by L. D. Davis
I remembered when we were children how often my mother would pinch her chubby cheeks. She was a couple years older than me, almost middle-aged, and my mother still pinched her cheeks. Tess had never been slim. Growing up I’d heard some refer to her as prettily plump. She’d struggled with her weight and appearance for many years, but at some point, she’d learned to love herself, and many men seemed to love her, too. She was a full-figured, voluptuous goddess. Instead of wearing bigger clothes to hide behind like she used to, she now wore things that fit and showed off her curves. Today she was just in jeans and an oversized, off the shoulder sweatshirt, but one could not overlook her attractiveness.
“Hey, Trouble,” she said, grinning at Massimo. “They let you out of the asylum again today, I see. Hi, Marshmallow.”
The word marshmallow was said in English. She’d given me the nickname thirty or so years ago after the three of us, plus Massimo’s twin Maria, had spent a weekend watching American movies. We’d barely understood the language at that time, but that was one of the random words we’d picked up on. In no way had I resembled the sugary, squishy confectionary, but the name had stuck anyway.
I smiled, even though I still had that split open feeling from moments before. “Tessa the Terrible.”
She stuck out her tongue, but had no time for me, not while Massimo was in the room. The two friends embraced in the sunlight streaming in from the window, as if it had been months and not days since they’d last seen each other.
“I brought you some pumpkin tortelli. It’s still hot.” She reached into the bag she’d come in with and produced a covered dish. Almost instantly, a rich aroma filled the room.
Massimo followed her to a coffee table where she put the dish down and laid out a fork and knife rolled in a linen napkin. As the two sat down side by side on a sofa, she reached into the bag once more and placed a can of Coca-Cola next to the dish.
“You have to stop bringing me food every time you come, Tess. You’re spoiling me.”
Indeed, every time she’s come to see him since her return from Greece a few weeks ago, she’s brought him food. His appetite had declined so much it was hard to get him to eat anything at all during the day, even favorites of his made by our mother. However, whenever Tess showed up with food, he always ate it. He didn’t usually finish even half of it, but he always put in the effort to eat.
“Now that you are here to babysit, I think I’ll go grab some lunch myself,” I said, getting to my feet.
Massimo returned the rude gesture I’d given him earlier before digging into his pasta. When Tessa glanced up as I opened the door, I mouthed a silent thank you to her. She offered a warm, quick smile before giving my brother her full attention.
“So, when are you going to stop fooling around and kick this cancer’s ass?” I heard her say before the door closed behind me.
I wasn’t all that hungry, but after the short conversation with Massimo about Lydia, all I wanted to do was hear her voice and see her face, but when I tried to FaceTime her, she didn’t answer. I looked at the time and realized she was probably getting the kids on the bus for school, and she probably wouldn’t call me back.
Cursing quietly to myself, I sat on a kitchen stool and plucked an apple from a basket to hold me over. Something simmered on the stove and other covered dishes sat on the counter. Normally, I would have peeked under the foil and maybe stolen a preview taste of lunch, but I was supposed to meet Celeste in about a half hour at my mother’s table for the meal, and I was distracted as I began a search for flights back to the U.S. Celeste was supposed to go back just before the holiday, but I hadn’t had a timeline in mind for myself. Maybe I shouldn’t have left to begin with, but it wasn’t as simple as Massimo made it seem about loving someone. Our circumstances were unusual, primarily because of my brother’s illness.
As much as I wanted to put Lydia and the children first and foremost in my life, the truth I hated to admit, even in my own mind, was that Massimo was short on time. Earlier when I told him he would get better and be able to play with his kids, I hadn’t meant it, and we both knew it. I wanted it to be true, more than anything I wanted that to be true, but it just wasn’t. The disease had progressed swiftly and continued to do so despite the chemotherapy treatments. At the most, he had several months. At the least…
I couldn’t even bring myself to consider how little time he had left, but I know I wanted to spend as much of it with him as I could until the end. Since Lydia lived a good four thousand miles away, I didn’t know how to balance my Italy life, life with her in the States, and my work, or if it was possible.
A door slammed somewhere nearby, and seconds later, I heard the quick patter of small feet and the more even stride of bigger feet. Not too long thereafter, Celia came in with her and Massimo’s three youngest children, Armano, Carlo, and Clarice. Their faces still showed a hint of pink from the cold. They must’ve just come in from playing outside.
The six-year-old twins became little human torpedoes when they caught sight of me and crashed into my side like the wild monsters they were. At ten, Armano was more reserved and played it cool with a smile and a hello. Sometimes he reminded me so much of Gavi that it hurt. He was at an age where he thought he was too old to play with his younger siblings, but always ended up playing with them anyway because he was still just a kid at heart.
I looked at Celia, my eyes comically wide as I fought off little hands. “Why did you let the outside animals indoors?”
“Even wild animals must eat.”
“What a strange concept, to feed your children. I say you let them graze in the grass next time.” I tickled the twins’ sides, making them squeal. “Hey, animals, go wash your hands and faces.”
The two little ones took off just as quickly as they’d come in, followed more slowly by their older brother who shouted for them to stop running.
I went back to my flight search as Celia quickly tied on an apron and began to finish the lunch preparations.
“You look very deep in thought, Marcello.”
“I am,” I admitted. “I am trying to decide when I should fly back to the States.”
When she placed a couple serving dishes on the tabletop and didn’t immediately move away, I looked up to meet her eyes.
“You aren’t thinking of going any time soon, right?”
I hesitated. “I…I am not sure.”
Her palms flattened on the table and she leaned toward me. “But you just got here a few days ago.”
“I know, but…”
“And Immaculate Conception is in a few days.”
Patiently, I nodded my understanding. “I know, Celia, but you know I have Lydia and her children there. Also, her sister, my friend Lily, and Kyle just had their baby yesterday.”
Her eyes closed for a couple seconds and she took a breath. “I know. I know you miss her, and you’re excited to see your friends’ baby, but what if… What if this is Massimo’s last holiday? Don’t you think we should all be together right now? If your Lydia loves you, she will understand. Please, Marcello. This is the first time in years you’ll be here through the holidays and…it will mean so much to your brother.”
Once again, I was conflicted, torn between going back to Lydia to make amends, and staying with my brother, whose life was on an accelerated countdown.
“She will understand,” Celia said softly and reached across the table to touch my cheek with the palm of her small hand. “We need you here.”
I stared into her pretty face, my heart racing with anxious indecision. She pulled away as the children returned, loud as a stampede.
“Will you eat with us?” Clarice clasped her hands together. “Please, please, please?”
“Your grandmother will pull my ear off and put it in a stew if I miss the lunch she’s made for me.”
I made a show of clapping a hand over both of my ears as if to protect them, making them giggle.
“Do you have time to take a tray to your brother?” Celia
asked as she bustled around the kitchen.
Massimo could still walk, but he was weak and unsteady. I didn’t know if it was because of the chemo or the cancer or a combination of them both. He mostly stayed in his study all day and meals were brought to him, not that he ate much of them. We could’ve helped him to the kitchen or dining room—he refused to be pushed in a wheelchair—but more and more he didn’t like to leave that room.
“Oh, right,” I snapped my fingers as I remembered. “Tess brought him some tortelli di zucca.”
Celia stilled for about three seconds before turning her head slowly toward me. “Tess is here?”
“Yes, and she brought him some lunch.”
She seemed a little irritated by that. “Why would she do that? He doesn’t eat.”
“I suppose she did it for the same reason you want me to take him a tray, in the hopes that he will.”
“That’s my job as his wife. Why would she think it’s okay to show up around mealtime anyway? That’s family time.”
While it was true that our second and biggest meal of the day was generally a family affair, like most Italian families, it was never a big deal to pull up another chair and put out another plate. My mother especially was always very welcoming, no matter who the person was, even strangers have sat our table.
A nagging suspicion creeped into my mind. The way Celia put dishes on the tray as if she were just holding back from slamming them down made me believe, like how it was between Lydia and Celeste, there was no love lost between my sister-in-law and Tessa. I’d never noticed it before, maybe because I had rarely been in the same room as the two of them over the last twenty years. In fact, Tess had barely been in the country herself much either, until recently. She’d moved to Greece around the same time I’d gone to the States. She had a son, a little boy of two, and seemed to live a happy life that had nothing to do with Massimo, so I couldn’t understand Celia’s animosity. Then again, I barely understood Lydia’s animosity toward Celeste, so perhaps I wasn’t the best one to comment on such things.
“I’ll take the tray.” I made the offer with a happy smile, hoping it would settle Celia, but she snatched it up before I could, making the dishes rattle.
“I will take it. Armano, watch your sister and brother. I will be back shortly.”
The study was on my way to the main house, so I walked with her. As we approached the door, I was suddenly worried about what we would find on the other side. At one time in my life, I’d considered my brother a woman-steeling prick, but I had never thought of him as an adulterous prick. Maybe Celia’s mood had an effect on me. To be safe, and possibly give my brother some time—albeit very little time—in the event he and Tessa were up to something, I opened the door to go in first.
I was relieved to find him in a chair by the big picture window, and about three feet away, Tess stood almost where he’d been standing earlier before she arrived. Considering how I’d found my woman literally in another man’s arms, I thought the distance between them was acceptable.
Celia plastered on a perfect, flawless smile. “Tessa. How nice of you to come.”
She placed the tray down on the table beside the dishes Tess had brought, the almost empty dishes.
“Celia,” Tess said politely with a small nod.
My sister-in-law seemed to just take notice of the bowls and blinked. “What is that?”
I knew she knew what it was, because I’d told her, but I remained silent.
“Tortelli di zucca. I brought some over for Massimo.”
Celia gave her a gracious smile. “How kind of you, but that wasn’t necessary. He barely eats as it is, and I like to keep a close eye on his diet. Some things make him vomit more than others, especially if not properly prepared.”
“I assure you, Celia, it was properly prepared, and he ate more than half of it. If he vomits, it won’t be because of me. In fact, he looks better than he did when I first got here.”
Both women were showing their teeth in wide grins, which reminded me of two wolves about to fight over a piece of meat.
Even though Celia had told the children she’d be back shortly, she sat down on the arm of the chair her husband was seated in and casually began to touch him in only a way a significant other should be permitted. Her fingers smoothed over his bald head and across the back of his neck. I loved when Lydia touched me like that, but Massimo seemed annoyed by his wife’s caresses.
“How is your little boy, Tessa? You never bring him with you.”
That was true. I’d only seen her son once, and that had been in a picture when the boy was a few weeks old. Now that I thought about it, I found it strange.
“He is in Greece with my parents right now, and there just never seems to be a convenient time to bring him. Well…I better go.”
“Stay,” Massimo said quietly. It almost sounded like a plea.
“Don’t worry, my friend.” Tess reached for his hands and gave them a squeeze. “I will be back.”
“Maybe you should call first next time,” Celia suggested, in a way that didn’t sound at all like a suggestion. “My husband is more often than not asleep or not feeling well, especially after his treatments. If you reach out to me, I will be able to tell you if it’s a good time.”
Tess looked up at Celia, her hands still tightly linked with Massimo’s hands. “I will keep that in mind.”
“She doesn’t have to call first,” Massimo said, his voice rough with barely hidden anger. He seemed to grip Tess’s hands harder. “You don’t have to call first. You are always welcome here.”
Celia’s lips pursed. “But—”
“Celia!” My brother snapped at her as he withdrew from her touch. “I will not relegate my lifelong friends to such formalities. Tessa and any one of my friends are welcome in this house anytime. I don’t care how I feel, or if I’m sleeping, or if I have my head in the toilet. It is not your decision, it’s mine. Now go get my children. I want to spend the rest of the day with them.”
Her lips flattened into a line that made her beauty warp into something ugly. She got to her feet, took a breath and managed to smile again.
“You’re right, Massimo. I apologize.” Her gaze fell on the linked hands of her husband and Tessa. “The children are eating, but I’ll bring them in shortly.”
“Take the tray with you,” my brother commanded without glancing at her. “I don’t want it.”
Her spine stiffened, but she kept that smile. “Of course, Massimo.”
“Um, I am going to leave now,” Tess murmured. With some effort, she untangled her fingers from his. “I’ll see you soon.”
Despite his objections, Tess quickly kissed his cheek, then mine, and hurried out the door, practically on Celia’s heels. Massimo stared at the door, and I stared at him. I’d never seen him say even one harsh word to his wife before. Ever. Then again, Celia had confessed to me not too long ago that his illness had changed him in many ways, that sometimes he was just plain mean to her. I’d seen him cranky more than a few times myself, but with what he was going through, I supposed it was understandable. That didn’t make it any easier to witness, though. Celia was a devoted mother and wife, and it wasn’t any more fair to her to receive that treatment than it was for him to have cancer.
Massimo’s voice stirred me from my thoughts. He was still staring at the door.
“Go back to America, little brother. Get your Lydia and her children and bring them back with you. I want to meet her before I die. Don’t waste time. You never know when it will run out. Don’t make my mistakes. Let her know she is not less than anyone or anything.”
Chapter Seventeen
Marco
The Present
The drive back to Kyle’s was quiet. Tuckered out, Amanda had fallen asleep in her car seat almost immediately. Cora hummed softly to herself opposite her sister and yawned every couple minutes. Gavi, who was typically talkative up until the point he fell asleep, sat quietly in the front seat, his eyes fixed out his win
dow.
We had spent almost three hours at the Please Touch Museum before we jumped the bridge into New Jersey and went to an indoor amusement park. I’d enjoyed the day with the children, Rose, and Wes. The only thing that could have made it better was if Lydia had joined us. I had considered calling her before we went to dinner at Lily’s diner, but I thought she could use the break. I hoped she was able to relax for once, without the children to be concerned about.
I glanced at Gavi, as I had several times since we got in the car. He seemed to be in such deep thought for a boy of his age, his gaze steady on the darkening evening.
“Did you enjoy yourself?”
He answered without looking at me. “Yes.”
The word was not said with any malice or displeasure, nor was it spoken with joy or excitement, or even weariness. It was just a simple, flat response. He was often like that with me these days. Our relationship had not fully mended after the blowup at his house. That saddened me. Just as I thought of their mother as mine, I thought of her children as mine as well. The last couple months had been difficult enough without this new family plight.
“I enjoyed myself,” I went on, as if I had not noticed the boy’s mood. “I especially enjoyed kicking your butt in skee-ball.”
Finally, he turned to me, his face pinched with righteous indignation. “You cheated!”
“I most certainly did not.”
“Yes, you did! You cheated. You didn’t even roll the ball, you just tossed it into the holes.”
“Okay, so?”
His eyes rolled. “That’s not how you play. You cheated, so none of your wins count.”
“Is that why you took all my tickets?”
“You didn’t deserve them,” he said in the manner of a father chastising his son.
