Chapter 22 #4
I go to the window and fasten my seatbelt, watching him the entire time—leaning against the car, hands slipped into his pockets as though he’s holding himself together. When the plane begins to roll, he lifts his hand to the left side of his chest.
I press my own there, even though he can’t see me. And when the first tear finally slips free as the jet lifts from the ground, I don’t wipe it away. Wishing he were here to catch it with his lips.
Just as he did hours before.
Ethan
“Is it going to take much longer?” Alicia whispers from the seat beside me in the Sheltair lounge.
It’s the third time she’s asked since the receptionist told us Mom’s jet had landed.
“Alicia, sweetheart, even the filthy rich have to go through customs,” Uncle Mark says with a chuckle. “They’re probably just checking your mom’s bags and paperwork. They’ll let her through in a minute.”
He’d swung by our place to pick us up earlier. I came down to spend the whole weekend with Mom and Alicia and, obviously, to see Dalila before heading back.
Just thinking about her makes my mouth tilt into a smile. Things have been better. She’s even been pushing me to go out more, saying it’s not fair for me to keep spending every night on the phone with her while the guys are out living life.
But I’ve been making the effort. I’ve gone out with Conrad and José too. Nothing wild, just walking around, grabbing food, and doing the usual stuff.
I look over at Uncle Mark. He seems tired. Distant in that way adults try to pretend doesn’t show. I asked him earlier if everything was okay, but he just smiled and tossed out another one of his jokes. And I didn’t believe him for a second.
“Mom!” Alicia squeals, launching herself off the couch the moment she appears with a luggage cart.
I jump to my feet, my chest swelling with a rush of relief and happiness. When I reach them, I pull Mom and Alicia into a tight hug, the three of us clinging to each other all at once. When we pull back, Mom cups our faces, studying us.
“My God, I missed you so much,” she says, her eyes shining. “Even talking every day wasn’t enough.”
Then she studies Alicia more closely and laughs. “And you... you’ve gotten taller.”
“Is there a hug left for your brother,” Uncle Mark calls from behind me, “or do I need to take a number?”
Mom laughs and pulls him in next. Uncle Mark closes his eyes as he wraps her up in one of those extra-long hugs.
“You’re glowing,” he says, then leans back with a grin.
“Don’t start,” Mom laughs, swatting at his arm.
“Mom,” Alicia says, staring at the luggage. “You left with one suitcase and came back with four!”
Mom chuckles and slips an arm around her shoulders. “Gifts. For all of you. And most of them are from Alexander’s family.”
There’s no missing the change in her voice. The way her whole face lights up when she says his name. I really want her happy... I just don’t want her broken again.
A hand squeezes my shoulder. I look over to find Uncle Mark.
“You don’t have to carry this,” he says. “You focus on college. I’ve got your mom and your sister. And you. Always.”
I nod, the knot in my chest easing just a little.
“No wonder it took so long to clear you,” Uncle Mark says with a laugh. “You brought half of Italy home in that suitcase.”
Mom tosses a package at him and he catches it mid-air, laughing.
We’re sprawled in the living room with three suitcases open on the floor, clothes and boxes everywhere. Alicia is in heaven, tearing through everything Mom brought back and squealing over every new thing.
“I brought stuff for you too, ungrateful child,” Mom tells Uncle Mark. “The Santoros sent gifts for you as well.”
“Oh yeah?” he grins. “And what exactly have you been telling them about me?”
“That you’re the brother life gave me,” she says without missing a beat. “And that I love you, even if you’re impossible sometimes.”
“You could’ve at least smuggled back a hot Italian date for me in one of those suitcases.”
That gets a laugh out of her. “Speaking of that... one of Alexander’s cousins started following you on Instagram after I showed him your picture. But don’t worry, I told him you weren’t available.”
“What is this,” Uncle Mark groans, “sabotage?”
“He’s not your type,” Mom says, scrolling on her phone before showing him the screen.
He studies it for a second. “Okay... he’s cute. But way too young. How old is he, twenty-three?”
“Twenty-five.”
“I’m not in the business of raising anyone’s kids,” he says, already digging into his gift.
Mom shrugs and says, “I told you he wasn’t your type. I know you’re not a cradle robber.”
We keep going for a while, opening gifts and laughing as we listen to Mom tell story after story about Italy, Alexander, and his family.
And with every sentence, with every smile... I know Mom’s friend is no longer just a friend.
Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, I glance toward the window and spot Mom stretched out on a lounger outside, her phone held up in front of her face. I can’t hear a word from here... but I have a pretty good idea who she’s talking to.
I fix myself a sandwich, and I’ve barely taken a bite when the kitchen door opens. Mom smiles when she sees me and stands on her tiptoes to kiss my forehead.
“Up already?” she asks.
“I could say the same.”
She laughs and moves toward the coffee maker. “I have jet lag as my excuse,” she says as the machine starts.
I slide onto one of the stools at the island. Before I take another bite, I ask, “Were you talking to Alexander?”
“I was,” she says. “And a few others from his family too. They were just finishing lunch.”
“You and him...” I let the sentence trail off, unsure how to finish it.
Mom looks at me seriously, but there’s a glint in her eyes.
“Things have changed between Alexander and me,” she says.
“But there are still conversations we need to have before we move forward... before I introduce you kids to him or make anything official.” She reaches across the island and takes my hand.
“I won’t keep secrets from you. When the time is right, you’ll be the first to know. ”
I squeeze her hand back. “I just want you to be happy, Mom. I trust you to make whatever decision is best.”
She walks around the island and pulls me into a hug. “Have I told you how proud I am of you lately?”
I hold her tighter. “Only about a million times this year,” I say, and we both laugh.
She steps back and pours herself a cup of coffee. “How are things with Dalila?”
I finish chewing before answering. “Good. Just like I told you the other day.” I know she’s been worried ever since I told her what happened, especially after seeing how I was that day.
“I’m really happy for you both,” Mom says, taking a sip of her coffee. Then she smiles. “Why don’t you invite her over for lunch? I can give her the gift I brought back.”
I nod, grinning. I honestly can’t think of a better way to spend the day than with my girl and my family.