2. Marco
CHAPTER 2
Marco
I thought about Leah—which was a surprise because I didn’t usually spend time thinking about a woman, no matter how attractive and cute. Leah was both, and her scent and face lingered in my mind long after that first salsa class.
I wasn’t celibate and hadn’t been since a year after Camille passed. But sex was easy to find. Pick someone up at a bar, book a hotel room, have a round or two of sex, and say thank you.
I liked sex—and I enjoyed the company of women, though these days, I preferred to have one without too much of the other, which was why I was happy to have a one-night stand a couple of times a month when the itch arose. Sleeping with a woman for the night wasn’t in the cards—that felt like I was cheating on Camille.
I knew it didn’t make much sense, but losing your partner, the love of your life, was complex—because even though you knew they were gone and didn’t care what you did, your heart wasn’t ready to let go of them. I’d seen friends who’d divorced, and even one whose spouse died, move on and marry again—but I wasn’t sure if I could do that. It had been suggested to me that I sell the home Camille and I built so I could start with a clean slate—but I didn’t want a fucking clean anything . I wanted to see and feel Camille in our home. I wanted that moment between sleep and wakefulness when I could smell her next to me and feel her warmth. I wanted the hurt of missing her to burn through me. No, I wasn’t interested in moving on. If I didn’t have children, I don’t think I’d get over Camille’s loss. My baby girls were the best things about my life, and my wife would kick my ass if I didn’t take care of them. I saw my wife in both of them, and the pain in my heart eased in their presence.
“Try this, Papi.” Sofia slid a plate of charred octopus my way. She was already halfway through a mocktail—something bright orange in a lowball glass with a sprig of rosemary poking out. “It’s amazing.”
I stabbed a piece of the octopus—new to the menu—with my fork, its smoky, crispy edges gleaming with olive oil, and popped it into my mouth. It was tender, flavorful, and with just a hint of citrus. She was right—it was amazing.
“Not bad.” I reached for another bite.
We were at The Optimist, one of Atlanta’s most popular seafood spots in West Midtown. The restaurant managed to blend industrial chic with Southern charm. As a food-loving family with a special affection for seafood, we came here often.
The three of us shared a sturdy, worn wooden table that had absorbed thousands of conversations. As we always did, we ordered several small plates and ate them family-style.
“I told you they did octopus well here.” Sofia gave me a triumphant grin when I mentioned my concern that not everyone did pulpo well and I’d had my share of disappointments.
“Don’t let her act like she knows everything,” Isabella chimed, balancing a lobster roll in one hand as she poured herself another glass of sparkling water with the other. “Last week, she called oysters slimy rocks.”
I gasped, feigning heartbreak. “A child of mine not loving oysters?”
Sofia rolled her eyes. “They were slimy rocks at the place we were at—not all the time. Stop putting words in my mouth, Isa.”
I chuckled, shaking my head. The banter between my daughters had always been one of my favorite things to witness. It reminded me of how close they were and how much they cared about each other, which had been important to Camille.
“When we’re gone, they’ll have each other,” she would say.
And what am I supposed to do now that you’re gone, querida? Who do I have?
But I didn’t let my wife’s thoughts slide me into a bad mood. My kids didn’t deserve that. I wanted to stay joyous when I thought about her. I knew my girls worried about me, which was why they insisted on me taking salsa dance classes. It was something Camille and I had always wanted to do but never got the chance. First, we were busy with our careers and then our babies, and then she got a brain tumor.
Six months, and she was gone. There hadn't been time for tango classes, a trip to Marrakesh, snorkeling in the Great Barrier Reef, or….
“So”—Isabella wiped her hands on her napkin—“how was salsa class?”
I broke off a piece of the golden crusty cornbread that we’d ordered and popped it into my mouth. It was sweet and savory, dense but not heavy. These guys knew how to cook.
I took a sip of my Albarino wine. “It was...interesting.”
“How?” Sofia pressed, narrowing her eyes like a detective closing in on a confession.
“Interesting in the sense that I spent most of the time trying not to fall over,” I teased. “It’s harder than it looks. The footwork is no joke.”
Sofia smirked. “I bet you did just fine and looked fabulous.”
“I looked ridiculous,” I corrected her.
“Who did you dance with?” Isabella wanted to know.
I recalled again the beautiful woman who I’d held in my arms. She fit well. She’d been authentic and open.
“The only other woman who wasn’t part of a couple. We were both terrible. I stepped on her feet more times than I can count, and she nearly tripped over mine. It was a mess.”
“What’s her name?” Isabella persisted.
I knew what my kids were doing. They wanted me to get out, move on, and find a new woman. I’d told them that I’d never get over Camille—but I was only forty-eight years old—and, according to them, had a lifetime ahead of me.
“Leah.”
Isabella shared a glance with a giddy Sofia. “What’s she like?”
I shrugged. “She was as bad a dancer as me and, like me, didn’t seem to care that she was.”
“Was she cute?” Sofia’s eyebrows arched, her tone almost sing-song.
I sighed, shaking my head as I buttered another piece of cornbread. “You know, at my age, we don’t think women are cute?”
“Then, was she sexy?” Sofia chuckled.
I groaned. “Can we not do this?”
“Come on, Papi,” she teased. “We’re just asking.”
“She was…is nice.” I tried to sound nonchalant, but my kids knew me well.
“ Nice , huh?” Isabella smirked.
I pointed my fork at her. “ Enough .”
But Sofia wasn’t letting it go. “You haven’t even looked at another woman since Mama, and now you’re saying someone’s nice ? This is progress.”
“It’s nothing but a dance class,” I pointed out.
They both laughed, and I let them. Arguing with my daughters was like facing off with the ocean—pointless and guaranteed to leave you drenched.
After we finished our meal, I paid the bill.
I loved that my daughters enjoyed spending time with their old and boring father. We met for lunch on Sundays—and since we were all busy, we didn’t cook but met in restaurants. Camille was the chef in our home.
I was also lucky that they were both close by in Atlanta.
Sofia, who was twenty, was studying electrical engineering at Georgia Tech like her mother. Isabella, three years her senior, had just started her first job as a high-school teacher after graduating with a master’s degree in education from the University of Atlanta.
I was proud of both my girls. Sofia had already expressed interest in joining the IT firm I led as CEO, a company specializing in developing software and providing consultancy for hospitals’ electronic medical record (EMR) systems. It was fulfilling work, and I couldn’t deny feeling a surge of pride at the thought of Sofia following in my footsteps.
Camille and I met through work years ago. We were both engineers, fresh-faced and eager, hired around the same time at Oracle in the San Francisco Bay Area. While I eventually shifted into administration, Camille went into research and development, climbing the ranks to become the Vice President of R&D at a prominent IT firm in Atlanta. She was brilliant, driven, and endlessly inspiring—a force to be reckoned with in the tech world.
Our friends used to call us a high-power tech couple. We were not. We were two nerds who fell in love and built a life and family.
As we stepped onto Howell Mill Road, the late afternoon sun was mild, so the air was warm but not oppressive—a rare gift for spring in Atlanta. Cars whizzed by, and a couple walked past us, holding hands and laughing about something.
“I’m not dating him,” Sofia protested when her sister asked her about a boy called Phoenix.
“That’s not what it sounded like when I saw you with him.” Isabella winked at me.
“A boyfriend? Is he from a good family? Does he make a decent living? Does he have a criminal record?” I joined in to tease Sofia.
“Ha! Ha!” Sofia muttered and almost ran into someone. Into… Leah .
“So sorry,” Sofia was immediately contrite.
“It’s fine,” Leah said and then glanced at me, her eyes widening with surprise. She wore a pair of denim shorts that showed off her long, tanned legs and a loose white blouse. She had a tote bag on her shoulder and sunglasses perched on her nose. She was close enough that I could smell her perfume.
“Leah.” I leaned down and gave her a quick, perfunctory hug. I mean, we were dancing together, so it seemed appropriate.
“Marco, what a surprise.” It sounded like she thought it was a good one.
She pushed her sunglasses up onto her head, and for a brief moment, I noticed her blue eyes—bright and curious.
“Small world.”
“Hi,” Sofia and Isabella chimed in chorus.
I’d for a tiny instant forgotten about my very curious daughters standing beside me. “Leah, these are my daughters. Sofia and Isabella.”
Leah’s expression softened. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you both.”
“Hi.” Isabella grinned. “We’ve heard a lot about you.”
I shot her a warning look, but she wasn’t going to give a shit what I thought.
“We heard that you’re an amazing salsa dancer,” Sofia piped up.
Leah laughed, a light, effortless sound that made me feel less self-conscious. “I doubt it. Your father probably still has bruised toes because of me.”
“Oh, Papi has powerful toes,” Sofia said seriously and then dropped her voice to add, “We call him Senor Steel Toes.”
Dios mio ! These girls.
Leah was charmed, which wasn’t a surprise. My kids were freaking awesome.
“That’s good to know,” Leah remarked and then adjusted her tote bag on her shoulder. “It was…ah…nice seeing you and?—”
“Papi lives right around here,” Sofia spoke over Leah. “Where do you live?”
Leah cleared her throat, unsure of what my daughters were doing. Before I could warn the girls off, Leah replied, “I have an apartment two blocks away.”
“That’s awesome. You can carpool to the salsa classes.” Sofia clapped.
I took a deep, patient breath.
Leah glanced at me, amused. She could see what my daughters were trying to pull. “That’s good to know as well. Marco, I’ll see you at the next class.”
“Oh, he’ll be there,” Sofia interjected.
“We’ll make sure,” Isabella assured all of us.
I sighed. “I’ll see you next Thursday, Leah.”
As she walked away, Isabella nudged me with her elbow. “That was a sign from the universe, you know that, right?”
“You’re both out of your mind. Come on, let’s get you both home so I can go take some Tylenol because you girls are giving me a headache,” I said in mock irritation.
“Oh, you love our brand of crazy.” Sofia snuggled into me.
I slid an arm around Isabella.
As I walked to my car, I couldn’t hide the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. Yeah, I was looking forward to Thursday and dancing with the exquisite Leah again.