by Shelly Cruz
After I finish eating the sandwich I prepared, I grab my suitcases out of the second bedroom closet, rolling them into our bedroom to lay them open on the floor. I spend the next few hours filling them with my clothes, shoes, jackets, and my favorite blanket and pillow—my life in three suitcases full of stuff—what a sad sight. I lose my balance and need to steady myself with the wall, taking a deep breath to calm my nerves. This is all way harder than I’d imagined when concocting the plan.
I’m in the bathroom brushing my teeth when my phone rings. Not wanting to miss the call, I scurry into the bedroom to grab the phone off my nightstand. Massimo’s name flashes across the screen. “Hello, hang on,” I say, slightly muffled because I’m brushing my teeth. I rush back to the bathroom to avoid toothpaste falling from my mouth. Once at the sink, I put the phone down to rinse quickly.
“Sorry, was brushing my teeth. How was the drive?” I ask as I turn the bathroom light off and pad over to our bed.
As I pull back the sheets and climb into bed, Massimo tells me about the drive and their plans for the weekend. I lie on my left side, moving the phone to my right ear, and hug Massimo’s pillow, inhaling his scent as I listen to his voice. “I miss you,” I interrupt him mid-sentence.
“Me too,” he responds.
We chat for a little while when I hear one of his buddies say, “Hey, let’s go. The casino is waiting for us.”
“Hey, babe, we’re going down to the casino. Get some sleep, okay?”
“Okay, be safe. Good night,” I say, tears sliding down my cheeks. “Love you,” I mutter, squeezing my eyes shut.
“Love you more,” he responds, and the line goes quiet.
That’s the last time I would hear his voice for nine years.
CHAPTER 2
Still Interested?
MARIALENA
October 2000
THE OLD-FASHIONED GLASS SITS on the rubber mat as I pour a double shot of Jack into it. Once finished, I lift it and place it onto a cocktail napkin just as Massimo slides into the stool at the other side of it.
“I almost thought you weren’t gonna make it today,” I say, biting my bottom lip.
Massimo has been coming here every Thursday since the first night he came in late last year, but he’s usually early, before the dinner rush. It’s nearly 11:00 p.m., so I’m surprised to see him here this late but really happy he chose to still come by.
I’ve been bartending at the Florentine Cafe for a year and a half. I started working here during my last year of undergrad because the place where I used to wait tables had closed. Tracy, the manager from that restaurant, started working here, and she knew I always wanted to bartend. When there was an opening, she offered it to me.
The Florentine is an Italian restaurant in Boston’s North End, Boston’s oldest neighborhood that’s a thriving community of locally owned shops, restaurants, bakeries, churches, and schools. It’s often referred to as the Little Italy of Boston because of its long and storied connection to Italy and its culture. Although it’s a restaurant, the bar scene here is formidable, especially since we’re one of the few places that stay open late every night.
“You miss me?” he asks before sipping his whiskey.
“Maybe,” I tease.
“I haven’t missed a week yet. Wasn’t about to start now.” His stare is intense, and my heart thunders in my chest at his words.
“Good to know I can count on you.”
He’s smirking, his tongue running along his teeth, before sipping his whiskey again.
“You can always count on me.” His words make me blush.
“Is that right?”
He nods yes, our gazes lingering on one another.
“It’s quiet in here tonight,” he says, looking around the restaurant.
“It’s quiet now. It was busy earlier since we had nice weather. Probably not many warm nights left, so Tracy opened up the windows. Why you here so late tonight?”
“Tomorrow is our grand opening. We were putting the finishing touches on everything.”
“Well, that’s exciting. You’ve been talking about it for months; I’ll have to go check it out soon.”
“I’d like that.” Happiness spreads across his face.
“Lena,” Marcus, my friend who’s working the bar with me tonight, calls for me. Marcus was here when I joined the team, and we instantly hit it off. We’re on the bar together four nights a week, which means he’s basically my work husband. Almost every Friday and Saturday night we hang out after work, whether it’s grabbing food at one of the late-night spots or having drinks somewhere. We like to wind down after a busy night and scope out cute guys together.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Massimo.
I stride toward Marcus, who’s at the computer. He’s slightly taller than me, with a short buzz cut and light brown skin. I look up at him and ask, “What’s up?”
“I see your delicious man is here tonight,” he whispers, wiggling his eyebrows.
“No suh! He isn’t my man, not yet at least.” I wink.
“Oh yeah? You finally gonna go out with him?”
“Yeah, I think I’m ready to say yes. But he doesn’t know that yet,” I add, leaning into the shelf to my left. “It’s been two months since Stefano left me; I think it’s time I move on.”
“Girl, Stefano was an asshole. The best thing that ever happened to you was him leaving. Good riddance! Besides, that fine piece of ass—” he points to Massimo, who’s behind me “—is feening for you.”
Once Marcus and I became closer, it was no secret that Marcus hated Stefano. They tolerated each other because of me. Marcus and Luci hit it off right away over their mutual hate of Stefano.
Massimo has asked me out a few times in the past, but each time he did, I rejected his invitations because I was still in a relationship with Stefano. Eventually, he stopped asking, although he didn’t stop coming into the bar every week. When Massimo found out I was single again, he told me to let him know when I was ready to date a real man.
“You didn’t call me over here to remind me how fine he is.”
“Since I’m closing tonight, I’m gonna take a smoke break and go to the bathroom before you leave,” he tells me.
“Okay. Any of your customers need anything?”
“No, I just checked in with all of them. You’re good.” He walks toward Massimo and out from behind the bar, and I follow him but stop when I reach Massimo’s seat.
“Marcus is closing tonight, so when he gets back, I’m done for the night.” I nudge my glasses up to adjust them.
Massimo’s eyes widen, and a grin spreads across his face revealing his canine teeth slightly raised and larger than the others. “In that case, give me my check. I’ll leave with you.”
“Night, Tracy,” I say, exiting the front door with Massimo behind me. Once outside, I stop, and Massimo stops beside me.
“Where’d you park?” he asks as he’s putting on his leather jacket.
Fall in Boston is unpredictable. Some days are warm, and others are downright cold, more akin to winter than fall. Tonight is one of the nicer nights, high 50s and clear skies. It’s beautiful out, chilly air but not cold and no wind—no doubt the Berkeley Weather Beacon in Copley is steady and blue right now.
“I was lucky today and found a spot a few blocks away.” Parking is one thing that frustrates me about working in the North End. Street parking is hard to come by because I have to find an available visitor’s spot. Most of the street parking in this neighborhood is residential and requires a resident’s sticker. I usually have to drive around for at least fifteen minutes in hopes of finding a spot. Taking the T, the Subway system in Boston, when I work nights isn’t possible because I usually finish after the last train, and I don’t like taking the Kenmore bus home that late.
“I’ll walk with you,” he says, placing his hand on my lower back while guiding me toward North Square.
The North End isn’t just the oldest neighborhood in Bost
on; it’s steeped in history. Among the narrow streets and hidden alleyways, you’ll find several stops along the city’s Freedom Trail, a 2.5-mile walking path marked by a red line painted on sidewalks that spans the city to highlight locations significant to U.S. History.
North Square is home to Paul Revere’s House, and the streets in this triangular area are paved with the original setts, more commonly called cobblestones, and the street lamps resemble gaslights. The small square is quaint and busy during the day when it’s filled with tourists and parked trucks whose drivers are unloading deliveries to various restaurants. But at this time of night, it’s quiet.
I’m nervous—the butterflies in my stomach swirl in anticipation. Before speaking, the back of my left hand nudges my glasses up the bridge of my nose. “I have a question for you.”
“What’s that?” he responds.
“Are you still interested in going out sometime?”
He stops and spins toward me. “Is that a rhetorical question?” He rewards me with a beaming grin that reaches his eyes.
“Things change; life happens. The answer could be no.” I shrug, adjusting the frames on my face and looking away.
Stretching his right hand out, his fingers graze the underside of my jawline. “Have I ever told you I love this beauty mark here?” His thumb swipes across my left cheek left to right and back again, over the beauty mark that sits in the middle. His pointing it out makes me squirm. I’ve tried to wear makeup to cover it up, but I was never happy with how it looked, so I gave up trying. Every time I look in the mirror, it glares back at me like a big hairy mole. In reality, it isn’t that big. We’re always our own worst critics.
“No, you haven’t,” I say sheepishly. The touch of his fingers burns my skin.
“Lena, I’m gonna kiss you now.” My name falls from his lips as he’s leaning toward me, his mouth landing on mine. I close my eyes. His bottom lip is plump and soft. When he moves, his tongue teases my lips, prying them open, and I comply. Massimo pushes his hands into my hair as our tongues tangle.
When our kiss ends, my glasses have skin imprints from his nose, and I remove them. “I’ll take that as a yes,” I say, blushingly, grabbing the bottom of my T-shirt in an attempt to wipe my glasses. I’ll have to clean them better when I’m in my car.
“The answer is always yes.”
Heat rises to my cheeks, and his proximity dizzies me. I take a step back.
“Sorry about your glasses,” he says.
“It’s okay. I’ll get over it, but only because you’re a good kisser.”
“There’s more where that came from, but we’ll save it for another time.” He winks at me and continues walking.
“This is me,” I say when we reach my car, a white two-door Honda Civic. It’s a hand-me-down from my mom that she gave me a few months ago when she wanted to buy a new one for herself. The car I had after high school died last year. Stefano didn’t want me to get a new one; he said he’d drive me everywhere I needed to go. I now realize it was just another way for him to control me. When my mami offered, I jumped on the opportunity because I was tired of not having a car and relying on Stefano or taking the T.
“When can I see you again?” he asks.
“I work all weekend, but if you’re free next week, we can hang out. What about Tuesday?”
“I’ll make it work. What’s your number so I can call you?” I open my pockabook and look for a pen. I find an old receipt at the bottom to write on. When I look up, Massimo has his cell phone in his hand—waiting for me. “I’ll save it on my phone,” he says.
“617-555-1212.”
He punches my number into his phone and hits send, and I can feel my phone vibrating inside my bag. “I’ll save your number later,” I tell him. “Thank you for walking me.” I toss the pen back into my purse and stick my hand in, searching for my car keys. After I unlock the door, I lob my bag onto the passenger seat.
“Good night, Lena.” Massimo brushes his lips to mine and smiles as he’s waiting for me to get into my car.
I bring my fingers up and rest them on my lips. “Good night, Massimo.”
A Few Days Later
“What are you reading?” Luci asks, sitting at the opposite end of the couch.
Luci’s hair is a mahogany red, the kind of red that only comes in a box. She’s always coloring her hair and experimenting with bold cuts. Right now, it’s short, but it falls just above her shoulders, which accentuates her heart-shaped face. The strands are wispy, giving it a fresh, unkempt look.
“Memoirs of a Geisha, finally. I’ve been wanting to read it forever and kept putting it off.” I’m lying on our couch with my knees up to rest the book against my legs.
We share a sweet two-bedroom apartment in Brighton’s Oak Square. We wanted a place in the city, but the rent was extremely expensive, so we decided this neighborhood would be perfect. Considering Newton is a few miles away, we can visit our families easier, and we’re still close to the city for work. Our apartment is on the first floor of a house, has parking, and has a yard for us to sit in when it’s not bitter cold outside.
“Let me know when you finish it. It’s such a great book.”
“I will. I’m going to the laundromat tomorrow. If there is anything you want me to wash for you, toss it into my basket,” I say, closing my book. It’s the one thing I don’t like about this place; we don’t have a washer and dryer, and doing laundry at the laundromat is like torture. It’s my least favorite thing to do in a place I hate being.
“I’m off tomorrow; I’ll go with you. I haven’t done laundry in a couple of weeks, and it’s piling up.”
“I’m going early because I want to get it out of the way. And by early, I mean 11ish.”
“What time is your date tonight?” Luci asks.
“He called me last night, said he’d pick me up at 6:30 p.m.” I glimpse the time on the DVD player next to the TV. I already showered because I had to wash my hair, so I have time before I need to get ready.
“Where are you guys going?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. He just told me it’s casual. We’re definitely eating something somewhere because he knows I love food.” I laugh.
“I won’t hold my breath on doing laundry tomorrow. Who knows? Maybe you go home with him and spend the night.” Luci wiggles her eyebrows.
“I like him a lot! But I don’t know about sleeping with him on our first date.”
“Well, you’ve known him for a while. Doesn’t that change things?”
“I don’t really know him, though. Yeah, he’s been coming to the bar for a year, but we don’t know much about each other, just the superficial stuff. What if I sleep with him tonight and then ruin it?”
“Why would you ruin it?”
“We go out, sleep together, and that’s it. It’s done, and he won’t want to see me anymore. Or, maybe he’s actually a jerk like Stefano was. I rushed into that relationship, and look how well that turned out.”
“Lena,” she says while grasping my wrist. “This guy isn’t Stefano! Remember that. I mean, I don’t know him, but from what you’ve told me about your encounters at work, he seems nice. Besides, he’s been going to see you every week for a year. That’s gotta count for something. And at least you know he’s consistent.”
“I guess. It’s been two months since Stefano left me. You think it’s too soon to start dating?”
“Uh, no! I’ve been telling you to start dating since that asshole left, but you never listen.”
“This is true. I’m too stubborn for my own good.”
“Glad you own it.”
Despite having seen Massimo more times than I can remember since meeting him, I’m nervous as I get dressed. I try on four different shirts and settle on the purple V-neck top with three-quarter-length sleeves, my favorite jeans, and my Dr. Martens boots.
“Luci, can I borrow your lipstick? That mauve-colored one you have?” I yell as I’m heading toward her bedroom. Her door is open, and I
go into her room. She’s inside her closet searching through her clothes.
“Yeah, it’s there in the basket on my makeup table.”
“Found it,” I say and grab the tube. “I’m taking it with me. I need to buy one already; I always forget.”
“Is he here?”
“No, not yet.” I look at my watch. “He’ll probably be here in a few minutes.” I open the lipstick tube and use Luci’s mirror to put some on, starting first with my cupid’s bow. When I finish swiping it onto my lips, I smack them together to spread the color and, with my finger, remove some from the area below my lip. My hair is down, and because I washed it this morning, the ringlets are fresh and bouncy all around my head.
“You look sexy! You’re definitely getting laid tonight, and I’m jealous!”
“We’ll see,” I say, trying to convince myself more than Luci. “What are your plans tonight?”
“Going to my mom’s for dinner, to hang out with her and my sister.”
“Nice, tell them I say hi and bring home leftovers, please. I love your mom’s cooking!”
“I will. Have fun, and make sure to use condoms.” She winks.
“You’re too much,” I say, laughing as I leave her bedroom and walk toward the front of the house. Luci’s right, though. Yesterday I bought some condoms to have in my bag, just in case. Nothing worse than getting hot and heavy with a guy then not having condoms—talk about a buzzkill! Never know how things will go tonight. I sit on the couch so I can look out the front window and see when he gets here.
Moments later, he pulls into the driveway, and I watch as he exits his Jeep, strutting toward the house. He walks with such confidence; it’s so sexy. I rise from where I’m sitting and hurry to meet him.
