“I have no desire for that.”
“You’re a man, aren’t you? What do you mean? Your wife passed almost two years ago. You have no babies.” She doesn’t realize it, but neither of those statements is true.
By keeping her in the dark, I’ve had to continuously put off these desperate inquiries. It’s only natural for her to want grandchildren. She pats my chest. “I thought Sophia would be good for you. At first, I wasn’t sure, but I was certain she made you happy when I saw you together.”
Fuck me.Sophie is clearly the topic of choice today.
My gaze settles over her head, noticing a commotion. The senator. He’s laid his hands on my cousin, pulling her right off the dance floor. Dario is already waiting for the look I cast his way, a silent command. He moves swiftly, approaching the senator’s nervous assistant. A few words, and the young man hastily ends the distracting scene, guiding the drunken official off the dance floor.
Blissfully unaware of any of it, my mother continues to ramble. “You were with her for a long time, and she never got pregnant. Perhaps things were meant to be this way so God could give you children…”
Before she can finish that sentence, a sentence that turns my fucking stomach, I guide my mother’s hand into Dario’s grasp. As he dutifully draws her in, she huffs in frustration. “Xavier, I'm sorry. I didn’t mean for it to sound cold. I just?—”
I’m wandering, dragging my feet through an excited crowd when I feel a vibration in my pocket. Opening the incoming message, I freeze, expanding the picture sent. It’s a child’s drawing. Isabella’s. She’s scribbledDaddyacross the top.
She’s writing now. I'm not there enough to know that.
I join Bo on the relatively empty terrace, sighing with appreciation when he passes me a Peroni, popping off the cap.
“It’s almost over,” he says encouragingly, still by my side despite the hundreds of times I’ve told him to go.
“I’ve already ordered the caterers to pack up.”
He chuckles. “Free food makes anyone ravenous.”
I take a seat and stretch out my legs. A year has passed, and my joints still ache like they did in that fucking warehouse, despite the grueling exercise I implement every morning to erase the damage. The heat has caused the rose on my lapel to wilt. “Tell me about your new girl, the one Dante vaguely mentioned over dinner.”
“It’s nothing serious.”
Silence I create hangs between us for a moment—words I’ve wanted to say for a while eventually surface. “You can talk to me about her. I'm not so fucked that when my best friend meets someone, I don’t want to hear about it.”
“It’s just uncomfortable. I know you’re going through it.”
I shake my head, refusing to hear it. “I'm happy for you, Bo. I’m damn glad you have someone. Don’t make this about me.”
He smiles appreciatively, relaxing. “Thanks, man.”
“Tell me about her. Is she Italian?”
“Fuckno.” He grins when that produces a rare smile on my face. “Her name is Denise. I’ve only met her a few times. She’s hilarious. She doesn’t mind my lack of humor.”
“That’s big.”
“Shut up.”
He beckons Dante over, popping another beer. Dante squeezes my shoulder, groaning as he sits. “Zeke has to put the kids down. He said to say goodbye.”
The drawing in my messages weighs on my mind.
The little girl who yearns to have some part in her father’slife has grown without me. When I first held her, awkward and trying to deny any feelings that were naturally there when I looked into her eyes, so like mine, I was broken still.
My new position wasn’t assured yet. I had much to prove.
And every time I looked at her, I saw Sophie.
I thought how this would hurt her. I felt relieved when Rosa got married, knowing there would be a man to protect them. He had no record. He was Greek, not from the family. Although everyone told me to refuse the wedding, I told her to do it.
She was happy. Caesar was a good man. He could be the father I couldn’t be. If I claimed Isabella as my own, she’d have expectations. Her marriage would inevitably become a transaction, like mine was. I want more for her than that. I want it bad enough to watch from a distance as she grows.
