“It wasn’t you, Valentina. I’m sorry. It was all me. I tried to tell you that, but you didn’t believe me, and rightly so since there was more to my ending our relationship.”
“This girl in Germany. Ivan’s mother. So that’s why you stopped e-mailing me when I was in college. It wasn’t just that you’d gotten too busy with business school as you said when you came back to New York.”
“I didn’t know how to tell you I was seeing someone else, and since we weren’t officially dating yet, I didn’t think I was compelled to tell you.”
“You led me on, Michael.”
“ I know now I was wrong for not leveling with you and telling you that I was dating someone, but I was afraid of losing you. I was afraid if you knew that I was dating someone, even though it was casual, you wouldn’t wait for me and would meet someone else. Yes, that was selfish of me.”
“Very.”
“I’ve made a mess of things.”
“All those years, Michael. All those years that we knew each other from the time we were kids, and you didn’t trust me enough to tell me that you had a son. I guess you didn’t know me that well either, huh?”
“In my heart, I sensed you would accept Ivan, but I was also aware it would be a different life than what you had envisioned for us when you accepted my marriage proposal. I also couldn’t deal with the news that I was suddenly a father. And I had no idea how my life would change. I just knew it definitely would and that I needed to take responsibility for my son.”
“You pushed me away, Michael. You pushed me away when you should’ve been turning to me for support and love. You chose to distance yourself from me—even before you found out about Ivan. You’re still lying to me and to yourself! God, you can’t even be honest with yourself! Don’t make it sound like Ivan is the only reason why you ended our engagement. I noticed you were alienating yourself well before you knew about your son. Ivan was just a convenient excuse. You don’t want to be the bad guy. You think by telling me that you didn’t want to shock me and that it would be unfair of you to expect me to accept your son that will make you less guilty. Just admit it, Michael! You had mixed feelings about getting married. You had doubts about me! Just say it!”
The pain is back. The pain I haven’t felt since that day when Michael broke up with me. I think this hurts more—knowing he kept such a huge secret from me and felt like he couldn’t depend on me during the difficult time he was going through. And now, his refusing to still level with me completely hurts like hell.
“I’m sorry, Valentina. I know I have hurt you so much.”
“You have no idea how much you hurt me. But I think more than anything else is the disappointment I feel in you. I expected so much more from you.” I look into Michael’s eyes as I say this.
Tears quickly fill his eyes, and I can see the muscles in his jaw lock tightly. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him close to tears before. It’s sad that it’s taken a moment like this for me to see some valid emotion coming from him.
Taking a deep breath, I try to calm down. “Why did Ivan’s mother wait so long to tell you?”
Michael walks a few steps away from me, looking out his parents’ living room window. “Helena—Ivan’s mother—and I had lost touch before I left Germany so she didn’t have my address or phone number in the States. I got a new cell number, too, when I returned home. She found out she was pregnant about a month and a half after I left Germany. She got married about two years later and forgot all about me until she joined Facebook. She saw my picture on a mutual classmate’s page and friended me. We e-mailed for a week or so, and then she told me she wanted to talk to me on the phone. She had to tell me something. So when we talked, Helena told me about Ivan. She said the guilt she felt over the years that I didn’t know I had a son always bothered her. She also felt guilty that Ivan would never know who his real father was. Helena told me that if I didn’t want to be a part of the boy’s life that would be my decision. But she knew she couldn’t live with herself if she’d never given me the chance.”
“She sounds like a good person. Not many women would see it that way.”
“Yes. She’s done a wonderful job of raising Ivan. And from what she’s told me about Ivan’s stepfather, he’s treated him as if he were his own son. That’s a huge relief to me.” He turns back around and finishes off the last of his Scotch. “So I went to Germany after we broke up to meet Ivan.”
“That’s where you were. People in town thought you were in hiding from the shame of what you’d done.”
Michael laughs. “Well, if I had stayed in New York, they would have been right. I probably wouldn’t have stepped out until late at night or very early in the morning.
“I was in Germany for a month. Things went very well while I was visiting, so Helena decided Ivan could come stay with me for the rest of the summer. Her husband had a business trip in Manhattan so he flew with Ivan to New York last week. I’ll take Ivan back to Germany at the end of August.”
It’s quiet for what seems like an eternity. Neither of us is looking at the other. My mind is still trying to come to terms with the shock of learning Michael has a son. I struggle to think of what to say next. Part of me wants to unleash more fury on him while another part of me is just spent. I give in to the latter feeling. “Well, I’m happy for you that you found out after all these years that you have a son. I hope everything works out for you and Ivan. I should get going. Your parents will probably be back soon.”
I stand up to leave, but Michael reaches for my hand.
“Wait, Vee. I can tell you’re still mad at me, and you have every right to be. I can’t defend my actions. I know I acted abominably and selfishly. But I have changed in the past few months. Ivan has touched off something in me. I know. That sounds corny, but it’s true. He’s helped me to see the world through his eyes and not just through my own. I know this is a lot to ask of you, Vee. But maybe someday we can be friends again.”
I know Michael is not just asking me to be friends. I can see the look of hope; it’s the same expression Mrs. Carello had earlier in the night. They’re both hoping I will forgive him and have a change of heart and return to him. Seeing this in his eyes just saddens me more. Although I am still so mad that he couldn’t trust me with the news of his son and that he couldn’t admit that he’d had doubts about me, I can’t help but pity him as well in this moment. But unlike Michael, I will be honest.
“Too much has happened between us, Michael. I don’t know if we can ever be friends again. I don’t hate you, and I suppose a part of me will always care about you. I’ll never forget how you were there for me when my father was dying and after he died. You’re a special part of my childhood and past. And I can’t hate that or regret it. But you’re not the only one who has changed, Michael. You see, I’ve met someone else.”
I wait a few seconds, letting the enormity of this news sink in with Michael. He looks very sad and older than his thirty-four years. In the course of a week, I’ve managed to hurt him yet again. But this time, I hadn’t intended to hurt him. I just needed to be fully honest with him, something he couldn’t do for me when he broke off our engagement.
“I’m sorry, Michael. Good luck with everything. Ivan is a beautiful boy.”
I pull my arm from his grip. As I’m about to walk out the door, Michael asks in a hoarse whisper, “Are you happy, Valentina?”
I pause. Without turning around, I say, “Yes, I am.”
I step outside and quietly close the door behind me. Walking away from Michael’s house, the burden that I’ve been carrying since we broke up finally lifts. I take off my necklace, sliding my engagement ring off the chain and restoring it to its proper resting place—my ring finger on my left hand.
25
Past Lives
Olivia was taking a stroll in Astoria Park. The last time she had allowed herself this simple pleasure was probably more than a year ago. The past year had been Sposa Rosa’s busiest yet, and though she was happy
at how much the business was prospering, she was also the most fatigued she’d ever been. The scare she’d had with finding that cyst in her breast had made her take a hard look at what she wanted out of her life now that she was getting older. Olivia knew she could not keep going at this frenetic pace without her health being affected down the road.
Though Olivia had loved being a seamstress, her aching bones every morning when she got out of bed were a reminder of how physically demanding the work was. And forget about her eyes. She was now wearing bifocals and couldn’t go anywhere without her eyeglasses. Her vanity still prevented her from wearing the lenses when out in public. Even at Sposa Rosa, she took them off when she was greeting clients. Olivia did love having her own business and working with her daughters. She was blessed to have had each of her children take an interest in the shop. But she also knew the time would come when they would want to spread their wings and venture on to their own enterprise, whatever that might be. This young generation was not like hers. They got easily bored and always wanted more. Olivia shook her head. She’d never fully understand them. Then again, she supposed her children would never completely understand her either.
All Olivia knew was that she wanted the business to remain in the DeLuca family. She supposed she could take a less active role in the actual seamstress work involved and assume more of a supervisory role. That way, she’d still be involved in the day-to-day operations of the shop and could ensure that the same high level of attention was paid to the design and sewing of the gowns when she hired other seamstresses. As she’d told Valentina, their intern, Melanie, had proved to be a fast learner, and Olivia could tell the girl had a genuine passion for the work. She’d made up her mind that upon Melanie’s graduation she would offer her a full-time job. Last week, Melanie had brought to the shop two friends of hers from school who had expressed an interest in interning at Sposa Rosa. They had beautiful names—Samantha and Megan. Olivia talked to them for a little while and could tell the girls would be serious about their work as Melanie had been. They also both expressed an interest in becoming dress designers. Samantha was interested in evening wear and hoped someday to be able to take her skill to Hollywood, where she could design glamorous gowns for the actors attending the Oscars. Megan was interested in designing wedding gowns.
So tonight, Olivia would talk to Rita, Connie, and Valentina, and tell them that she was interested in bringing on Samantha and Megan as interns in hopes that she could hire them as full-time seamstresses when they were done with school. She knew that when she would break the news to her daughters that she needed to start working less, they would become worried and ask her if everything was okay with her health. Olivia was nervous, but she decided she would tell them about the benign cyst that she’d had. Of course, they would be furious with her for having kept it a secret for so long, but it was time to come clean with her daughters and make them understand that she needed to slow down.
“Buon giorno, Olivia.”
Olivia looked up and saw Salvatore walking toward her, waving excitedly. He was holding a copy of La Corriere della Sera under his arm, and a Styrofoam cup of coffee.
“Buon giorno, Salvatore. What are you doing here?”
“Ha! The same thing you probably are doing—enjoying this beautiful day.”
Olivia blushed. “Scusa. I just meant you are far from your home. I’m sure there are parks in Long Island that are much closer for you to travel to than Astoria Park.”
“I’m just teasing you. I drove Francesca to Sposa Rosa for her dress fitting. She had to wait because we got there much earlier than her appointment, and Francesca knows how fidgety I can get when I have to wait anywhere for longer than ten minutes so she suggested I go for a walk.”
“That’s right. I almost forgot that Francesca had her last dress fitting today. I’m sorry I was not there. I should go so I can help her.”
Salvatore placed his hand on Olivia’s shoulder. “Non c’è bisogno. Tutt’ è bene. Connie told Francesca she already knew all the alterations that you were making on her dress, and she could help her. Stay. Talk to me for a little bit.” Salvatore walked over to one of the park benches that overlooked the East River and Triborough Bridge.
Olivia hesitated. Even though she’d become accustomed to seeing Salvatore escort Francesca to the shop for her fittings, she was still a little uncomfortable around him. She slowly followed him to the bench and sat down, making sure to keep a good amount of space between them.
“I’ll stay for a little bit. I have a lot of work to do.” Salvatore smiled. “I see you are one hundred percent American now.”
Olivia’s anger flared. “What do you mean by that?”
Salvatore held up his hand. “It’s okay, Sera. Scusa, I mean Olivia. All I’m saying is that you are a hard worker.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“Of course not. I am impressed with all you have done with your business. Without your hard work, you would not have had the success you have with your shop. But you seem to have the same illness the Americans have—you work too much and leave little time to relax. That’s all.” Salvatore shrugged his shoulders. For some reason this action irritated Olivia more. It was as if he was belittling her. She wanted to give him a piece of her mind, but he’d managed to leave her speechless.
“I can see I have upset you. That was not my wish.” Salvatore removed the lid from his cup and took a sip, then offered the cup to Olivia.
“No, grazie.” Olivia felt her face flush once more. She could not believe the nerve of this man, offering her a sip of his coffee—an intimate gesture, as if they were married. They were in love once before, but that gave him no right to think he could take such liberties with her. Again, she struggled to search for the appropriate response that would put him in his place, but she was at a loss for words. So she merely clasped her hands in her lap and stared at a freight liner ship that was slowly making its way across the river.
“Olivia, I know how difficult this all must be for you. I wish it was not like that. I know we can no longer return to what we had so many years ago. We are both different people. But I had hoped that maybe we could become friends.”
Olivia glanced sideways at Salvatore. He, too, was following the movements of the freight liner ship.
“We are friends.”
“No, we’re not, Olivia. You are polite toward me when I come to the shop. Francesca and I are just your clients. If we were friends, you would have introduced me to your daughters. You—”
“I have introduced you to my daughters!” Olivia snapped.
Salvatore shook his head. “You did not let me finish. You would have introduced me to your daughters as an old friend of yours from Sicily.”
“I told you that day in Manhattan, Salvatore, that I was not ready to explain all of this to my daughters.”
“I know. And I understood. I am not saying that you need to tell them that we were romantically involved.”
Olivia pursed her lips tightly, trying to repress her anger. Her heart was racing now. “Then what would I have said? Ah? ‘This is Salvatore, an old friend of mine from Sicily who I thought was dead but showed up alive and well one day in my own shop’? You do not know my daughters. They ask lots of questions.”
“Ha! Don’t all women? Francesca has asked me a million questions since she was a child. I thought she would outgrow it, but no!”
Olivia couldn’t help but laugh, picturing a tiny Francesca grilling her uncle and still doing it now. She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Salvatore. I never meant to make you feel bad. I just am afraid of what my daughters would think of me.”
“Why? You did nothing wrong. Do you really think they expect you not to have had a life before you met your husband?”
“Yes! That’s how it was in our time. Most women, even all of my sisters, married the first man they met.”
“But it was not like that for everyone. It is not like you were seeing me and Nicola at the same time.”
Olivia’s cheeks stung. This man had a way of always embarrassing her.
“I suppose you are right. I am being foolish.”
“It is up to you, Olivia. I am not going to force you to be my friend if you don’t want to. It’s just that there’s something comforting about having people in your life who knew you when you were young. I no longer have that. All of my relatives, even the few who I left behind in Sicily, have passed away. And my childhood friends are all in Sicily.”
Olivia thought of her sisters and the friends she’d left behind in Sicily. While she had grown to love America and considered it more her home now, there were times she, too, missed having people in her life who had known her when she was young.
“I can understand that. I still miss my sisters sometimes terribly, and I don’t get to visit them too often with the demands of my shop. Sometimes, I have to think really hard to remember the girl I once was. It’s as if that was a different person, a different life. My daughter, Connie, is very spiritual. She is a good Catholic girl, but she has such a big, open heart and has taken an interest in learning about religions from around the world. She does yoga and rarely lets herself get too upset—unlike me or my other daughters who are known for our quick tempers! She takes after her father a lot. Nicola was very quiet, and it took a lot to anger him. Don’t get me wrong. He was not a saint! And when he did get mad, watch out! But he was better than me at remaining calm. He took the time to think before reacting. Anyway, I overheard Connie talking to her sisters one day at the shop, and she was saying how the Cherokee Indians believe that each stage of our lives—childhood, adolescence, adulthood, and old age—is a different life, almost like a reincarnation. I couldn’t help thinking how true that was, and it made me think of how different my life is now compared to when I was a young girl singing at the top of a cliff in Tindari.” Olivia fought back the tears in her eyes. She missed that young girl. Salvatore was right. She worked too hard. That was why she’d gotten mad at him earlier. He’d touched on the truth, and she knew it. Olivia looked at Salvatore, who also looked sad.
Bella Fortuna Page 35
