by Monica James
Just as I’m about to hang up, a friendly voice answers, asking where she can direct my call.
“May I be connected to Pino Di Matteo’s room, please?” I say, waiting a few seconds before speaking.
“Certainly. Putting you through now.”
I’m thankful I’m stationary because all I can focus on is the tacky music which separates me from my father. Will he really want to talk to me after all I’ve done to him?
“Hello?” a female voice says.
“Um, hello,” I reply, confused. “I must have the wrong room. I was looking for Pino Di Matteo.”
“Yes, this is his room. Hi, I’m Julia, Pino’s nurse. I’m looking after him today,” she says cheerfully.
“Oh, right. I’m Dixon…Pino’s son,” I explain, because she probably doesn’t even know he has a son.
There’s a slight pause before she replies. “Oh, what a lovely surprise. Hang on a second.” I hear her place down the receiver, her shoes squeaking against the linoleum as she walks across the room.
“Pino,” she says, my heart in my throat as she addresses him. “Pino, your son is on the phone. Would you like to talk to him?”
Silence.
“Pino?” she says, pressing once more.
I can’t help but smile, as my father always was a stubborn man. Looks like some things never change.
“Hello?” she says into the receiver. “Are you still there?”
“I’m here,” I reply, although I know this has all been a mistake.
‘I’m going to put you on loudspeaker, okay? That’ll make things a little easier,” she kindly explains, but I know my dad doesn’t want to talk to me. “Okay, you’re good to go. I’ll give you some privacy,” she says, and I hear the door shut.
There is complete silence, apart from my father’s raspy breaths, waiting for me to speak.
“Ciao, Papà. Come stai?” I ask, which is a stupid question, seeing as he’s cooped up in a hospital.
But I persevere. “Mi dispiace per non visitare. Lavoro èstato occupato,” I say, using the same excuse I gave to Marie for not visiting.
I know he’s listening because his breathing has increased. I decide to switch to English, hoping I’ll get a response out of him.
“Have you been doing any gardening? I remember seeing a beautiful garden out back.”
I’m still greeted with silence.
I know my father and he’s not interested in my work or gardening; he wants answers. He wants me to say I’m sorry for abandoning him when he needed me the most. He wants me to explain why I left him.
Clenching the steering wheel, I take a deep breath and say what’s been on my mind since the day I left him there. “I’m sorry, Papà. I really am. I…I didn’t know what else to do. When we lost Mamma, I think she took a piece of us with her. You especially. I know I did you wrong, but I’m asking you to forgive me.”
Why won’t he talk to me? I can hear him, and I know he can hear me, too. Suddenly, I hear his slippers scuff across the floor. His steps are small and measured, and I can’t help but think they’re the footsteps of a broken man.
“Papà?” I beseech, sitting up straighter in my seat.
It’s a plea, a plea for him to talk to me.
His breathing rattles in his chest, his exhalations coming out louder and choppier. The sound has me choking up, and I say the only thing I can that really expresses how I feel.
“Ti amo.”
My words of love are greeted with silence, but this time, the silence is because my father has hung up on me.
Closing my eyes in defeat, I numbly end the call and rest my head on the steering wheel. I don’t know what I expected, because if I were him, I would have done the same.
Only when a car horn blares behind me do I raise my head to see that traffic has finally started moving. I put my car into gear and take off, speeding away from demons I must one day face.
That day, however, is not today. And I don’t see it happening anytime soon.
* * *
I’ve invited Finch and Hunter over for pizza and beer, as basketball is on, and I couldn’t think of a better way to distract myself from my non-relationship woes. A knock on the door interrupts me from stocking the fridge with beer. I look at my watch and see the boys are early, which is a first.
“Couldn’t wait for my boys to kick your ass?” I say as I open the door.
Instead, I’m greeted by Juliet.
“Oh yeah, I can’t wait,” she purrs, giving me big, innocent eyes.
“What are you doing here?” I abruptly counter instead.
She’s visibly taken aback by my curtness, but after this weekend, she’s the last person I want to see.
However, she soon recovers from my insolence. “I’m here to fuck your brains out,” she boldly replies, not holding back.
Before, the very vivid picture she just painted would have me tearing her clothes off, but now, it just makes me cringe.
Juliet sees me hesitate and takes a step forward, wrapping her arms around my neck. “What’s the matter? You’re not happy to see me?” she asks, pouting.
“I just wasn’t expecting you,” I reply, subtly unchaining her hands from around my nape.
“Well, what a surprise,” she replies cockily, her blue eyes glowing with mischief.
Indeed.
We stand silent for a few moments, and Juliet’s body language is highlighting the fact she wants me to invite her in. But the thing is, I don’t want to. She looks way too intoxicating in her skinny jeans and peach camisole, and I know she’ll end up destroying whatever resolve I have left.
“I actually am expecting guests,” I reveal, feeling a touch guilty, as I’ve made it more than obvious she’s not invited to join us.
“Oh?” She raises a fair brow.
“Yeah, just a couple of the guys are coming over to watch the game,” I explain with a firm nod.
“Oh,” she says once again, brushing back her hair. “Well, I’ll leave you to it then.”
She gets it. She understands loud and clear that I don’t want her socializing with my friends, and she doesn’t…care.
Most men would think they’ve struck gold, but I’m not most men, and I know Juliet doesn’t care because she doesn’t care about me. For a while, sex without strings was fun, but now, now it’s just sad.
Is this change of heart because of Madison, who I have a genuine interest in physically and emotionally? Or is it because I’m sick of the person I see staring back at me every day? Whatever the reason, I know I should have never started whatever this is between Juliet and me.
“I’ll see you during the week?” Juliet asks, disturbing my thoughts.
“Sure,” I reply, as I don’t want to share my revelations when my friends are due to turn up on my doorstep any minute.
Tracing my stubbled jaw with her fingernail, she says, “I’m going shopping for the perfect outfit this week.”
I cock a confused eyebrow, and she smiles.
“For the awards night, silly. I’ll be the perfect plus one.” She winks. “Speaking of plus ones… What happens in Boston, stays in Boston.” She licks her plump lips. “I’d be willing if you were.”
I remain stone-faced and nod. “I’ll think about it,” I reply, casually addressing her suggestion of a threesome.
“Okay. Well, don’t think too hard, think about me riding your face while you’re fucking another girl,” she states, while I almost choke. She leans forward and kisses me passionately.
My mouth, the traitorous bastard, kisses her back, and her knowledgeable tongue coaxes my dick to shift to attention. However, I pull away before I lose control.
“I’ll talk to you soon, Juliet,” I say, my voice wavering.
“Bye, babe.”She turns on her booted heel, giving me a clear view of her tight ass as she walks away.
I slam the door shut and lean against it. I completely forgot I asked Juliet to be my plus one for the awards ceremony next month. I was ca
ught in a vulnerable moment, as I was fucking her over my desk and the gold invite caught her attention. She asked who I was taking, and the fact I was buried balls deep in her had me asking if she would come. Moments later she did come, and then she agreed to come to the awards night with me. I was planning on going alone, as it’s not typically acceptable conduct to bring your fuck buddy to a prestigious event involving your work. But I couldn’t exactly tell her that.
Now I’m stuck with no other option but to deal with my fuck-up and spend the weekend with Juliet, and a possible plus one, if she has her way. I could retract the invite but honestly, knowing Juliet, she’ll just turn up anyway.
Frustrated, I push off the door and head into the kitchen to grab a much-needed beer. Tossing back my Budweiser, I reach for another, as I know I’ll need it to deal with Hunter, who will smell something is up the moment he enters the room. My cell chimes and I grab it off the marbled counter. I hope it’s not the boys cancelling, as I really need their advice again.
But the text message is from Madison.
Did you know that New York cheesecake is the most popular cheesecake in the entire world?
Smiling, I reply, No, I did not. Good to see you’ve been doing your homework. Speaking of, how’s the dual degree going?
It’s going terribly.
Why terribly?I ask, not able to imagine Madison being terrible at anything.
Because I suck at pharmacology. I’ll make a sucky nurse :(
I chuckle at her wit and text back.
You will not. It just happens I’m an expert in drugs. Well, prescribing them, not taking them :P
You don’t say. Would you be willing to offer your expertise? A slice of New York’s famous cheesecake is yours if you say yes.
Before I have time to respond, she adds. Pretty please with whipped cream and a cherry on top.
Madison begging was enough of a trigger to say yes, but the fact whipped cream and a cherry is involved has, without a doubt, sealed the deal.
You drive a hard bargain…but okay.
Thank you! Thank you! Would 2mro be ok?
Tomorrow would be perfect, I reply eagerly.
Great!!Do you remember where I live?
How could I forget?
Maybe I could suggest she come here. But that doesn’t make any sense, as all her books are at her place. I’ll just suck it up, and it’s not like it’s a date. I’m helping her study. It’s a study date. I’m only offering my expertise, nothing more.
With that thought in mind, I respond.
Text me the details. I’ll be there.
A loud knocking at my door interrupts my vigil by the phone, and by the obnoxious pounding, I know it’s Hunter. Opening the door, I quickly hand him a beer as I want to check my cell. However, the moment he takes one step into my home, he raises a brow. Looking from left to right, he sniffs the air and rotates his finger in a circular motion around the room.
“It smells like nympho in here.” A small laugh escapes me.
Looking at me closely, he adds, “But it also smells like…” He takes another sniff. “Cherry pie.”
It doesn’t surprise me how accurate he can be. I guess these are the perks of knowing someone your entire life.
Closing the door behind him, I say, “Drink that. You’re going to need it for what I’m about to tell you.”
17
Something Sweet
MADISON
“Maddy, why oh why are you getting messed up with this jerkoff once again?” Mary says, watching in distaste as I try on outfit number five.
“First, I’m not getting messed up with him. He’s helping me study, that’s all. And second, he’s not a jerkoff,” I say, defending Dixon’s honor.
“Um, yeah he is,” she rebukes, her eyes rising from the magazine she’s flicking through. “Do you not remember he stood you up, and then he disappeared off the face of this earth for like three months?”
“Only to be reappear looking like a damn angel of sin,” I softly add, remembering how good Dixon looked in his faded blue jeans and how he filled out his white V-neck tee perfectly.
“Stop that!” Mary throws a pillow at me. “That’s your hormones talking. The sensible Maddy would not be allowing this man into her home and heart.”
Her accurate comment has me quickly jumping to my own defense. “Lamb, stop being so melodramatic. He’s helping me study because he’s a doctor. And for the record, he’s going nowhere near my heart.” I fail to mention he’s already wedging his way in there.
“And besides, there’s David,” I add, taking off my sparkly sweater. “I would never do that to him. I really like him.”
We hit it off the first night we met, and before I knew it, we were casually seeing one another a few weeks later.
In the beginning, I knew I was sort of using David to fill the Dixon void, but soon after, I actually enjoyed his company. He’s the perfect gentleman and really is wonderful boyfriend material. But that’s the problem—he’s too perfect, which I know is crazy.
If I were to really evaluate what the issue is here, the reason I can’t one hundred percent commit to David is because he’s not Dixon.
I met David so soon after Dixon bailed on me, and I guess I was a little hurt he never made good on his raincheck. However, I now know the reason why he just vanished was because he was seeing someone. Although, it’s funny, because he never mentioned her, or hinted he was in a relationship.
But now that he’s back in my life, I don’t know what to think, or feel. Maybe Mary is right and it’s just my hormones overtaking my good sense.
“Maddy, I love you to death. You’re my best friend, but you’re living in denial. When that man is involved, you lose all sense of reason, which makes no sense. You’ve spoken to him like five times.”
“I know,” I say, turning around to face her. “But the times we have spoken, they’ve been, I dunno…” I shrug. “Kind of amazing.”
“And they’re not with David?” she asks, popping her gum.
“Of course they are. But it’s different with Dixon.”
“How so?” she questions, crossing her legs and sitting on the edge of my bed.
“I just…you know I have skeletons in the closet,” I confess, biting my lip.
“Yes, and I wish you’d tell me what. I’ve known you since we were in diapers. I would never judge you,” she says, her voice betraying her hurt.
Mary and I have been inseparable since I was five years old, as we were next-door neighbors. Even when my mom got remarried and we moved, Mary and I remained BFFs, and we promised to never allow anything to come between us. So far, we’ve both stuck to our word.
But my secret isn’t just “anything,” it’s life changing, and I will do anything to spare Mary that pain.
“I know, Lamb.” I sigh, lowering my eyes. “But it’s something I just want to forget.”
“I wish you’d at least talk to someone. Maybe Dr. Dixon can help,” she jokes, while I almost choke on my tongue.
“No!” I cry, shaking my head as I meet her warm eyes. “This is something I can never tell him.” I hate how vulnerable I sound.
“Whatever it is, I know it’s not your fault,” she says sympathetically. “But I just know your wicked stepsister is totally to blame.”
I swallow down my nausea and reach for my slinky tank. “Ugh, can you not ruin my day by mentioning her? I haven’t seen her for two glorious months, and I hope I can push it out to six.”
“I don’t understand how she can be a product of Sebastian. I mean, he’s so nice, and she’s…”
“Such a bitch,” I mumble, filling in the blanks. “And that’s a compliment,” I add, reaching for an elastic, as my long hair is suddenly pissing me off.
Mary nods and makes a grossed-out face. “I still can’t believe she’s marrying your brother.”
The hair tie goes flying across the room and I gulp. “Yeah, well, neither can I,” I lie, because I can so believe it.
“Isn’t that like incest or something?” Mary asks, and I shake my head.
“No, they’re not related by blood. My mom married Sebastian; we’re only related by marriage,” I explain, really hoping she drops this, like now.
“So kinda like if Greg married Marcia? God knows it’s all about her, so the Marcia analogy suits her perfectly.”
“Yes, kinda,” I reply, trying my best to remain calm as I hunt through my garments on the floor.
“It’s still gross. I mean, Dylan is hot, but he’s your brother,” Mary says, screwing up her nose.
This conversation is making me so uncomfortable, but I nod anyway. “I know. It really is.”
“When are they getting married?” she asks, casually reaching for her bottled water.
“I’m not sure. Their engagement party is a couple of months away. They only just got engaged, so I don’t think they’ll get married right away. But who knows, it is Beth we’re talking about. You know she’ll do anything for her five minutes of fame,” I spit, glaring at the wall, too angry to face Mary in case my emotions betray me.
“Yeah, and poor Sebastian has to foot the bill,” Mary says, and I nod. “Do you think—”
But I hold up my finger to stop Mary’s questioning, as I don’t want to talk about this any longer.
“What about this?” I ask, holding a knee-length, blue babydoll dress out in front of me, subtly hinting this conversation has ended.
Mary rests her cheek in her palm as she examines me. “Hmm, it kind of screams ‘date.’ I mean, it’s pretty, but what’s wrong with what you have on now?”
Looking down at my ripped blue jeans and black tee, I scrunch up my nose and pinch the hem of my top. “This? Really? It’s a little casual, isn’t it?”
“Why would that matter? It’s not a date, right?” she says, raising an inquisitive brow.
“Right,” I confirm with a half-assed nod. “You’re totally right.”
