PLEASE DON’T ASK
SANTINO
Oscar’s office on a busy street in Jackson Heights was tiny as fuck. Santino sat at his desk, reading over the settlement papers for probably the tenth time until the ink was swimming in front of his eyes.
His lawyer was leaning back in his chair, contemplating the dingy water-stained ceiling while Santino hunched over that paper. The office secretary, who was also the notary, waited quietly in the corner behind Oscar, her eyes glued to the paper.
Maybe it wasn’t the ink swimming. Something must have gotten in his eyes. No way could he be about to cry over this shit, again. He’d looked at it so many times he’d thought he would have steeled his heart by now.
Wrong.
His hand shook, so he rested it on the paper, giving himself another minute. As if Vanessa would miraculously burst through the door or tumble through the window, dressed in her spandex and cape. As if she’d snatch the pen, break it in half and rescuehim from this. Turning to the door, he paused, but no. No sign of her.
It had been three weeks since they’d returned from Montreal. Three weeks of him walking around trying to pick up the pieces and move on from the disaster. He’d had to make some decisions about what moving on really meant, and it started with these fucking papers.
“You ready to do this or not,chamaco?” Oscar asked. “If not, my mom could use some new rims on that Benz.”
Usually, a joke like that could get him to crack a smile. Not today. Santino put his large hand on the papers again while Oscar went motionless. Then he scrawled his signature on the space above his printed name, tossed the pen down and slouched back in his seat. The wind was knocked out of him. He couldn’t fucking breathe.
He couldn’t face Oscar’s sympathetic stare, either, as the secretary silently notarized the document, then left the office.
Oscar cleared his throat. “Alright, so, next step is for me to have it filed with the court. The judge will sign the decree. You won’t have to attend for that; that’ll be up to her lawyer and me. After that, expect a delivery of the certified copy and you’ll be a free man.”
Freedom? Sure, like being pushed out of a spaceship to float into the dark, cold hell of outer space. Unmoored. No way home.
Santino couldn’t speak. Flushed, he pulled at his shirt, but it felt fused to his skin. Airless, he put his head between his knees, hoping like fuck his lunch wouldn’t come back up. He should’ve known better than to eat before this.
“It’s okay, bro. It feels bad now, but you’ll be okay,” Oscar tried. “Give it a little time and you can start over. Maybe start dating again. You’re a good guy, someone will appreciate —"
Lurching to his feet, Santino attempted a grin. “All good. I’ve gotta go. Thanks.”
“I’m free to go get a drink if you want.” Oscar stoo,d but Santino was already halfway out the door.
“Some other time.”
The interior of his car was sweltering. He sat there, trying to regain his bearings, and finally, he managed to put the car in gear and leave. It was midday, and the drive from Queens to the Northeast Bronx was quick. When Santino arrived at the park in Anne’s Harbor, he was just in time to see Bobby defeating one of Patrick’s buddies in racquetball. His dark skin held a sheen of sweat from the exercise, in addition to the afternoon heat and humidity.
“You’re next, old man,” Bobby said, pointing at Patrick with his racquet.
Patrick groused, “You only wish you could take me.” With his big square 80s shades and a bit more salt than pepper in his hair, Patrick would have been a great extra for aGoodFellassequel if one was ever made.
Bobby laughed, then spotting Santino as he approached, he raised his chin in greeting. They slapped hands.
“My son has arrived,” Patrick announced to his friends with a grand gesture. “Youse better get ready to get the crap beat out of you.”
“He means that literally,” Bobby said, clearly enjoying the good-natured trash talking.
It was good to see Bobby out and about after three weeks or so of hibernation at his and Vanessa’s Uncle Norton’s. He’d taken a leave of absence from work and seemed to be doing alright, almost like the Bobby he’d first known, albeit sad at not living under the same roof as his daughter.
Santino sat down beside him on a bench apart from Patrick and the others. A much-needed breeze picked up and fanned their faces. Bobby closed his eyes in appreciation.
“I heard from my sister you guys haven’t been speaking since Montreal. What’s up with you? What’s going on?”
Santino shrugged, looking at the players now on the court.
Bobby continued. “Vanessa’s going through a lot right now. She got fired from her job. She was on some big case and quit at the last minute. Her boss was not happy.”
Santino stared at his own hands, not responding. While they were away, Vanessa had mentioned that guy Claremore and how she was dreading the trial resuming. She hadn’t talked much about work, but she’d said enough for him to know she’d been unhappy at the firm in general. To hear the news about her being let go made him sad but also proud of her, for finally doing what she believed was right, even if it cost her. At least financially, due to the settlement he’d just signed, she’d be okay for money.
