“Whatever they want, charge to my card,” I instruct the manager as I wipe down the exam table with a disinfectant wipe, holding the phone to my ear in my other hand. “Make sure they’re treated like royalty, please. This couple deserves the very best.”
“We’ll do just that, Mr. Lucchetti. We look forward to seeing the O’Neils tomorrow at four.”
With thirty minutes to go, I lock up the clinic and hop on my motorcycle, knowing there’s a flower stand off West 81st, which is where I’ll have to park, anyway.
I need to be quick—the last thing I want is to be late and for Vinnie to think I am standing her up.
Leaning against the old wood rail of the staircase in Shakespeare Garden, I take in the beauty of the grounds.
It’s been many years since I’ve visited these gardens. My mother used to love to bring me and Guilio here as children, but the tradition was lost the older we became, no longer interested in looking at flowers or walking in the park.
All around me, plant life flourishes. Vibrant flowers to thick bushels of herbs, every inch of the unpaved landscape filled to the brim with vast colors and textures. Gold plaques sit on the edges, highlighting famous quotes from William Shakespeare, celebrating his beautiful words.
Across from where I stand is the Swedish Cottage, a historic building built in the late 1800s, that now houses a theater. The architecture is stunning, and with the way the sun illuminates behind it, it brings a certain splendor to the gardens.
Pulling out my phone, I see Vinnie is now tenminutes late to meet me. It builds the nerves in my system, but I force them down.
Perhaps she hit traffic or had a difficult time getting a cab. This is New York—any number of things could be the result of a late arrival.
Adjusting the bouquet in my hold, I focus my attention on a family nearby, watching as their toddler chases a duck that has waddled over from Turtle Pond. The child has a mop of curly blond hair on top of his head and a plethora of drool spilling from his mouth, but he looks overjoyed to simply be chasing a duck.
The child's parents watch from a few steps behind, and though their backs are to me and I cannot see their faces, I can only imagine their contentment.
I then realize how much I long for that—a family of my own.
My mind returns to Vincenza. She should be here by now.
Twisting my wrist, I read my watch, frowning at the time.
One twenty.
The flowers go slack in my hand, hanging by my side as I sink onto a low step of the staircase. As I sit, I pay close attention to the people around me, searching every face for hers.
The clock creeps later, and by a little after one thirty, the bile has risen in my throat, nausea settling deep in my stomach.
When the sound of gravel crunches, I whipmy head up only to feel like I’ve been kicked back down when I meet my cousin's eyes.
“Lorenzo?” I question, but my tone lacks nuance. “What are you doing here?”
“I should ask you the same, cousin. Who are you waiting for?” He stands in front of me, practically toe to toe, towering above me.
It’s difficult to swallow, my airway feeling as though it’s being suppressed with emotion. “No one.”
“I hoped you wouldn’t lie to me, but you have been for a long time, haven’t you?”
I rise, not liking the position we’re in. With him standing over me, he feels like he’s in control. But he forgets we are equals.
Rising to my full height, I look him straight in the eyes. “What is it that you want me to say exactly, Lorenzo?”
“How about the truth?” he spits. Taking the flowers from my hand, he waves them in my face, his temper rising. “Who are these for?”
“The love of my life.”
The answer is honest, even if it’s now obvious I’m not the love of hers.
She didn’t show up.
And true to my word, I will respect her decision, even if it kills me.
