I know you asked for time, but can we please talk?
Please call me.
I love you. While you take the time to think, please just remember that.
I hate this.
There is no way for me to tell if he’s seen them and is just ignoring me, or if his phone is off and he hasn't yet received them.
It’s killing me—the not knowing.
But I’m not brave enough to actually pick up my phone and call him. Hearing his voice might shatter me.
Meanwhile,myphone has been ringing off the hook, but not a single call or message is from the one person Ineedto hear from.
My mother.
Raina.
Various media outlets.
The only call I felt guilty denying was Raina’s, but hearing her voice would break me too.
“Give Sly some time. From what you’ve told me about him, he doesn’t seem like the type of man to make an irrational decision, and he seems to really care about you. You’ll hear from him. You may just need to make peace with the fact that you might not hear from himtoday.”
The thought of not hearing from him today makes a new rush of tears fall.
“Oh Vins,” Cecilia coos, rushing forward to wipe my tears. She holds my face, tilting it up so I’m looking at her. “Things have a way of working themselves out, okay? I’m going to call your mother and tell her you’ve been sick all day and won’t be attending brunch tomorrow, and that will be one less stressor for you to deal with this weekend.”
I nod in her hold. “Okay,” I croak. “Tell her I’ll call her for lunch next week.”
She nods her head and reaches down to squeeze my hand. The gesture is reassuring. “I’m going to go get us some dinner. I know you’re not hungry, but Fraîche just opened their ‘home-cooked’ section of the market and I’ve heard wonderful things about their soups and fresh-baked breads. I’ll go get us some comfort food, alright?”
Despite the lack of appetite, soupdoessound cozy. I can’t promise I’ll eat it, but I’ll at least try.
“Thank you,” I mutter.
She walks away as I bring my mug back to my lips and sip the hot liquid, tasting the light notes of chamomile and honey.
The sky is darkening, thick gray clouds coming in from all around. It feels symbolic of my life. One moment, things are calm and beautiful, and the next, a storm is swirling.
I sit and watch the clouds roll in, removing every trace of blue skies from the city. My tea cools quickly as I take small sips, slowly drinking it.
A while after Cecilia leaves, the doorbell rings and I startle, so captivated by the clouds and the silence I had almost forgotten I was at home.
I’m not expecting guests, and frankly don’t have the mental capacity to speak to anyone. The list of people who could potentially be behind the door makes my stomach fall as though it's weighed down by lead.
Deciding to ignore it, I continue to look out the window, quiet as a mouse, while I wait for them to leave.
But the person knocks, their firm fist rattling the door.
“Vincenza?” Sly’s smooth deep voice calls through the wood and my heart skips a beat as I push myself out of my chair.
Setting my mug down on a side table as I pass, I rush to the door, flipping the lock and pulling it open as quickly as I can.
The moment our eyes collide, I feel like I can breathe again, but another freefall of tears cascades from my lashes.
“Piccola ladra,” he sighs, closing the distance between us. His hand immediately slides into my hair, resting at the nape of my neck as he brings me forward and presses his lips to my forehead.
