Excerpt from The Wrong Heaven by Amy Bonnaffons, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"Well," I said. "I guess I'd just like to feel like you're on my side."

Mary nodded sympathetically. "I think you're doing a bang-up job," she said, "under the circumstances." She had a slight British accent, like Julie Andrews.

"Look," said Jesus. "Don't take it the wrong way, what I'm about to say. It's just my personality. But have you considered the lilies of the field? The birds, and wild beasts? Do they wonder who's on 'their side'?" He made air quotes.

"I don't know," I said.

"They don't," he said.

I waited for Him to say something more, but He didn't. He just stood there with His arms folded, apparently waiting for me to say something. Mary rolled her eyes.

I leaned over and unplugged them. Their lights went out, and their faces hardened into frozen masks of cheap colored plastic.

I picked them up, took them out to the car, and drove back to Tony's Catholic Bonanza.

"They don't work?" said the young man behind the counter. He had eyes as green as marbles, and black hair neatly parted down the middle.

"They work," I said. "That's not the problem. The problem is, they're judgmental."

He nodded. "Ah, I see," he said. He folded his arms. "A lot of people complain about that."

"So can you take them back?"

"No, ma'am." He shook his head. He pointed to a large handwritten sign that said NO REFUNDS ON STATUES.

I sighed. "Where do these come from, anyway?"

"Papa's Plastics. It's the only factory located partially inside the Vatican City."

"What do you mean, partially?"

"Half of it is and half of it isn't. Vatican City is very small. They make statues and rosary beads and shovels. For burying the dead."

"Plastic shovels?"

He shrugged. "The soil is very loose in that part of Italy. Anyway, it's all been blessed by the Pope."

"What do you mean, blessed? Does he sprinkle holy water on it or something?"

"No, but his car drives by the factory sometimes and he gives a little wave." He demonstrated by limply raising his hand, then letting it drop.

I sighed. "Thanks for your help." I picked up the two statues, one under each arm, and headed back out to the car.


When I got home, I placed Mary and Jesus in front of the rosebush, which provided a nice color contrast with her blue robes and His white ones. I did not plug them in.

Instead, I went into the kitchen and opened the freezer. There was Billie Holiday. She was in a plastic bag, but I could clearly see the shape of her through it. One of her little paws stuck out of the bottom. She had died a month ago, but I still couldn't bring myself to move her. I stood in front of the freezer and looked at her for a while. Then, I reached to the left of her stiff body, took out the gin, and closed the door. I filled a glass nearly to the top, and threw in a little tonic water. I took one delicious sip and then went over to the living room, lay down on the rug, and tried to balance the glass on my chest. I had read about someone doing this, in a novel or something. It was harder than it looked. When I breathed, the glass tipped forward and spilled down my front, soaking my torso and crotch.

Lately, everything was harder than it looked. Things had turned out so disappointingly for me. Beauty had not turned into happiness. It hadn't even turned into beauty (see, in Evidence Against, item 6: Dimpled thighs).

I shouldn't have been so stuck up in the bloom of my youth. I turned away six objectively impressive men. They were all just so boring. But it's also boring, I now realize, to be alone.


Let me tell you about Billie Holiday. I'm not even a dog person. But when I saw her face on the flyer, I knew she was mine.

Excerpted from The Wrong Heaven by Amy Bonnafons. Copyright © 2018 by Amy Bonnafons. Excerpted by permission of Little Brown & Company. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.