Nine Years Gone

by Shelly Cruz

  “Pour me a Grey Goose and soda, heavy on the Goose, with two limes and order me a mushroom burger, medium with onion rings, and I’ll tell you about it,” I tell her as I’m removing my jacket to place it on the back of my stool.

  Luci and I have been best friends since the third grade, and I almost lost her when we were in junior high. In eighth grade, Luci was rescued from the house fire at her family home. She and her sister were sleeping in their bedroom with the door closed. Her father had fallen asleep on the couch while smoking a cigarette. Luci told me she was woken up by the firefighters outside the window, yelling to move back because they would be breaking through the bedroom window to rescue them. They later learned that their bedroom was spared from the fire damage because the door was closed. Thankfully her mom was at work that night, and her dad was okay. After that, her parents got divorced, and it was a rough time for her and her family.

  Despite our lifelong friendship, I also betrayed her when I left Massimo all those years ago. She’s mostly forgiven me for the hurt and betrayal, and I’m grateful for her love. I now know my decision hurt a lot of people. Hindsight is 20/20 and all.

  “Spill it, Lena,” she quips as she pours the Grey Goose over the ice-filled glass and tops it off with soda water before dropping two limes in and sliding it toward me. “The rush won’t begin for about an hour. We have time to chat before it’s a full house,” she tells me, boring her eyes into mine with a force that says, “Don’t fuck with me.”

  I hear Aerosmith’s “What It Takes” playing from the jukebox behind me. How appropriate—singing about letting go and moving on. I grab the glass and give the straw a twirl before taking a sip. It’s strong, burning as I swallow—precisely what I need.

  “I went to DeLuca’s after work to pick up a few things. Massimo was there, and he confronted me. He caught me off guard, and words failed me. I wasn’t ready to see him yet. I basically ran away like a scared little girl. Oh, and he’s still sexy as ever.” I sigh before taking another sip of the liquid swirling in my glass.

  “Whoa, slow down, Lena. What do you mean he confronted you?”

  “He asked me what I was doing here and if I planned on seeing him.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. I barely muttered a full sentence. When I was working up the courage to say something, his two sons showed up, and it freaked me out,” I spew, exasperated thinking about the encounter.

  “That’s rich, Lopez. What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “I don’t know, Luci. Massimo is the only one who makes me act like a fool. He’s always had that effect on me,” I remind her. “I guess he still does,” I say, shrugging as I sip my drink again.

  “Honestly, Lena, you’ve been back a few weeks, and I still don’t know why you left. I can’t imagine what he’s feeling. Can you blame him?” she retorts, shaking her head. She leans into me and lowers her voice. “You were two months away from your wedding when you up and disappeared and left him a heaping pile of shit to clean up! One I helped clean up! You fucked him up pretty bad,” she proclaims.

  I glare at her because I need her to be my friend now and not scold me, even though I deserve everything she’s throwing at me, and then some.

  “Luci, I—”

  “Don’t Luci me, Marialena. Look, I love you. You’re my best friend, but a spade is a spade, and you fucked up. Now own it and go make it right.”

  “I want to, but I don’t know how.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, maybe talk to him instead of running away.”

  A long sigh escapes me. “Touché.” I slurp the remaining liquid in my glass.

  I decide to walk home from The Pour House. It’s a mild night, and I need fresh air. Before turning left, I pull my iPod Touch out of my purse, pop my earbuds in, and hit play on Adele’s “Someone Like You.”

  How I’ve missed my city. Being back is like seeing an old friend; she welcomes you with open arms. Boston is big city life with a small-town feel. She’s old-fashioned yet contemporary, traditional yet chic. A perfect blend of old and new thrives here.

  Boylston Street is relatively quiet tonight, and as I stroll home, I can’t help but look up at the Prudential Tower lighting up the sky. The Back Bay is one of the areas I love most with all of its coffee shops, boutiques, and restaurants. When I was in college, I would be in this neighborhood often because the Boston Public Library is in Copley Square. Luci and I would spend hours studying in the Bates Hall reading room. It seems like a lifetime ago.

  Luci’s words hit me hard: “You fucked him up pretty bad.” Although I know I hurt the only man I’ve ever loved, I didn’t think he was that messed up over it. I mean, he’s married, has kids. Ugh, just the thought of him belonging to someone else makes me nauseous.

  The encounter at DeLuca’s replays in my mind. I couldn’t even string a sentence together. It’s the Massimo Effect. He’s like a magician who’s had me under his spell since the first day he sat down at my bar, cocky and arrogant, but oh-so sexy. I still remember the day I met him as if it were yesterday.

  Thirteen Years Ago

  Cutting limes and fruit for the garnish jars that sit on the bar is what I hate most about bartending. When I hear the front door’s open chime, I stop the knife mid-cut and raise my eyes. Massimo enters the Florentine and struts his way through the restaurant. He’s wearing sunglasses, smiling as he greets the hostess, then saunters the length of the bar following its curve until he slides onto the last stool next to the servers’ station. My eyes follow him the entire time. When he walks, he commands attention. His tall frame is lean, arms firm, the black ink on his upper-left arm peeks out from his solid black T-shirt snug around his biceps.

  When he sits, I gait over to him and his friend, placing two cocktail napkins onto the bar. “Hi guys, what can I get for you?” I ask, smiling at them both, but Massimo is speaking with his friend when I arrive.

  At the sound of my voice, he looks up, staring me straight in the eye, and says, “Hi.” The silence hangs between us. Our gazes remain locked on each other for what seems like an eternity.

  His friend breaks our trance by saying, “We’ll take two Jacks, neat, please.”

  “What’s your name, sweetheart?” Massimo asks.

  I adjust my glasses to center them across the bridge of my nose. “Lena,” I reply, in an attempt to flirt but fall flat when my voice cracks with nerves. He chuckles at that.

  “Hi, Lena, I’m Massimo, and this is Dom,” he says, gesturing to his right. “It’s nice to meet you,” he continues, extending his hand. I look down at his hand for a few moments before it clicks that I have to extend mine back.

  “Nice to meet you too,” I respond and place my hand in his, giving him a delicate handshake. Our hands remain joined there, across the bar, for longer than any handshake should last.

  “Hey, Cassanova, let her get our drinks, will ya?” Dom says to Massimo.

  I pull my hand back. “Excuse me,” I say, “I’ll be right back with your drinks,” and spin away to break the spell before I start drooling all over the place.

  For the rest of the night, I feel like a dog in heat circling that area of the bar as much as I can. Every time I approach that corner, I can smell him. His unique scent is alluring, and it makes my skin tingle. The sound of his voice gives me goose bumps, causing my legs to squeeze together from the wanton desire he’s creating in me.

  He and Dom sit at the bar for about two hours. Massimo steals glances at me throughout the night, smirking when our eyes meet. After they settle the tab, I say goodbye. Massimo rises and steps to his left to stand before the servers’ entrance to the bar area, extending his hand. I move closer, taking his hand, and look up at him towering over me. I’m five-foot-eleven, and he’s a few inches taller than me. It’s rare to find a man taller than me, especially one as good-looking as him.

  He kisses me, cheek to cheek, first my right side, then my left. Before letting go of my hand, he looks into my eyes and says, “Lena, than
k you. I’ll be back to see you soon. You can count on it.” He drops a kiss on the backside of my hand before letting go. He turns, walks the length of the bar and out the front door while I stand frozen in place under his spell.

  That night I went home, and while I showered, I masturbated to the thought of Massimo and the dirty things I wanted him to do to me.

  The mere memory of that night has my panties wet. It was the beginning of a beautiful relationship. I crushed our relationship when I walked away from him, from our life, from our flawed future. Guilt and regret have dominated my thoughts every single day for nine years, and they’re still raw emotions within me as if it was not nine years past. The heartache and tears today are at the forefront, just as intense as on day one, if not more.

  Regret is a feeling that I hate. It seeps into my skin, permeates throughout my body, breeds self-loathing, and weighs me down. I usually don’t regret the decisions I make but instead suck them up, accept them, and learn from them.

  But this decision—to leave Massimo nine years ago—is loaded with regret and weighs on me like a ton of bricks, despite my knowing it was the right decision for him. It’s dragged me down, made me bitter, and has been eating away at me from the inside, one day at a time. No matter how hard I’ve tried, I cannot get over it or accept it.

  I need to make this right somehow, find the key to my redemption.

  CHAPTER 14

  Square One

  MASSIMO

  “DADDY, WHO WAS THAT LADY?” Lucio asks me.

  “A friend, buddy,” I tell him.

  Lucio and Leandro are my two boys. They both have dark hair, thick eyebrows, and crooked smiles—undoubtedly my kids. Although Lucio is four years old, he’s an old soul. He likes to listen to classical music, play the piano, play basketball, and I’m teaching him to play chess. Leandro is three and imitates his brother every chance he gets, except he also likes the guitar, and I’m excited for him to start learning better when he’s a little older. Both of my guys are musicians at heart.

  “Come on. Let’s finish getting the groceries we came for and go see Nonna. She’s waiting for us,” I tell them.

  Seeing Lena at DeLuca’s has my head spinning. I cannot believe she’s back! Her beauty still takes my breath away. Her ringlets were cascading around her square jaw, and her full lips were colored in with vibrant lipstick. Sadness and regret smoldered from her green eyes hidden behind her blue frames. When I grabbed her hand in mine, her skin was on fire just as it was the day I met her, and memories rushed through me. She’s back, and just like that, my world has tipped on its axis again.

  I need to see her. Talk to her. Understand her. She said she needed to settle into her apartment and work, so it should be easy to find her. Despite it being nine years since Lena disappeared from my life, I never stopped thinking about her, even if I eventually gave up searching for her.

  There’s a piece of me that’s missing, a part of my heart that will always belong to Lena. Now that she’s here, she owes me an explanation, and I intend to get it.

  Images of her crowd my thoughts during our walk from DeLuca’s back to the apartment. We’ve been spending most of our days with my parents for the past two months because my mother’s cancer has spread, and she stopped treatment. I want the boys to spend as much time with her as possible, create as many memories as we can.

  “Hi, Pa,” I say as we’re entering the house.

  After moving here from Italy, my parents bought a building in the North End because it’s where many Italian families lived after migrating to the United States. They settled in this neighborhood and made a home for their family here. It’s the only home my parents have known.

  My father has aged tremendously over the past year since my mother was diagnosed with cancer, and the doctor recommended that her treatment be aggressive. The lines around his eyes have increased three-fold, and the circles around them are dark. His hair used to be a mix of black and white. Now, his mane is snow-white, yet it’s still thick. My father has always been robust, tall with a belly from years of eating homemade pasta and meats, and drinking a lot of red wine. Since my mother became sick, his stomach has disappeared, and he’s thinned out. My mother may be the one afflicted with cancer, but my father is wasting away at the same rate she is.

  “Nonno!” Both Lucio and Leandro run up to my father to hug him.

  “Where’s Ma?” I ask.

  “In bed. She’s not well today. I called the doctor, asked her to come to the house.”

  “And?”

  “She’ll be here later tonight. She said after she finishes her rounds.”

  “Okay, well, I’m gonna hit the courts with the guys, and I’ll be back later for when the doctor gets here.”

  “Okay, son.”

  Dom, Nick, and Paulie are already shooting basketball when I get there.

  “Always running late,” Paulie says.

  Paulie and I have been friends our entire lives. Our parents migrated from Italy together in the late 60s, where they lived in Frascati, about twenty miles southeast of Rome. They’ve been friends since they were teens. Paulie is a year older than me, the older brother I never had. We went to school together at St. John’s and spent most of the holidays together. Even though we’re not blood-related, people constantly tell us we look alike.

  “You know he always has to look pretty,” Dom chimes in.

  “Assholes,” I say.

  We play ball two-on-two for a little over an hour before Nick and Paulie need to leave. Dom and I walk back toward my parents’ place. His apartment is two blocks from them. He and I became friends when we both worked at my uncle’s restaurant together. I was bartending at the time when he started.

  He had graduated from Suffolk University and didn’t know what he wanted to do, so he waited on tables. We’d hang out several nights a week after work, whether we sat at a bar and drank or hit up one of the clubs. We became tight, and he fit right in with my crew. He now owns Gemelli’s Liquor Distillery, one of the biggest wholesale liquor distributors in the city.

  As we march down Prince Street, I give him an update on my mother’s health. Before we part ways, I tell him, “Lena is back.” Even saying that aloud is surreal. They’re words I never thought I’d say.

  “What?” he asks as he stops, facing me. “When?”

  “I went to DeLuca’s today to pick up some stuff to bring to the house, and there she was, looking for wine. I couldn’t believe it, Dom. After nine years, she’s back.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Nothing, really. She could barely speak. I was trying to ask her questions, but she wasn’t giving me much. She’s been back a few weeks, has an apartment, and is working. That’s all I know.”

  “How was it, seeing her again after all this time?”

  “Fuck, man.” My chest feels tight just thinking about her, and a flood of emotions hit me. Her eyes, piercing green with flecks of golden yellow surrounding her pupils, glowed with sadness and love. “She’s as beautiful as ever. Still has that long curly hair, ringlets surrounding her face; her glasses are bigger than the ones she wore back in the day.”

  I was all torn up because I’m still pissed about how she left, disappeared from my life, and vanished into thin air, but when I saw her, I just wanted to kiss her senseless.

  “My head is spinning again. It’s like I’m back to square one. But I was with the boys, and there wasn’t much I could say or do.”

  “Does she know about Camila?”

  “No, I don’t think so, but I have no idea.”

  “Are you gonna see her?”

  “I’m gonna try. She was about to say something, but the boys interrupted us. When she saw them, she froze and ran away from me.”

  “Well, it must be hard for her to see you with kids. I mean, you two always talked about starting a family together.”

  “That’s bullshit though! This is all her doing.”

  “That may be true, but it doesn’t make seeing y
ou with kids that aren’t hers any easier.”

  I tip my head up to the darkening sky, letting out a deep sigh.

  “What’s next?” Dom asks.

  “I have to find her. I’m gonna make a few phone calls, check to see if she comes up in a Google search.”

  “All right, man, let me know what I can do for you. Whatever you need.” He gives me a fist bump, and we part ways.

  When I get back to my parents’ house, my father tells me Dr. Bova is in the bedroom with my mother.

  “Has she told you anything yet?”

  “Not yet, son. She asked to see your mother first, then she would speak with me.”

  “Where are Lucio and Leandro?”

  “Your sister took them down to Modern’s to get some pastries. I need to focus on what the doctor has to say.”

  We sit on the couch and chat for a few minutes. My father and I didn’t have a great relationship when I was growing up. As a young boy, I would be frightened when I caused trouble, which was often because he would punish me at every opportunity. Since I’m the oldest, he made sure I set the example for my brother and sister. He was tough, would hit me a lot when I got in trouble, or disobeyed him or my mother. Sometimes with his fists, other times with his leather belt. He was no-nonsense and never hesitated to remind me of it. The older I got, the worse our fights became because I started rebelling against his attempts to control me. Eventually, he kicked me out of the house when I was sixteen, which is how I ended up living with my uncle and working at his restaurant. Now I look back and realize he probably didn’t know any better because that’s how he was raised. It was a different generation.

  For years I resented him, but when Lucio was born, he started acting differently. I was wary at first, worried his behavior hadn’t changed. But he was softer with Lucio, then Leandro, than he ever was with me. I wanted a better relationship with him for my boys. When my mother was diagnosed with cancer, it catapulted our relationship. He even apologized to me for being so rough with me as a kid. Although we still butt heads, I am glad I could get to know the man my father truly is.