Chapter 19
19
LAMPWICK
I ’m surprised how much business we’ve gotten first thing in the morning. I happily package a cuckoo clock decorated with Santa Claus and reindeer figures and hand it to the customer. “Enjoy!”
“Oh, this will make for the perfect Christmas present for my girlfriend. She’ll no doubt want to marry me one day if I treat her so well. Buona giornata !” The young man beams at me and exits.
His words echo through my mind as I lock up the cash register. Looking around, I take in all the Christmas-themed wares that Geppetto has fashioned over the past seven days. The holiday is in less than two weeks, and the shop is littered with red puppets and red clocks. Christmas was never exactly a fun affair for me—thanks for nothing, Dad—but things are different now that I’m staying with the Carlo family.
And Pinocchio is my boyfriend. We’ve gone on two dates and slept together most nights for weeks, and it’s been joyous. However, I’ve never actually purchased a gift for him. If I try to offer him anything, I’m sure he’ll refuse it, knowing I have very little money. He’s so generous.
But Christmas is coming! If I’m a poor gift-giver, what will my boyfriend think of me?
The panic overtakes my throat. I’m happy Pinocchio is sleeping in for his morning off because I don’t want him to see me like this. His papa, however, strolls in through the back door at that moment.
I gaze at him as he sits at a workbench preparing to whittle yet another toy. My hands tremble as I lean on the doorframe, trying to find the words to ask for what I need. I hadn’t realized how critical our first Christmas together would be, and now my mind has gone blank.
Geppetto doesn’t look away from his woodworking when he says, “If you exude anymore anxiety, I’ll have a panic attack from all the way over here.” He smirks, and I snort. He puts down the wooden block and his tools and studies me. “ Che si dice , Lampwick?”
I frown. “I…have a question for you.”
“Mhm.”
“I…don’t know what to get Pinocchio for Christmas.”
“My son is easy. What’s the problem?”
I take two quick breaths and then sit next to him. “I…have never given a Christmas present in my whole life.”
“Really?” His eyebrows wrinkle.
“ è vero ,” I reply with a frown.
“Huh.” He rubs his gray-stubbled chin. Next, he picks up the block he was working on and studies it. “And now you’re growing nervous because you don’t know how to impress your boyfriend.”
“No, and I can’t—” Fear jolts up my spine and my eyebrows jump. “Wait, um…?”
“You’re feeling pressured to court him properly, no?” He scrutinizes the piece of wood in his hand and wipes off dust.
“I’m…uh…I’m…” It feels like my brain is a malfunctioning steamboat, sputtering along. I can’t think straight. Geppetto knows?
He leans on the workbench and levels his gaze with me. “Did you think I didn’t know?”
I bite my lip and look down, shame flooding my cheeks. “Pinocchio said you were…accepting of…homosexuals, but, um…I wasn’t sure if you’d…”
“If I’d accept you sleeping with my son, holding him every night into the early morning hours?” My eyebrows jump and I stop breathing. He picks up his tools and stares at the wood. “I’ve caught you a few times. It’s my house after all. Didn’t want to wake you two.”
“Um...” My brain still isn’t functioning.
“I haven’t discussed your relationship at length with my son, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He carefully carves one edge. “He’ll talk to me when he’s ready. But it seems you’re having trouble with the age-old courtship ritual of Christmas gift-giving, no?”
I gradually nod, willing the nerves to leave my body. This conversation seems so momentous, but Geppetto seems neither disappointed nor angry. He actually seems almost bored. “I’m…I’ve never done this.”
“Well, my son likes the books. Maybe ask Signore Donatella for help. Perhaps there’s a book he’s been eyeing.”
I bite my lip and take it all in. “That’s a very good idea,” I murmur.
“Of course it is. I know him. He’s my boy, I carved him from wood.” He chortles and brushes more dust off his wooden creation. After a beat, he puts everything down and levels with me again. “Lampwick, you know I consider you part of the family.”
My heart warms at his words. I’ve never had that stability, but I can see myself growing roots here, with the man I love and his father. “I know. And I thank you, every day, Signore , for helping me —”
“What I’m trying to say is…don’t make me regret it.” He puts his hand over mine. “Don’t add me to your list of sins.”
I bite my lip. “ Signore …”
“Pinocchio is my only family; he carries my heart.” Geppetto rubs my hand and seems solemn when he continues, “Please don’t break his.”
I gulp and my eyes sting. “I…would never,” I whisper. “Because…” Because I love him and want to grow old with him. The words almost slip out, but instead, I say, “Because he deserves everything. He’s a good guy, and he makes my world a better place. I promise, I’ll treat him with the utmost care.”
A smile slowly grows on Geppetto’s face, curling up his gray mustache. “Very well, Lampwick.” He taps my hand and pulls back. “Glad we had this chat.”
“I am, too.” I look around—not a customer in sight. “I should, um…”
“Go. Go work on your gift.” I stand up and get to the back door. “Oh, and Lampwick?”
“Yes?”
He beams at me. “Welcome to the Carlo family.”
* * *
A week later, everything I’ve planned is in place. It’s dark by the time Pinocchio and I are free, which gives me the opportunity to hold his hand. I need to guide him since I’ve shoved my brown hat over his eyes, blinding him. “No peeking,” I say through a giggle.
He titters as he holds my hand. “You are aware I grew up in this town, right? I know my steps. We’re uptown…going to…the book shop?”
“Okay, Mr. Know-everything.” We both giggle again as we walk quickly through the night. His hand in mine, as always, feels so right. “You still have no idea what I’m getting you.”
“Getting me? I told you I don’t want anything. Besides it’s not even Christmas Eve!”
“Yes, well, we’re going to be so busy tomorrow.” We continue walking through the cold early-winter air, and I chuckle just because he makes me so happy. “And I wanted to get you something. Don’t think I believe you didn’t get me anything.”
He snickers and readjusts my cap. “Well, I can’t lie, so…”
“Exactly.” I lean in and whisper. “Let your boyfriend treat you.”
“Okay, but it better not be anything ostentatious or exorbitant.”
“You and your big words.” That’s why I love you . The words almost leave my tongue. We haven’t said it yet, but we’ve been having so much fun, and when the moment is right, I’ll know.
I pull him to a stop. “Can I finally take this off?”
“Not yet.” Gazing around, I’m content to find no one on the sidewalk. I knock on the door, and the nerves start to kick in. I hope he likes this.
The door swings open. “Come, come in!” the man inside says.
“ Signore Donatella! I knew it!” Pinocchio exclaims, and we all laugh. I carefully guide him in, and after a few steps, I take off the hat from his face.
“ Signore Donatella helped me because I wanted to get you something really special.” I hold his shoulders and stand near him, and he gazes at the books on the wooden table in front of him. “I wanted something that would make you happy since it’s our first Christmas…” I turn to see Mr. Donatella, then clear my throat. “Our first Christmas with me living here. Um, as an adult.”
Pinocchio and I turn to our left to see the older man beaming at us. “When Lampwick told me the idea, I couldn’t help but get involved. Anything for my favorite customer.” He waves his hand toward the book on the table.
Pinocchio picks it up. “ The Adventures of Pinocchio and His Best Friend .” After reading it out loud, his hands trace the words on the leather-bound cover. He looks to his left at Mr. Donatella, then right at me with his brow furrowed. “What book is this?”
“It’s yours. Open it,” I say.
He does so. “It’s blank.” He leafs through the white pages, and I smile.
“Exactly.”
“You’ve read so many books of mine over the years,” Mr. Donatella says. He pushes a quill and ink jar forward. “Lampwick thought it was time for you to write your own.”
Pinocchio’s mouth goes agape with a smile. His head turns left and right, brown eyes nearly glowing in the tiny bookshop. “Wha…wow. What should I write?”
“Anything,” I reply.
“Merry Christmas, you two.” Mr. Donatella moves to the backroom. “But there is one more book that you need to check out. I’ll be back later.” He winks and disappears. I have the sneaking suspicion he knows just how close Pinocchio and I are, but I don’t care. All that matters is the man sitting next to me.
While he stares at the ink jar, I grab the other large book on the table. “ Cos’é quello ?” he asks.
“It’s…another book.” I gulp and my hands shake as I open it up. I stare at the page and take a deep breath in and out.
“ The Adventures of Lampwick and the No Strings Friend ,” I read out loud. I turn the page. “Once upon a time…there was a lonely boy.” The words come out slowly as I study the letters. “He had no mother, and his father did not teach him right from wrong.”
I lick my lips and turn the page. The vulnerability of this self-reflection makes my pulse rise and my skin prickle. “So he grew up to be a no-good kid. Then…one day, he met someone amazing: a puppet…with no strings. It was a wooden boy come to life, and they soon became best friends.”
I’m scrutinizing the pages when a hand lands on mine. “Lampwick, you made this?”
My mouth goes dry at the sight: Pinocchio’s eyes have welled up in tears.
I nod. “You love books, and I…” I swallow the confession in my throat. “I thought you might like something personal. So, Mr. Donatella helped me produce this.” I turn the pages and show him my weird handwriting and amateur illustrations.
Pinocchio beams at the book, then me. He holds the tome like it’s a treasure, and I know I chose the right present. “This…this is phenomenal. Stupendous. Everything wonderful.” He leans into my space, his face mere centimeters from mine. “Thank you for this perfect gift,” he whispers. “Best boyfriend ever.”
I wipe his eyes. “Right back at you, Sticks.” I snicker and my eyes sting. I turn around to make sure that Mr. Donatella is gone. The shop is closed, and no one can see us through the windows. So, I tip up Pinocchio’s chin and bring him close.
We seal our affection with a kiss. It’s a slow, simmering maneuver because we certainly aren’t leading up to sex here. But I make love to his mouth with mine, silently letting him know how integral he is to me.
My life didn’t truly start until I met Pinocchio. He saved me, and I intend to spend the rest of my days making him happy.