Chapter 03 #2
Which made me laugh, because my sister is a paradox. She talks about soulmates and karma... yet she’s commitment-phobic down to her bones. She’s thirty-five, and I’ve never met a single boyfriend. Because they don’t exist.
She presses me again, and I eventually give her the short version of the lunch.
“So when are you asking her out again?” she asks, refilling both our glasses.
“I don’t know. We talked several times this week. She even called me the next day to tell me something that happened with her son.”
The way Cecilia talks about Ethan and Alicia... the love is unconditional. She worries about every detail. She wants to be present for everything. It makes me admire her even more.
“How do you not know? You’re here for just one more week.”
Her wide-eyed stare is almost comical, if not for the frustration behind it.
“I’ve told you, I’m not rushing. Cecilia’s not ready, and this isn’t one of your favorite movies.” I raise my brow. “If I come on too strong, I’ll scare her off. And I’d rather keep her in my life as a friend for now than risk losing her before I even have her.”
“And does she know you think of her as Cecilia—your Cecilia—and not Cecily?” she asks, grinning mischievously.
“No.”
Aurélie deflates dramatically into the couch.
“Life in your little bubble is exhausting, Alex. At this pace, you’ll manage a peck on the cheek after she has her first grandkid.”
I don’t tell her that a peck on Cecilia’s cheek has already happened, and before I can think of a reply, the intercom rings. Aurélie gets up to answer it, assuming it’s our dinner.
When she returns, I help her set the table and steer the conversation elsewhere.
“So, how’s old Kevin? Still sailing around the world?”
Aurélie laughs.
“Last time we talked, Dad wanted me to meet him in Costa Rica and join him on his boat for the next leg of the trip. Me—who gets nauseous just thinking about stepping onto a dock.”
She shudders dramatically.
We eat the osso buco with saffron risotto she ordered from our favorite spot in the city, laughing and catching up the way we always do whenever her work and mine allow it.
Aurélie is a painter, and whenever she needs inspiration—or time to lose herself in her work—she disappears completely. She even turns off her phone and escapes to one of my properties in Europe, or to one of our father’s places here in the States.
Part of me always worries about her like she’s the same little baby mamma placed in my arms for the first time, the day I sat in the armchair, staring at her then-emerald-green eyes and wondering how something so small could feel so important.
She’s far from helpless, and I know she won’t always need me.
But I’ll look out for her anyway. Always.
Before I leave her apartment, she hugs me again and says,
“Don’t stay trapped in this Romeo courtship fantasy, or you’ll let your Juliet slip away, mon frère.”
I kiss her cheek and say goodbye.
In the elevator, I think about what Aurélie said. If I had answered her, I would’ve said this:
I hope it doesn’t take that long for me to kiss her. But if that’s the time I have to wait... so be it.
I’ve only truly fallen in love once in my life—but it was a young man’s love. Nothing I have ever felt compares to what Cecilia makes me feel. Nothing.
Just outside the building, I reach for my keys, and my phone vibrates in my pocket. The moment I see her name on the screen, a smile pulls at my mouth.
“Ciao, cara mia,” [IX]I say, unable and unwilling to hide the affection in my voice.
Cecilia gives a laugh. “Cara means dear, right?”
“Yes.” And also beloved, precious, adored. But I don’t tell her that.
“Well... Ciao cara mio?” she tries, hesitant.
My heart skips a beat.
“If you’re saying it to a man, it’s caro. Caro mio[X].”
“Okay... let me try again.” She takes a breath, and when she speaks her voice is almost velvety. “Ciao, caro mio.”
My voice drops, rougher with something I don’t bother to hide. “Perfetto. Perfect.”
You’re perfect.
For a few seconds neither of us says anything. I can hear her breathing on the other end, and somehow it feels like she’s beside me.
“I’m not calling too late, am I? Or interrupting... You haven’t left New York yet, have you?” she asks, words tumbling out.
“No, you’re not interrupting. And yes, I’ll be here for a few more days.”
I glance up at the half moon, delicate in the night sky.
“You can talk to me, Cecily. I have all the time in the world for you.”
She hesitates for a moment.
“I’m working on the final touches of my article, and I really liked your take on that last section I sent you. Would you mind going through a few parts with me?”
“Not in the least. Do you mind reading it to me?”
She says she doesn’t, and then her voice—tender, thoughtful, in a tone that’s all hers and makes each word sound better—begins to read the section she wants to show me.
Grinning like a fool, I lean back on my Audi Q8, eyes fixed on the moon.
One day, we’ll be doing this with her lying on my chest, reading everything she poured into every line she wrote. One day, cara mia. No matter how long you need.