's daughter, that I see," he affirmed calmly.

"Du-u-uh…"

"I also see that woman's blood does not run in your veins."

"Excuse me?"

"She is not your mother, you imbecile."

I, too, had to reposition my body just to give him my coldest stare. "𝘌𝘹𝘤𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘮𝘦…? How does the woman who 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 gave birth to me is not my mother?"

"That woman did not bring you into this world."

"Then who? WHO?!" I fumed, exasperated.

The boy's finger pointed to sister Rosalyn as he uttered, "She did. You are the daughter of Vivienne."

I think I did not speak for several minutes while my eyes darted chaotically from sister Rosalyn to my father then to my mother then to Asher then to my father and back to sister Rosalyn…and back to my father. And back to the nun. And back to the little shit.

"You're joking, right?" I stared at Asher with the orbs that were about to pop out of the sockets. "𝘙𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵?!"

"Why don't you ask them yourself?" The boy smiled. "Not now, of course. Now, you can lean back and enjoy my lovely voice. Did I mention I have a lovely voice?"

Just as he said that, sister Rosalyn called out Asher's name asking him to come to the altar. The kid hopped up excitedly and joined the quire.

Watching me from the "stage", he grinned. A few moments later the music began to flow; children's tiny voices flowed a few moments later, blending into a heavenly background for Asher's lyrics. His voice did sound angelic, and people did sigh at its clear beauty. But all I could focus on was the nun that with swift movements of her pale hand directed the quire's pitches.

𝘕𝘰, I thought. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘦.

𝘖𝘳 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘵…?