Authors: April Emerson
Just then, I hear a sneeze. Clear as day, as though it was in this very room, but it wasn’t. It was from the other end of the hall.
I slap my hand over my eyes with shame as I realize Enzo must have just heard us making raucous love in the late afternoon.
It’s confirmed when Stefan begins to laugh. He runs his thumb over my cheek. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ve spent more nights than I can count listening to Lorenzo get laid. It’s payback time.”
“I am
so
embarrassed, I can’t even—I have to look him in the eye at dinner. What’s he going to think?”
“He’s going to think that we’re happily engaged, Carina.”
My mind flashes back to the night I overheard Bianca and Rocco on the terrace. Bianca was miserable and in love with another man. She was never happy in her relationship.
Am I?
Stefan has to make some calls, and when the sunlight dies, we shower and get ready for dinner.
Stefan escorts me downstairs. “This is the living room, which you’ve already seen. Gemma’s bedroom is on this floor, in addition to the family room and study. The basement is finished, as well. We have a billiard table, some arcade games, and a small bar down there. It got more use when we were younger and much less busy.”
I follow him through the maze of the main floor, and then we enter the kitchen.
I smell it and hear it before I see it—sizzling garlic and onion.
An opera plays, and someone is singing along.
Badly.
Enzo is at the stove. Lucy sits on a stool beside him, kicking her feet and watching his every move. The dog lies at her feet. Nora sits at the table, peeling carrots. Enzo sings into a wooden spoon, staring at his giggling niece as he puts on a show for her.
Stefan pats Lucy on the head and walks over to Nora. “Has Frank come home?”
“Yes, he’s out on the porch with my mom. Go and see him.”
Stefan walks out the back door onto the wrap around porch, and I start to follow him.
I’m still embarrassed after the audible afternoon delight I had with my husband. If Enzo heard us, others could have as well.
Nora stands up and walks toward me. “Carina, this is my daughter, Lucy.”
The little girl jumps off the stool. Her hair is dark and bouncy, and she reaches her little hand out to mine. “Nice to meet you, Carina.”
I bend down to look in her big eyes. “It’s nice to meet you, too. You have very good manners.” I kneel down and pet the resting dog. “Is he yours?”
“No, that’s Uncle Lorenzo’s dog.”
Enzo looks at me, and I feel my heart race.
I must be more embarrassed than I thought.
“His name is Icarus,” he says.
“Yes, he’s a great dog.” Nora smiles. “How about you come and help me make a salad, Carina?”
“Of course.”
Nora and I sit at the table.
I wash my hands and begin to tear Romaine lettuce and drop it into the salad bowl.
Lucy has returned to her perch, and Enzo is very focused on the meal he’s preparing.
He wipes his hands on a dishtowel and speaks to Lucy. “I’ll be right back. Don’t touch the stove, angel.”
I watch as he rummages through the pantry and returns with several bottles of spices.
He seasons the sauce to taste very carefully.
Like an artist
.
Then he grabs the glorious bottle of aged balsamic vinegar that Stefan gave him earlier and approaches me with a smile. “I know you’re as excited about this as I am. Will you make a dressing for the salad?”
I nod and take the bottle from him. I can feel myself blushing. Knowing that he heard me having an orgasm earlier is mortifying, but Enzo is sweet and always puts me at ease.
When the dinner is ready, we bring the food into the dining room.
Nora’s husband, Frank, and Stefan have already opened some wine and are sitting at the end of the table talking and laughing. They look like old friends. Frank is wearing the new sneakers Stefan brought for him.
“Here she is,” Stefan says.
“It’s a pleasure.” Frank’s clothes are spattered with small droplets of paint, as are his hands. He hugs me in the same warm way the rest of his family has, and we sit down to eat.
Lorenzo joins us a few minutes later with Nonna on his arm. He helps her to her seat.
Gemma enters the room with fresh candles, places them in their holders, and lights each one with a long match. She sits at the other end of the table between Enzo and Nora.
The entire family looks at my fiancé with expectation.
He stands. “Bless us, oh Lord, for these thy gifts . . .”
I close my eyes along with the family as Stefan recites the blessing. It’s a new experience for me to see him as the venerated head of the family—and praying. Business man, yes. Family man . . . well, he seems to enjoy the role.
“Amen,” we reply in unison.
Enzo raises his glass of wine. “I’d like to toast to my uncle. We’re so happy to have you home and to welcome the newest member of our family, Carina.
Cent’anni
.”
“
Cent’anni
!” the family concurs.
Stefan smiles, nods, and kisses my cheek.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“My nephew has wished us a hundred years of happiness.”
Plates of food are passed around the table. Broccoli rabe, ziti, fried chicken cutlet, salad—the sumptuous treats never seem to stop. A silver bowl is passed last, full of grated Parmesan cheese. Lucy crinkles her nose, but everyone else sprinkles some over their food like a sacrament.
Dinner is relaxed and filled with laughter.
The red wine begins to warm and intoxicate me. I eat and eat until I’m stuffed.
We sit together for almost two hours, enjoying each other’s company, feasting, and drinking wine. Enzo and Lucy feed Icarus bits from the table.
I smile, enjoying this feeling of family. This feeling of belonging. This feeling of home.
It’s late when we begin to clear the plates, and Lucy is blinking long and slow. Nora and Frank retire with her to their section of the house.
“Stefan, why don’t you come with me to help Mom to bed?” Gemma asks, her arm wrapped around the smiling older woman.
He looks at me.
“Go ahead. I’ll help Enzo clean up.”
He kisses my forehead, and he and his sister go upstairs with their mother.
I wash the dishes while Enzo clears the dining room table. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Oh, it’s no bother. You cooked a delicious meal. I’m happy to clean up.”
He leans against the sink next to me. “Did you really enjoy it?” His hazel eyes are sparkling.
“Oh, yes. It was great.”
“Well, that means a lot to me.” He grabs a rag and begins to dry the dishes.
“You’re a very good cook.”
Even though it’s quiet and not awkward, I try to continue making conversation. “So, Enzo. Where are your parents?”
He sets the dish he’s drying to the side and drops his hands to his side.
His reaction makes me regret the question.
He takes a breath. “I never met my father, and surely my uncle told you about my mother?”
I realize how stupid I am.
If Gemma is his aunt . . .
Stefan had only one other sister—the one that drowned, Luciana. Luciana was Enzo’s mother, and she died twenty years ago.
“Oh, yes. I’m so sorry. How old were you?” As soon as I ask, I want to bite my own tongue for making him continue to discuss this painful topic.
“I was four. Uncle Stefan doesn’t like to talk about it. Did he tell you the whole story? Did he tell you I was there? That
I
was the reason my mother went into the water?”
I hear the river of hurt rising up in his tone, and I turn off the faucet and dry my hands. I want to give him my full attention. Stefan did
not
tell me the whole story. “No.” In his eyes, I see little shards of anguish.
“Come and sit down. You should know all of our family’s stories, good and bad.”
I follow him to the kitchen table.
“More wine?” he asks, pouring two large glasses before I can answer. He rakes his hand through his hair and leans back in a chair that seems too small for him. “I don’t remember much of that day. I think most of my memories live inside me because Stefan has put them there. My mother and I were out in a rowboat not far from the dock where Stefan was fishing. He was about eighteen years old. My mother was the oldest of the three. She was the same age I am now—twenty-five—when it happened. She got pregnant with me in college. It was quite a scandal. Her boyfriend broke up with her when he found out, so she came home and had me here.” His leg begins to bounce up and down, and he sips his wine.
“Anyway, we were out in the boat. I remember it was hot that day. She looked away for a second, and I leaned over the side and fell in. She jumped in the water to save me. It was a maternal reaction, but my mother was an awful swimmer. Her poor skills were exacerbated by her panic to save me.
“Stefan saw what happened and heard her screaming. She was drowning and so was I. I went under the waves. I remember looking up through the water. Everything was quiet. Just muffled sounds met my ears. I remember thinking how pretty the sky looked through the water. And then I don’t remember anything.”
He stops talking for a few moments, and I reach out to still his bouncing leg with my hand. My touch brings him back.
He takes a deep breath and continues. “When Stefan tells me this story, he says that he did what my mother would have wanted. He tells me she wouldn’t have wanted to be saved and live a life without me, but what I’ve never said back to him, what I’ve never said to anyone before, is that I wish I’d had a say in that choice.”
His face is pained and I want to ease it for him, but I can’t.
“Though I’m grateful for my life, if I could’ve had a say that day, I would’ve wanted him to choose her, to save her instead. To live without a mother’s love, it’s just . . . it’s like you’re broken.” He avoids looking at me and looks out the window instead. He seems to be fighting back tears. “My mother and I were both drowning, and Stefan was the only person nearby. He had to make a choice—save her or save me—and he’s had to carry the weight of that choice around with him his whole life. It haunts him, and I’m indebted to him forever. He’s the reason I’m alive.”
I don’t know what to say. I have no way of understanding what his life has been like. No parents to raise him, and the woman who has been a mother figure to him is now on her deathbed.
When I get the courage to look up from my feet, I see Enzo running his finger around the rim of his wine glass, lost inside his own mind somewhere, replaying God knows what kind of horror. “I’m sorry. I know those words don’t mean anything, but . . .”
Enzo nods, eyes on his glass, and then he turns his head and smiles. “You’re a good listener, you know that? And kind, too. I always enjoy talking with you.”
He’s complimenting me?
He places his hand over mine. “My uncle is lucky he found you. I appreciate your sympathy, Carina. Truly.”
My skin pricks with goose bumps as he speaks. It’s an odd sensation.
He yawns and stands up. “I should go to bed.”
“I’ll finish cleaning up.”
“You sure?” He stretches his arms over his head, causing his shirt to rise a bit and reveal his bare, chiseled stomach.
“Yeah, no problem.”
I clean the dishes and wipe the dining room table in silence. I wash our wine glasses last and place them in their home, side by side in a glass cabinet. I think about the fact that I’m engaged to Stefan, who has never felt compelled to share that entire story with me, while Enzo, whom I’ve known for such a short time, has bared his soul to me. He did so with ease. He trusted me. With Stefan, it feels like I’ve just scratched the surface. My fiancé has never shared his deepest thoughts or feelings with me, and I’m angry.
He’s never really let me in
.
When I get upstairs, Stefan is in bed with his glasses on, reading.
“Where were you, darling? I was beginning to think you got lost.”
I slip my shirt over my head and pull a nightie out of my still unpacked suitcase. “I was talking to Enzo for a little while.”
He doesn’t respond, keeping his eyes on the book, and it’s as if he asked a rhetorical question.
I answer him again, louder this time. “I said, I was talking to Enzo.”
He takes his glasses off. “Mmm. And did my nephew dazzle you with his wit?”
“He told me about his mother, actually.” I unhook my bra and toss it on top of the suitcase, slip on my nightie, and crawl into bed beside him.
He doesn’t say anything.
“You know, you could’ve told me the whole story, Stefan. You don’t need to keep things from me.” I press my head into the pillow beside him.
“There are some stones that are better left unturned, as they say. I didn’t keep it from you to hurt you.”