by A. Constanza
I wrapped an arm around her, holding her tightly. “I’ll protect you; I hope you know that.”
“I know,” she whispered.
The process wasn’t complicated, but it was daunting. Estella reached over for my hand on occasions, needing extra reassurance while discussing details about her relationship with Cesar. It was in our best interest to steer clear from each other because if I faced him, I would have him regret ever treating Estella less than she deserved.
“Thank you for coming with me,” Estella said as we walked out of the station. “I feel lighter.” She scanned her surroundings and drew in a deep breath.
I placed a gentle hand on her lower back. “Good.”
“You’re staying over tonight, right?”
“Yes, my love.”
“Good. I feel freer, but I still need you at night.” She adjusted her shoulders to match her confidence—not completely there but more than before.
“I’ll help you take your mind off everything,” I assured.
“Last night was unbelievable,” she said timidly.
“It really was.” I looked down at her and caught her beautiful smile. I kissed her lips hard and pulled her into a tight embrace. “Heavenly, actually.”
“I’m not sure how you’ll top our future dates.”
“Oh, I have so much more up my sleeve.” I might’ve exaggerated, but I did have at least two more date ideas that I wanted to execute in the near future.
I watched Adler drive closer toward us, and once he parked in front of us, I opened the door for her. She shimmied down, and I entered after her. Adler immediately locked the doors and proceeded to drive toward Estella’s townhouse.
Estella exited the vehicle at the same time Adler opened his door. She enjoyed being quicker than him, and I could tell that he found her entertaining. Estella walked over to the passenger side of the car, and I lowered the window to kiss her goodbye.
“Enjoy your time with your mom,” she cooed.
“Are you sure you can’t come?” I asked.
“I want to clean the house, set up the decorations, and marinate the chicken for tomorrow. Chicken and waffles will be on the menu.” She had a beautiful smile, and it was even more beautiful when she was giddy with excitement. I adored—and envied—her relationship with her parents. She was so loved, and that was the best thing a person could have in life.
I extended my hand out of the window and placed it on her soft cheek. Feeling her was one of my favorite pastimes. “Okay, I’ll try to be back by five.” That gave me a little less than four hours with my mother—that was more than enough time.
“I will see you later, Mr. Amatore.” God, the way her lips looked when she called me that. I couldn’t wait for the day where I could give her the same name. Ms. Estella Amatore had an amazing ring to it.
Forty minutes later, and I arrived at my mother’s opulent penthouse. I forgot how everything in the penthouse was either gold, marbled, or cream-colored. She prided herself in being a maximalist.
One of her house managers escorted me into the tea room, my mother’s favorite room and mine, as well. It was one of the subtlest rooms, and I used that word lightly. The walls were painted white with gold accents throughout and on the ceiling, there was a grand chandelier that hung over the table arrangements, and a Samick ivory-and-gold piano in the corner of the room. I appreciated when a piano was the statement piece of the room, and although the piano was gorgeous, it was outshone by everything else around it.
Mom entered the room, and three men dressed in white chef uniforms followed behind her with a selection of scones, sandwiches, cake, and teas. She had enough to serve up to twenty people, but that was my mother. Go big or go home.
“Mio dolce ragazzo.” She smiled as she approached me, cupping my face and kissing each cheek. “Tell me everything that happened last night. How did she enjoy the clothes, music, and Garden Rooftop Restaurant?”
“We didn’t go to the restaurant,” I said. “We opted for fast food and eating on the rooftop of my building.”
“It is quite lovely up there,” she said, stroking my cheek. Her hands were cold and shaky. My mother might’ve been an actress with a deceiving smile, but I knew when she wasn’t feeling well. Today was one of those days, and I wondered if she’d try to conceal it from me, or if I’d have to pry it out of her.
“We had the Samick toned earlier this morning. Do you mind playing for me before we eat?”
“Anything you’d like,” I said. “I owe it to you after last night.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” she said, tapping my cheek before walking ahead.
Mother gazed through the window in deep thought as I played. The world knew her as a chameleon, but I wondered if she was ever understood by anyone. I was her son and knew a little more than the average person, and I wished we hadn’t missed out on so many years.
We both watched the blue skies fade into a dark grey color, clouds rolling in, and raindrops streaking the great windows. Mother loved the rain; she said it was God’s way of making music. It was she who had changed my point of view about rainy days. I used to see them as unnecessary, but I realized I played my best on rainy days. The pitter-patter of the rain and the keys of the piano mingled together, and the melancholy melody ignited something in me.
Almost an hour in, I realized that I never attempted to teach my mother how to play. She was the one who funded most of my studies; she had always supported my musical career, yet I had never seen her even touch a key. “Mamma, would you like to learn how to play?”
She moved her attention back to me with shock in her eyes. “You haven’t called me Mamma since you were thirteen.”
I didn’t notice that until she pointed it out. “You’re right.”
“I’ll leave the music to you, though, thank you.” She went back to look out the window.
“Should we eat soon?” I asked, watching her house manager check on the food and then on us.
“Another five minutes.”
Five minutes passed, and she kept her word. We sat across from each other and although we were inches away from each other, the grandness and emptiness of the room made the ambiance feel haunting almost.
Mother helped herself to a sandwich and a tea cake. “So, you won’t be back until Christmas time?” she asked.
“Around that time.”
“Thanksgiving is in a few weeks. Why not stay until then?”
“We are both eager to go back to Italy. She has orders to fill, and I’m in search of a new place.” That was a last-minute decision; I hadn’t even shared the news with Estella. I wanted a smaller place in Castel Vecchio to be closer to Estella and Nonno. The country suited me more than the busy city anyway.
“You don’t like your villa?”
“I’m looking to downsize. I don’t need a five-bedroom villa with two different living rooms, a wine cellar, a saloon, and whatever else.”
“Keep me updated. I don’t want you finding something old and unsuitable.”
“I’ll most likely buy a decent-sized cottage and renovate it. It’ll be a great home to raise children.”
“Children,” she whispered. “I could have grandchildren,” she whispered in amazement.
“Yes.” I laughed. “When we are ready.”
“So,” she said, placing a napkin over her mouth to hide her giddiness. “Estella may be the one then?”
“I know she is,” I declared.
“You don’t understand how happy I am to hear that you found a woman to love and care for you the way you deserve.” Tears started to cascade down her cheek and she was quick to blot them away with her napkin. She wasn’t one to cry in front of others, but I saw it, and it was touching to know that she genuinely felt happy for me. I may have only reconnected with Estella less than two months ago, but I knew she was the one for me five years ago. Mother knew it, too.
“I wanted to talk to you about something,�
�� she said hesitantly.
I expected this conversation. She had been off for the whole visit, but I couldn’t decipher what she would want to talk about.
“You’ve grown up to be an amazing man, and it saddens me to not have been there for you more. I wish things could be different, especially now that we are getting closer, but I have to tell you that I might not have much time with you left.” She placed her delicate, cold hands over mine and squeezed them tightly. “I wasn’t meant to be your mother for long.”
Her words were so vague, yet so powerful. I didn’t understand what she was telling me. Was she leaving me by choice or not? With our history, I assumed the worst and wanted to explode on her for playing pretend with me, but I allowed myself to remain calm and collected until she proved otherwise.
“I’m not understanding you.”
“I have stage-four skin cancer, melanoma.”
The words sucker-punched me in the chest. Cancer?
“You’re being treated, correct?”
“The survival rate is low, figlio. I can be treated, but I won’t win at the end.”
I pulled my hand away and cover my forehead, processing her last sentence. The severity and darkness of her words wrapped me like a cocoon. “Fuck!” I yelled, slamming my fists onto the table, the set of cups and plates shifting. Mother didn’t move a muscle.
I grabbed onto her hands and pulled them into me. “You re-entered my life, Mamma. You weren’t supposed to leave me again. I lost Nonna, and now you?”
She didn’t utter a sound. What could she say to console her angry, betrayed son?
“How long have you known?” I asked.
“I learned that it wasn’t looking in my favor early September.”
“And you’re now telling me? Almost two months later?” I tried to not sound upset or mad with her because I wasn’t. My anger wasn’t directed at her; it was directed at the situation. A part of me wished she didn’t tell me, but another part would’ve been devastated to learn about my mother’s passing even if we weren’t on talking terms. She was my mother after all; I could be troubled by her unloving acts, but I still loved her.
“How long do you have left?” My heart carried the weight of a million bricks, and it still pounded against my chest.
“With the chemotherapy, radiation therapy, and other therapies, a little less than three years since it’s so late. Without it all, maybe less than a year.”
“What do you mean without it? You need to live.”
Mother held my hands with all her effort and kissed them. “I do, so much, but not if it means I lose myself. I don’t want to live three more years if it means being skin and bones.”
As much as I didn’t want to understand that, I completely did and hated myself for it. I wanted to tell her to keep fighting for however long she could, that we’d now found each other and should try our best to keep each other in our lives, that in three years she could see me getting married, having a child, but I couldn’t. It would be completely and utterly selfish.
I leaned into my mother, holding her tightly, and allowed myself to mourn for our past, present, and future. It was the first time in nearly twenty years that I had cried in my mother’s arms—the tears that pleaded for help, pleaded for this moment to be miraculously salvaged.
“With every blessing, there is a curse,” Mom whispered into my ears.
The words sounded familiar, but I was too emotionally heavy to recall the origin of the saying.
“Your nonna used to say that.”
She was right. I would hear her say it whenever my mom and dad had scored a new job opportunity, which meant being tossed to my grandparents. I never understood it until now. They would prosper in wealth and status—the blessing—but ruined their relationship with me—the curse—but that wasn’t something they would know until years passed. And now, my mother had the blessing of having me in her life, but the curse of having to leave so soon. Blessing and curses had to be received in full measure. There was no picking and choosing but solely accepting what is and will be.
“She was a wild, crazy woman, but I loved her as if she was my own mother. I always thanked her for raising you. I can’t take credit for the man you are now, as much as I would love to.” She chuckled, softly.
“Maybe we’ll stay another week.”
“Really?” she chirped.
“I’ll have to talk to Estella, but I think it would be the best option for all of us right now. We need to let this storm ride itself out.”
“If you two decide to stay another week, I would love to have Estella over for dinner.”
“Of course.”
A sweet smile painted her face, but it was torn away within seconds when there was a crack of thunder that caused us both to look out the window. Our eyes were then redirected to the doors with Adler barging into the room with an urgent look. “I’m sorry for entering like this, but Ignacio, we need to head over to Estella’s home.”
I was now standing on both legs, and I exchanged looks between my mother and Adler.
“Go, go now,” my mother urged.
I placed a hard kiss on the top of her head and walked beside Adler, gaining all the information I could before we reached the vehicle. There was a heaviness surrounding me with every word that came out of his mouth. Love can manifest into worry, and I’d worried about Estella ever since she told me about Cesar. That was the sole reason I wanted her to report all the incidents to the police department, but little had we known that Romeo’s older brother had joined the force. Whether or not he was a corrupt officer, he would probably have informed Romeo who would then inform Cesar. That was the last thing we wanted while Estella was alone.
With every blessing, there was a curse.
Estella, the woman I loved, a beautiful blessing, may have fallen victim to a deadly curse, and I was a bridge away from her.
THIRTY-THREE
Estella
I would be with my family again in less than two days and wanted to make sure that everything went according to plan. The house had been cleaned from the top floor to the basement—I had tackled stacking all our old boxes to one side of the basement like Papa had wanted to do before I left for Italy. The basement was a small under-renovated area that stored items we hadn’t touched in years, and Papa wanted to slowly convert it into his own space. If we were staying another week, I would’ve persuaded Ignacio to help me transform the area.
I tossed boneless, skinless chicken thighs around in the bowl with milk brine. I had texted Salem for advice on how to make the perfect fried chicken, and she’d suggested marinating the chicken in a milk brine overnight. I covered the bowl and placed it in the fridge.
I leaned against the counter, swiping the imaginary bead of sweat that was on my forehead. I wasn’t sweating, but I felt like I had been active the whole day. I tapped my pencil against my lip, looking over the list of things I had to do before tomorrow morning.
The final item on the list: hang the welcome-home banner. The best spot to hang it had to be over the window that provided our dining table with light. I placed a wooden chair on one side and stood on my tiptoes to thumb-tack the banner onto the wall.
It took three attempts to get the perfect alignment, and when I deemed it good enough, I decided to go upstairs to retrieve my phone and ask Ignacio what we should do for dinner with Maya. Midway upstairs, I heard a jostling noise coming from the back end of the house. I didn’t make a sudden move and tried to listen for the noise again, confirming whether it was real or my mind playing tricks on me.
There was another thump coming from what I determined to be the laundry room, and I tiptoed the rest of the way up the stairs. The back door of the laundry room started to rattle even more audibly, the knob being fiddled with. Then, a loud crashing noise caused me to gasp out loud, notifying the intruder that I was aware of them.
“Estella,” I heard a menacing, male voice call for me from downstairs.
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br /> I could recognize that voice from a mile away; it was Cesar. The room started to spin at the thought of seeing him again. I held onto my stomach tightly as I fought the urge to vomit all over the floor. I stumbled, my back landing against my closed door, and I watched him move his way upstairs. Mentally, I was in fight mode, every part of me ready to put up a fight, but physically, my body couldn’t move until the final second.
I opened my bedroom door, locking it immediately, and ran to retrieve my wooden chair to place it under the knob. I had an advantage in the situation; I had another way to exit the room, and Cesar wasn’t aware of it. I snatched my charging cellphone, and my fingers stumbled over each other in an attempt to contact the police. There was a strong crash against the bedroom door, I jumped in reaction, and dropped my phone as it connected to 911.
“Did you think you’d be able to come to Brooklyn and not say hello to me?” Cesar screamed, his voice penetrating through the walls. “Did you think you could come here with your arm wrapped around another man, you little whore?” He lunged against the door.
I scrambled onto the floor to grab my phone and ran into the bathroom, making sure to lock it. I whispered to the dispatcher my location and the situation, and mid-conversation, I heard my old chair snap and Cesar attempting to open the bathroom door. I went into Maya’s room through the second bathroom door and reached her desk chair to stick under the doorknob. That should distract him enough to buy me time in escaping back downstairs and for the police department to arrive.
“And now, you think you can attempt to get a restraining order on me? You’re mine, bitch,” he growled. “He may spoil you, but you’re nothing more than trash. Do you hear me?” I knew that his words were spoken from anger, but they still cut ten layers deep into me. I wiped the hot tears away from my face and tuned out his body slams by opening Maya’s bedroom door.
I pressed my body against the wall, steadily walking against it to get closer to the stairs without being seen or heard. Through the walls, I could feel the vibrations of Cesar’s weight crashing against the doors.
