“I am starving.” Paul looked around to see if there was anything good to eat.
“Pauly, would it kill you to wait five minutes? The food is almost ready,” Nina replied.
“I am surprised, Ma, that you would invite Nick to dinner.” Olivia tried to ignore the sibling rivalry that had taken place at the kitchen island.
“What do you mean?” Her mother gave her a hard look.
“Well … he has tattoos and is unshaven. Maybe he’s a drug dealer or worse …”
It could very well be true. Olivia knew nothing about Nick Montgomery. She did know he was going to feel out of place with her family and wondered why he had accepted the invitation in the first place. Okay, so maybe she had a good idea.
“What, do you mean crazy like us?” Peter replied as he took another platter to the dining room.
Nina gave her a blank look. “But you do know him? Nick gave me the impression you two know each other …”
“What? I … Well, I don’t know him personally, no.” Olivia said, not wanting to go into any more details on how she and Nick were acquainted.
“It’s funny because I could have sworn just by the way he spoke about you that you guys knew each other before the accident,” Nina started.
“No, why would I know him. Come on, look at him.”
There was her shallow side.
“We shouldn’t judge, Olivia. Look at your crazy brother. He has tattoos, and he’s a good boy,” her mom replied.
“Hey …” Paul looked up from the fridge door.
“Oh, you’re such a good boy, Pauly.” Nina amusingly grabbed his cheeks.
“Ouch. Stop. You’re hurting me.”
“Olivia, I didn’t raise you like that … to judge someone based on their appearance,” her mother said.
She knew her mom only had a soft spot for Nick because he had helped her that night of the accident.
“Yeah, she gets that from Dad.”
“Hey!”
“How do you know he has a tattoo?” Nina asked Olivia.
“I don’t. I just said that to bug Mom.”
“He seems like a good boy, and I feel for him. The poor boy lost his mama a year ago. It’s just him and his brother. He’s too skinny and probably has no one at home to cook a decent meal for him. Truly, Olivia, I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart,” she replied. “We have so much to be thankful for, even though it might not seem like it at times.”
Olivia hadn’t been aware that Nick lost his mother last year. How could she have known? There was a knot in Olivia’s heart. She felt guilty now.
“Alright, Ma, how about if Olivia brought home a guy like that?” Paul said, only wanting to prove a point.
“What, like a boyfriend?” Her mother frowned.
“Yeah, Ma, like a boyfriend …” Teasingly, he looked up at Olivia.
She took a long, hard look at Paul. She opened her mouth then closed it as though she changed her mind about what she wanted to say.
“Paul, please stop this nonsense, and Olivia, please go and get changed,” her mother said.
“No, I want to know what you would do if I brought someone like Nick home. Would you be okay with that?” Olivia always knew how to get her mother. She could hear her mother exhale and walk closer to her.
“If he’s truly is a good boy, I would not mind at all.” She paused and looked up at Olivia. “You forget that your father and I came from nothing. Olivia, I want you to have a beautiful life. I want you to find someone who loves you and respects you. It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t have lots of money, as long he is a hard worker.” She paused and said something that could have sounded like some Italian proverb. “It doesn’t matter if he wears old clothes, but be sure he has a good heart underneath it.” She brushed the hair away from Olivia’s face.
“So … what you’re saying is if I hit it off with Nick tonight, you would give me your blessing?” Olivia smiled wickedly, trying hard to frustrate her mother.
“Olivia, stop. Don’t be such an ass and get change,” Nina said.
Olivia’s mom rolled her eyes. “Tonight, I’m not playing matchmaker. I just invited this young man to dinner … to thank him. It’s the right thing to do.”
“No, Mom is hoping that you and Dario will get back together again,” Paul added.
“Well, that’s not going to happen. I would rather …”
Olivia tried to find the right words. “I’d rather become a nun then go back with Dario.”
“Saint Olivia. That has some ring to it. You can be the patron saint of the pain in the ass,” Peter joked.
“Peter! Don’t joke around about the saints.”
“Don’t be jealous, Peter. You only wish you can be like me.” Olivia flung her hair back with her hand.
“No, I don’t want you to be with Dario either.” Her mother shook her head
“What? I thought you liked Dario?” Olivia said in surprise.
“I only like the people who make my children happy, and since that was never the case …” Her mother’s words trailed off.
She placed the lasagna into the oven. “What do you children understand about life? You have never known what it was like to miss anything, and that’s my fault. I spoiled you too much. You will never know the hardships your father and I have gone through. When I was a child, I lived in a two-room, stone house … and there were seven of us! I shared a bed with my four sisters. I had two outfits and only one pair of shoes. Look at us now,” she said, waving her hand around the room. “Now we have too much. I can honestly say I was much happier when I was a child, at a time when we had nothing.”
“Daddy, what are you doing?” Olivia found her father sitting at his mahogany desk with an open photo album in front of him.
He glanced up. “Just reminiscing.”
Olivia came around the desk. “My God, look at Uncle Dominic’s hair. I forgot he used to have a mustache.”
“So many good times. Most of these pictures were taken, and I wasn’t even a part of it.” He sunk further into his chair.
“You were working, Daddy.”
He nodded. “I’m so sorry, Olivia. I should have worked less. We would have had less, but at least I would have been at home more with you guys.”
“Daddy, you were always there when it counted. You were the one who taught us to ride a bike and swim. Remember all those summer vacations we took to Wildwood? I don’t want you to feel guilty for anything. You did the best, and you gave us so much.” She paused. “Besides, look how good we all turned out to be … Okay, maybe not Paul.” She smiled.
“You know, Olivia, there are things I’ve done in my life that I’m not so proud of, but being the father of you three is what I am most proud of.”
“I love you, Daddy. A girl couldn’t ask for a better father.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her chin on his shoulder.
Olivia was conscious of the fact he passed a finger under his glasses. She had never recalled witnessing her father cry before.
Then, he glances up at her. “I want you to promise me something.”
“What is it, Daddy?”
“I don’t want you to worry about me no matter what happens, and I need to know you will look after your mother … You guys have your lives to live, but your mom will take this the hardest.”
There was a short silence.
“How do you know they’re right? Maybe this is all a mistake, and they misdiagnosed you?” Olivia said.
He sighed the kind of sigh where no hope was given. “I wish that could be possible, Olivia but this is the reality I have to face,” he said, continuing to flip through the pages, going through most of the eighties and nineties: the changes, the kids growing up, Nina’s wedding, and the baby. She wished she could make time slow down, keep the ones she loved close to her instead of moving through life, knowing it was just a matter of time for the bottom to fall out.
“Look at this life I worked so hard to build and for what? Soo
n I won’t remember a damn thing … Who will I be when I am a stranger to my own family? When I lose myself, I will lose it all.”
It was difficult to see her father so vulnerable. The man she grew up thinking he was like Hercules never called in sick, worked hard and took care of his family. The man was so strong she almost believed he was untouchable. How could this happen? Her heart ached. She didn’t want to think about the future … a future without the father she has known and loved all her life.
“I’m so sorry, Daddy.”
His eyes softened. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, love. It’s going to be okay.” He wiped her tears away with his hands. “If I had a pick of any life, I would have chosen the same one. Made every damn bad and good decision the same way … just so I can wake up every morning and say, ‘I have a family who I love and loves me dearly. I don’t need anything else. My children are healthy, my grandson is good. How lucky am I?’”
“Are you afraid, Daddy?”
He closed the album and turned to her. “No, not a man like me,” he said with a half-smile. After a short silence, he added, “My fear is not for myself, but for all of you. Who will look over all of you when I’m gone?”
“You did an excellent job in taking care of us, Dad. Now it’s our turn to take care of you. When the time comes … I’ll remember … I’ll remember for the both of us.”
He smiled. “That’s why I know it’s going to be okay.”
As soon as Nick stepped through the door, he was surrounded by the Montiano family, most of whom he had already met the night of the accident. After he had greeted the very last member, he was disappointed to discover Olivia was nowhere in sight.
Wasn’t she there? His heart sank … until he looked up and there she was, standing half way on the steps of the semi-circular oak staircase. How long had she been there? His eyes met her big, beautiful, soft brown eyes. Her smile slightly curved up on the side, as though to saying, “You are so screwed.”
He had hoped to impress her tonight and from the look of her, he thought he did just that. Instead of wearing the T-shirt that Olivia loved so much, and much to Amanda’s pleading, he decided to wear his button-down, gray dress shirt and a black pair of pants. As the hall entrance emptied out and everyone headed to the dining room, Nick stayed back to greet her at the bottom of the staircase.
“Hey, Monti.”
“Mr. Montgomery.” She smiled.
He could feel the heat in the palms of his hands, the sweat in the back of his neck that uneasy feeling he got for the girl he felt something for. He placed his hands deeper into his pockets. His heart began to race. He tried with every fiber in his body to slow things down, but his uneasy manner must have shown because she frowned and looked him over.
“Are you alright?” She paused. “Sorry, my family can be overbearing,” Olivia said.
“You are very fortunate.” He looked over her shoulder into the dining room where Olivia’s family was now gathered around the table.
“For what?”
“Having such a loving family.” He looked past her as a father picked up his young son into his arms, a sister and brother joked around, a wife swatted her husband’s hand away from the platters on the table, scolding him for not waiting for everyone to be seated at the table. He thought about how nice it must be to be part of something larger than yourself, something as comforting as being surrounded by people that loved you. Being around the Montiano family reminded him of a time in his life when things were good, the time when his father had been around. Up to this very moment, he had forgotten what it was like.
“You won’t say that after you’ve had a meal with us. I must warn you, though. They do tend to get a bit loud and crazy.” Olivia smiled
“That’s okay. I like crazy.” He looked her over. “How have you been doing?”
She nodded her head. “Doing well. The stitches are all gone. I’m only left with this tiny, ugly scar.” She lifted her hair away from her forehead to show him. “I know what you’re thinking. Go on and say it. I look like a freak.”
His eyes softened. “You don’t look like a freak, Olivia. It’s only a tiny scar. Scars tend to fade over time.” He smiled
Olivia looked at herself in the mirror that hung in the entrance hallway. “You sound like you know a thing or two about scars.” She turned back to look at him.
“Ah … well, you can say that.”
She studied him for a moment, trying to add him up. He hoped in her eyes that he added up to something good.
“I hope you like Italian food.” Olivia bobbed her head toward the dining room.
She gave him a side smile that showed her dimple, and without another word she turned and walked away. He stood there watching her for a moment before following her into the dining room. He realized that there were two empty chairs, side by side. He was grateful to be sitting beside her and not across, where she would be in plain sight, and he would look like an idiot because he wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off of her. Nick had pulled out a chair for Olivia, and she slid into the seat. He sat next to her, pushing his chair further in, his knee unintentionally—but he was well aware of— touching hers.
“Would you like a glass of wine, Nick?” Mrs. Montiano asked.
“No thank you. I’ll have water instead if you don’t mind.”
“So, Mr. Montgomery, tell me what do you do?” Mr. Montiano asked from the head of the table.
Nick cleared his throat and said, “Well I’m an artist.”
“What do you mean an artist? Like an entertainer or something.” Paul raised a brow.
“No, I paint. Mainly abstract art.” He felt a pair of eyes on him, and he turned to meet Olivia’s gaze.
“I thought you worked at a bar?” Olivia frowned.
“I do,” he added quickly. “I support myself by working at a bar. The art thing … well, that’s for me. An artist. That’s how I like to define myself.” He played with his glass, aware that Olivia was taking more interest in him. Everyone began to pass the platter around, and her nephew’s antics kept everyone unfocused on Olivia and Nick.
He leaned in slightly toward her and whispered, “Are you intrigued? Do you want to know more?”
She smirked at his allusion to their first conversation at the bar. “Well, Montgomery, I want to know more, but you have the right to keep your secrets.”
He laughed and nodded.
“An artist,” she said it to herself like she wasn’t sure what to make of it. “You know, I have a soft spot for the arts.” Olivia tried not to look at him directly in the eyes.
“You do?”
“What’s so surprising?”
“Well, you’re too young to seem to appreciate arts.”
“It’s a little hypocritical of you?”
“I may be young, but I have an old soul.”
“So what made you choose to be an artist?” Olivia poured water into his glass.
“I don’t think anyone can choose to be an artist. I think it chooses you. I always liked the idea that some part of an artist shows up in their work. There was this girl I once knew, who painted a series of self-portraits. In the corner of each canvas, she had this blotch of color not very noticeable, like it was unintentionally dripped. It was meant to represent her insecurities and her secret battle with depression. Art is personal to the artist, but not to the viewer. It’s a way to reveal yourself without showing yourself to the world.”
“So what are you working on right now?” Olivia handed him a platter.
“I’m supposed to be working on a collection for a venue next year. To be honest, I had stopped for a good time, but now I am slowly getting back into things.” He filled up his plate and handed the platter to Peter, who was sitting next to him on his other side.
“Why did you stop?” Olivia asked.
“Ah … well, let’s just say other things were going on in my life that took up most of my attention.”
She took the hint that it was a subject
she shouldn’t explore further.
“Do you use acrylic paints or oil?” Olivia asked.
“Both,” he replied.
“Abstract art you said? It must be easier to create abstract art then figurative art I supposed?”
He looked at her with surprise, amazed that she had taken an interest in his work. Most girls he knew were never interested in what he did, much less wanted to talk about it.
“Well, not really. I would say figurative art would be easier to paint, for me anyhow. Abstract art is something you must put together an association of forms and color to create some meaning. As for figurative art, it’s quite straight forward.” He looked around the room. Several oil paintings were adorning the walls, but one caught his attention. “Look at the picture across from us. The one with the girl running in the field …”
“Yes …”
“It’s not difficult to understand what’s going on. The top of the hill there is a brown brick house; it’s a beautiful summer day, which is why the young girl seems content, running around in the field filled with orange flowers growing throughout the tall grass.” He looked back at Olivia to find her smiling.
“How do you know she’s happy? She’s too small to even see the expression on her face.”
He looked back at the painting across from him.
“Well, that’s just it. It’s how everything is put together that makes me assume she’s happy: the vibrant colors, the blue sky, she has the wind blowing in her hair.”
Olivia smiled. “Well, to me it looks like she’s running away. Her hair flying behind her means she couldn’t get away fast enough.”
He gave her a glance. “Well, there are always two sides. That’s the thing with art: it has a different interpretation for everyone,” he replied.
“It’s an ugly painting. I’ve told my mom many times it doesn’t belong in the dining room,” she said as she took a sip of her wine.
“So where does it belong?” He took a sip of his water.
“On the side of the curb,” Olivia said honestly.
“Hate it that much, eh?” he asked, laughing low. “What did that painting ever do to you?”
The Proverbial Mr. Universe Page 9
