by Shelly Cruz
“What are you gonna do about it?”
“She’s been texting and calling, but I’ve ignored her. Giving myself time to chill out because if not, I’ll ruin shit again.”
“To not ruining shit.” Benny raises his tumbler to mine, and our glasses clink before we both throw back our drinks.
CHAPTER 21
La Verdad
MARIALENA
The Next Day
MASSIMO HAS IGNORED MY calls and texts for five days. I know it’s his way of processing what I told him the other day. When we were together, he’d always take time away from the person he was upset with, including me. When we would argue, he wouldn’t delve into the issues until he had time to sort it out in his mind and calm down but never went this long. Of course, the difference is now he owes me nothing and has no obligation to discuss anything with me.
Even though I know he’s still upset and trying to work through his anger, I need to set the record straight with him. I want to respect his need to come to terms with everything before discussing it, but the entire situation’s uncertainty gives me anxiety. I haven’t had a good night’s rest since that day last week, and I can’t focus. I cannot continue this way. It’s starting to affect my work.
I know he’s usually at Trattoria during the week. I open a web browser on the desktop computer and type Trattoria Lorenzo Restaurant into the search engine. When the number displays, I reach across my desk to pick up the phone receiver, dialing the number.
After four rings, a woman answers, “Trattoria Lorenzo.”
“Hi, can I speak with Massimo, please?”
“Sure, may I ask who’s calling?”
Quickly, I hang up the phone. I push my chair back, slide off my heels, replacing them with my Dr. Martens, lacing them up but leaving them untied. I grab my jacket and pockabook and rush toward the front door.
“Natalia, I’ll be back later. Please reschedule my 2:30 p.m. phone conference for later this week, if possible. I’m not sure if I’ll be back before you leave.” She’s about to say something, but I dash toward the exit before she has a chance to.
Once outside my building, a burst of cold air jolts me. I zip my jacket up and stuff my hands into my pockets to keep them warm. Clouds blanket the sky, and the day is gray, matching my mood. I beeline it to the restaurant, which is six blocks away.
Trattoria is still full from the lunch crowd, even though it’s past 2:00 p.m. I scan the dining room searching for him, but he’s not here.
“Hi, table for one?” a young lady I’ve never seen before asks me.
“I’m here to see Massimo. Is he downstairs?”
Her posture stiffens. “Um, let me check.” She picks up the receiver and punches a few numbers on the keypad. “Hi, Massimo, there’s a woman here to see you.” She moves the receiver from her mouth and asks, “Your name, please?”
“Lena,” I say, exasperated. I know he’s downstairs. Will he turn me away?
“Her name is Lena,” she pauses. “Okay.” She hangs up the phone.
“You can go downstairs. It’s through—”
“I know where it is, thank you.” Her eyes widen at my rudeness.
I dash through the dining room, and in no time, I’m at the door in the back corner where stairs are leading down to the cellar. When I reach the bottom of the stairs, the office door is only a few feet away from me. Images from when I visited him at the North End restaurant a couple of weeks ago flash through my mind, and I clench my legs at the thought of Massimo’s touch. “Focus, Lena. I need to make things right with him and not let myself be seduced,” I tell myself, taking in a deep breath.
I knock on the door before pushing it open. I don’t wait for him to respond; I enter the office, closing the door behind me.
Massimo is sitting behind the desk, papers strewn across it in messy disarray. The dim yellow light causes me to squint, and Matchbox Twenty’s “Back 2 Good” plays softly in the background. His eyes lift from what he was working on. His hair is wild, sticking up in all directions. No doubt he’s been running his hands through it in frustration. He dons a five o’clock shadow, and the dark circles under his eyes scream exhaustion.
I lean against the wall behind me and unzip my jacket, letting it hang open. “You’ve been ignoring me.”
“I have.”
“Ignoring me won’t resolve this,” I say, gesturing my right hand between us.
“I’m ignoring you because it’s what’s best for you.” He crosses his arms over his chest.
“I fucked up. I know that. But right now isn’t the time for you to teach me a lesson. What I need is for you to listen.”
“And why should I give you anything that you need?” He leans back in his chair, intertwining his fingers and resting them on his head, elbows out to each side. His stare is penetrating, unrest and turmoil emanating from him.
“You wanted an explanation. I’m trying to give it to you, so let me. You deserve to know why I made the decision I did. When I’m done, I’ll walk out that door, and you’ll never have to see me again.” Saying those words makes my stomach curdle.
“I’m listening.”
“We always talked about kids. But after you proposed, it was nearly every day. You would often talk about what our family would look like, where we would live, things we would do. You even picked out names.”
“Luca, if we had a boy, Giulia, if we had a girl,” he says.
“Yeah, I remember. But that’s my point. You were obsessed with talking about it. Your eyes would light up whenever you did. Your excitement over it was always at the forefront of every conversation.” I take the few steps across the office and slide into the seat across from him, dropping my pockabook onto the chair to my right.
“A few weeks before I left, I got my period. It was super heavy. My cycle was always irregular because of my PCOS, but never heavy like that.”
“Because of your what?”
“Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. Instead of ovulating regularly, the eggs stay in the ovaries and form cysts. They’re not harmful, and it doesn’t hurt until they burst—then they hurt like a motherfucker. Anyway, it causes severe hormonal imbalances, irregular periods, sometimes causes acne, and causes these annoying wire hairs to grow.” I point to my chin line with my right index finger. “When my doctor diagnosed me with it, she told me it would be difficult to get pregnant.”
He takes a deep breath and places his hands on the desk, fingers spread wide. “I never knew any of that,” Massimo mutters, shaking his head.
“I bled for over a week, and the pain and cramping were more intense than it had ever been in the past.”
“I’m pretty sure I didn’t know that either.”
“I didn’t tell you about any of it because I didn’t want you to worry about me.”
“How cavalier of you.”
I take a deep breath, knowing that I have to be patient with him because he’s angry with me, and I probably deserve all the sarcasm he dishes out, but it doesn’t make it less frustrating. The tension in the room is so thick you could cut it with a knife.
“Anyhow, I went to the doctor because that much blood wasn’t normal. She sent me for an MRI, and when that came back normal, she sent me for a laparoscopy.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s where the doctor looks inside to see what’s going on. It’s done with a thin tube with a camera on the end of it. Remember when I stayed with my mother for a few days because I needed to take care of her after a procedure? Well, I was the one who had the procedure, and I stayed with her to recoup for a few days.”
“Wow, so you got good with the lies!” He slams his hands on the desk, and I flinch.
“You know, I’m trying here. Can you cut me some slack and let me finish?”
His tone and demeanor are pissing me off, but I need to keep my cool.
“By all means.” He gestures his hand out.
“The results showed I had stage 4 endometriosis. That’s when the ti
ssue that normally grows and lines the inside of the uterus grows outside of the uterus. Stage 4 is the worst, which is why I was bleeding so much. It also explains why I always had intense pain every month during my periods.”
“Why didn’t you tell me any of this? Here I thought we shared everything.” The sarcasm drained from his voice is now replaced with a softer, concerned tone. His eyes soften and squint. Hurt is written all over Massimo’s face, his head shaking.
“I’m getting there. When the doctor diagnosed me with the endometriosis, she told me I had to have a hysterectomy and I would never carry a child. I felt numb,” I say, shifting in my seat. Massimo’s eyes widen and become damp, and his mouth goes slack.
Talking about all of this is more challenging than I’d imagined. I thought I had come to terms with everything, but maybe I didn’t because it was buried so deep, hidden away from everyone—including me.
I exhale deeply before continuing, “It’s one thing when a woman decides not to have kids. But when that choice is stripped away from you because your body fails you, it’s devastating. I was robbed and had zero control over my body. I’ve never cried so much in my life.” Tears trickle from my eyes. The memory is raw, even after all this time. I pull my glasses off and lay them on his desk, shifting my eyes to avoid his.
“Jesus, Lena,” he mutters, running his hands through his hair, sighing, pity snaking its way into his words. Pity that I don’t want him to feel. It’s not why I’m here.
“All I could think about was you, how you always wanted kids, a family, to be a father. I was gonna crush that. You would never have the family you wanted had I stayed. You would have resented me. I would have resented myself, knowing that I had taken that away from you. I couldn’t do that to you, couldn’t live with that resentment for the rest of our lives. It would’ve destroyed us.”
“Lena,” he says, sliding forward in his chair, getting closer to me. “Why would you ever think that?”
“Please, I’m not done.”
He lifts his chin, a nod to signal I should continue.
“Remember the boyfriend I had when we met—Stefano?”
The corner of Massimo’s lip lifts in a sneer, and he nods yes.
“We had been together for almost a year. We were out to dinner one night, having a conversation about our relationship and where it was headed. As usual, I was nervous to talk to him about something important but decided to tell him about my PCOS and what the doctor had told me—that getting pregnant would be difficult. Instead of discussing it or understanding, he was furious with me and said some really hurtful things. He screamed and insulted. Told me I’d probably done something in my life to deserve that kind of karma. Said he’d wasted his time because he wanted a family and what was the point of being in a relationship with someone who was broken.”
As he listens to me, Massimo’s nostrils flare, his teeth clench, his jaw hardens. “That guy was always a douchebag.”
“Stefano stormed out of the restaurant, left me at the table after I had opened up to him. Tears streamed down my face, and I was embarrassed at the scene he’d made, by how he had humiliated me in front of the entire restaurant. I tried to fix things with him. Called him, went to his work, but he wanted nothing to do with me. He wouldn’t even look at me. His reaction to my confession confirmed what I felt—broken. Looking back, I was an idiot! I saw the signs and ignored them all. And to make matters worse, I even tried fixing things with him. It wasn’t until much later that I realized how awful he was to me and that I deserved better.”
My friends always tried to warn me about Stefano. I never listened; I wanted to believe they were all wrong. Sometimes, you don’t see what’s right in front of you and only realize what’s really happening by taking a step back and removing the horse blinders. After Stefano humiliated me and would no longer talk to me, I started thinking back at all the things that had occurred throughout our relationship. The more I thought about it, the clearer it all became. In retrospect, he never respected me, and in turn, I never respected myself.
“Lena—”
“Please let me finish.” I rub my fingers together to ease the nervous clenches twisting inside of me. Massimo appeases me and remains quiet, but I can see his thoughts churning, his gaze scrutinizing me.
“Because of what happened with Stefano, I was jaded. It caused me to lock up my secret and not tell anyone, not even you,” I whisper, reaching my hand across the desk in search of Massimo’s. “I’m sorry I let him poison our relationship. I should’ve known better. I should’ve been stronger.”
Massimo covers my hands with his, his eyes burning with betrayal and sadness.
I exhale and flip our hands, letting my fingers curl around his. “A few months before I left, we went to my friend David’s house to celebrate him and his wife adopting a little boy, remember?”
“Yes.”
“On our drive home, we argued.”
Ten Years Ago
“That was a nice celebration to welcome home their new son. He’s such a cutie,” I say, as Massimo makes a right onto Main Street. David and Brenda live in Woburn, and they had a “Welcome Home” celebration because they adopted a four-year-old boy last month and were ready to celebrate now that he was settled in.
“Yeah, I guess so,” Massimo mumbles.
“Uhh, okay. Why do you say it like that?”
“Why did they adopt that kid?”
I shift in my seat and stare at him. His tone is annoying me. “What kind of question is that? They adopted him because he needed a home and because she can’t get pregnant.”
“I don’t know. Adoption is not something I can get into. Raising a kid that isn’t mine? Nah, not for me.”
“You would never adopt a child?”
“No. I’ve told you that before.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want someone else’s kid! Now, I don’t want to talk about this anymore because it’s not us. End of conversation!” I jump when he raises his voice.
His words cause tears to well in my eyes, and we drive the rest of the way home in silence. The traffic down 93 to the city is bumper to bumper, and it takes an hour and a half to get back to our place. I rest my head back, staring out the passenger window, watching the drops of rain bead and glide down the glass.
I can’t believe Massimo is so upset. I can’t believe he isn’t open to adoption. I can’t believe he’d be so cruel as to not love a child that isn’t his.
I haven’t told him about my health issues, and after that reaction, how can I? He’d probably be an asshole about it the same way Stefano was—fucking men.
“I walked away because I knew you would never accept me not being able to have kids, and there would be no alternative. Not after the conversation we had in the car when we drove home from David’s house. I figured you would react the same way Stefano did when I told him.” At my words, Massimo’s eyes widen, and his mouth goes slack.
“Lena, I—”
“I’m not done.” I raise my hand, suspending it between us, open-palmed.
“How could you continue in a relationship with me, knowing that I could never give you what you wanted most? You wouldn’t have. I assumed you would’ve reacted as Stefano did, and—”
“I’m not Stefano!” His nostrils flare.
“I know. Except last week you did react like him.”
“That’s not fair. The circumstances aren’t the same, but you’re right, I did and shouldn’t have. For that, I’m sorry.”
“No, you shouldn’t have, but I understand. We probably should’ve had that conversation in a more private place.”
“Lena, what you—”
“Let me finish, please. I’ve been waiting years to get this off my chest.”
Massimo nods in acknowledgment.
“I’m sorry for ever thinking you would’ve reacted like Stefano. It was wrong of me to assume. But I felt like a failure, empty, out of control, and less than a complete woman. Turns ou
t Stefano was right. I’m broken. I will never carry a child. I don’t even have a womb anymore.” A desperate croak escapes me, the tears gush from my eyes, and my chest heaves. I wipe away the tears with the heels of my palms.
“Lena.” He rises from the chair, walking around the desk to stand before me. He forces me to my feet, wrapping me in his embrace, soothing me with his hands, dropping kisses along my hairline. His arms are warm and robust.
This is where I belong. I inhale his scent, how I’ve missed it, missed him. Now that I’ve been reminded of everything I used to have, I don’t know how I’ll survive without him. I need to finish what I came to say and get the fuck out of here. My heart can’t take much more.
“You deserve to have the kids you always dreamed of,” I say. “I knew you would be hurt, but eventually, you would forget me, find someone new, and start a family. I would never be able to give you children. I thought, why should both of us suffer without kids? I loved you and chose to sacrifice my love for you so you could have them. It’s the one thing I could control. Guess I made the right decision. Love is a sacrifice, right?” Tears continue streaming down my cheeks.
My body trembles. “I’m sorry, Massimo. I’m sorry I left the way I did, but I did it for you.”
“Shhhh, it’s okay,” he repeatedly murmurs in an attempt to console my broken soul.
“Massimo, I—”
“Lena, I’m sorry. So sorry for everything.”
Massimo’s arms remain firm around me, his embrace comforting and soothing me. His touch relaxes me, as it always has.
My tears begin to lessen, and as I rest my head on his shoulder, my nose scratches his neck, his scent intoxicating. Massimo’s arms are the one place that have comforted me, given me shelter, and protected me. Each and every time. Although at this moment I feel comforted, I know the feeling will be short-lived.
CHAPTER 22
Shall Set You Free
