Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
…
Great, we’re back to this game. I try not to cringe when I see the three dots. I know he wants me. My body is still sore and tingly from the steaminess, but that doesn’t mean he wants everything. That doesn’t mean the idea of a future together isn’t ridiculous to him.
Mom murmurs in her sleep, rolling over, finally freeing my hand. I lean across and kiss her on the head. Then I stare at my phone like I’m trying to give myself eye strain.
I’ve never thought about having children, he replies.
I shake my head. But you said you were passionate about it, remember? You said it was the Italian in you.
There must be something wrong with me. Out of everything that’s happened, including Dad, this has my heart beating the most. The idea of him not wanting kids doesn’t fit into my head. Suddenly, my vision of the future starts to turn to vapor.
Yeah, that’s true, but that’s recent. I’d accepted the fact I was never going to have children. I assumed that Luca was going to continue our family’s name. That was good enough for me.
I swallow, wincing when I hear somebody walk by outside the door. After things got icy with Alessia, I wonder how long until she tells us to get the hell out of here. So far, though, everybody has left us alone.
So what changed?
His message takes a long, long time. I sit up, unable to focus. Walking to the window, I crack the curtain, looking out on the city as the sun begins to set. It’s been a long, long day of waiting, wondering, the crushing news about Dad, the confused emotions, and the clashing guilt.
Don’t ask silly questions, angel, he replies.
I grit my teeth. How is that a silly question? What does he mean by that? My soul glows when I think about him meaning everything has changed since he saw me. He saw me, and his universe changed shape as quickly and completely as mine did. Our destinies screamed like the crescendo in a song.
What’s so silly about that? I send.
Then I start pacing the bedroom. It feels as if there’s a lot at stake with his answer. Minutes pass, five, ten… Eventually, I sit down, staring at my phone: three dots, nothing, three dots, nothing. I wonder if he’s just left his phone facedown somewhere. Maybe I’m driving myself nuts for no reason at all.
Finally, he texts me again, but it’s not about children. Sorry, angel. I just got a call from Mom. She wants us all to have dinner together this evening. Apparently, my dad has insisted on it. We’re going to have a special guest.
I’m tempted to tell him I don’t care about that. All that matters is what we were talking about. The future. Family. Heat. Connection. Nothing else is relevant, but I won’t pester him about it. If he doesn’t want to talk, I can’t force him.
Do you have any idea who the guest is? I ask.
No, he replies, but she sounded stressed on the phone. I’m also suspicious about her saying Dad asked for it after what you told me.
I cringe. I don’t want to come between you and your family, Elio. I know how important it is to you.
It is, but so is the Family, with a capital F. Hundreds of men and their wives and kids rely on us. The city itself relies on us. We stop the filth from creeping in. We stop the thugs, the traffickers, and the drug pushers. If Mom is lying, I know she’d have a good reason. Or, at least, something she would see as a good reason.
So when are you coming back? I ask. I don’t want to be at the dinner before him. Sitting with Alessia would be so awkward after what happened. She probably hates me for causing her to slip up.
I’m leaving now. I’ll see you soon.
Okay, good, but what about children, Elio? What did you mean when you said I was asking silly questions? What about any of that? But before I can ask him this—not that I’m sure I would’ve had the nerve, anyway—Mom wakes, rolling over, rubbing her eyes.
She looks at me as though she’s startled. It’s like she thought she was still in the crack den. Or maybe she was pilled-up in her bed in her mind, thinking this was all a wild nightmare. Reaching for the bedside cabinet, she grits her teeth, then pulls her hand away like it’s burned.
It confuses me at first. Then I understand. It’s a habit. She was reaching for her pills. “I’m never taking another,” she says, looking at me with determination.
“What about withdrawals?” I ask quietly.
“They gave me some medication at the hospital,” she says. “More pills, but not the really bad ones, and I’m going to ween off these, too. I promise.”