Chapter 8
chapter eight
Angelo
Two days went by without hearing from Mia and I started to think I might be going insane.
I spent the entire morning on Saturday lying in bed on my phone, scrolling through the @soldbymiarusso Instagram page.
Some of the homes she was selling were north of twenty million dollars.
Compounds on golf courses, beachfront mansions, properties with full sports court facilities attached.
She was at the top of her game, and the places we'd been viewing, while grand and gorgeous by any normal standard, were nothing in comparison.
This is what Mia wanted. It's what she deserved. It's what some Suit one day would give her, and I was just fooling myself if I thought otherwise.
She was born into a life of luxury, she lived it, and now she sold it to other people just like herself. And she looked fucking beautiful while doing it.
I must have perused that page for over an hour, clicking through every professionally filmed walkthrough, listening to her chat about the specifics of each listing, watching her hips sway, her lips move, her fitted outfits hug her curves.
It was a prolonged, aggressive form of torture, because beyond the sexual dry spell I'd been in since before leaving New York, it wasn't like I could just go out and get laid.
First of all, I didn't know any places around Coconut Creek, not yet anyway.
I was new to town, and the time I did have had been spent with Mateo in the reception areas of insurance companies or submitting 100-level coursework on electives for my degree.
Which meant I could now confidently say that college is a scam and trade schools are deeply underrated.
Secondly, the only person who could satisfy that sexual frustration deep inside me had basically told me to kick rocks.
Who knows what another minute alone in Mia's condo would have amounted to?
We were right there—so close, so alone, and finally seeing eye to eye.
Or so it had felt. I had her on the edge of her kitchen stool, eyes glossed over, ready to let go and let God, as my mother would say.
I was ready for it, too. Unlike Mia, I was much more of a do-the-thing-and-apologize-for-it-later person.
She was so worried about appearances. How bad it would be for her to get caught up with a guy like me.
The fact that our siblings were married was awkward, not illegal.
These were minor, insufficient reservations.
She was scared. Fine.
But now, I was obsessed.
So much so that I'd scrolled back 107 weeks on her Instagram feed before my thumb slipped swiping through a carousel of photos and I accidentally hit the red heart button to like the post.
“No, no, no, no.” I jabbed the heart furiously, hitting it so many times in a panic that I disliked it, then liked it again, and had to double dislike it with shaking fingertips before I tossed my phone to the end of the bed. "You stupid fucking Yank," I groaned into the palms of my hands.
It was then I decided to spend the rest of the day trying to keep my mind off Mia Russo by any means necessary.
I got out of bed, hopped in the shower, ended up staring at the wall for too long convincing myself she definitely didn't see the Instagram like, berated myself for thinking about her again, then relieved a very ill-timed hard-on because I'd already started thinking about her, so why not just get it over with?
Then I avoided going on a sightseeing day cruise with my parents around Fort Lauderdale by telling my mom I had some errands to run for Mateo, which was a lie.
In actuality, I'd decided that the next best thing I could do was leave my phone at home and walk around Home Depot to focus on something else.
Only, the flush mount ceiling lights reminded me of her nipples poking holes into her dress the previous week.
So instead I ventured into the garden section, and found myself imagining how the plants would look in her condo.
Hanging from a macrame basket or settled high on a shelf where the sunlight could reach them.
That got me thinking about her lack of space and the way she seemed almost disappointed that she couldn't find room for most of her exotic-looking leafy greens. Then I took a walk into the wood aisle; packed a cart full of two-by-fours, some rope, metal hardware, and a can of wood stain; figured everything else I needed was in a toolbox at my parents’ house; and drove back.
During that time, I realized I went to the store to distract myself from Mia and all I managed to do was find her everywhere I looked.
"Figured you might be out here." Mateo slid out the back door of my parents’ house onto the patio where I stood bent over a table saw.
One p.m. on the dot, he and his pregnant wife had clambered through the front door for a dinner that would fill all of our bellies until the next day.
"Thought it would smell more like cigarette smoke than sawdust, though. "
I laughed, turning off the blade and hushing the sharp sound of electrical tools to a slow whistle of birds instead.
My cigarettes hadn't even left my bedroom this morning.
It was Sunday, and I could smell the garlic frying in a pan on the stove through the cracked windows and my father listening to the news in a low hum behind the sizzling oils.
You could take the family out of the Bronx but not the Bronx out of the family.
I wiped my hands on my discarded T-shirt hanging on a patio chair and took a swig of a half-full beer. The sun was unbelievably poignant, and my shoulders were burning despite the sunscreen Mom threw out the slider toward me to lather on earlier.
"What's this?" Mateo pointed to the pile of symmetrical pieces of wood I'd already cut, the impact gun, the wood stain, and paintbrushes still in a brown paper bag off to the side. "Mom's already got you renovating?"
Nonchalantly, I pulled a tape measure out of my back pocket and laid it across a new two-by-four, grabbed the pencil I'd tucked behind my ear, and made a scratch mark at the designated place. Then I turned the table saw back on, letting it screech to life before saying, "It's for Mia."
Mateo stepped forward after I made the cut and turned the saw back off, scratching the side of his head. "That's so funny, I thought I heard you say you're doing this for…Mia?"
I shouldn't have said anything. I regretted it instantly. Mateo followed me like a shadow as I dropped the piece of wood onto the rest and wiped my hands on my jeans this time. "I did say that," I replied.
"What is it? A jail cell? A boot for her tire? A guillotine?" He chuckled lightly. "Is it something that's going to get me in deep shit with my wife and in-laws for far longer than a month?"
"You know, I'm not as bad as I seem," I said. "She's not either."
Mateo looked at me, eyes creasing curiously. His hair was perfectly brushed into waves, short beard trimmed to frame his square jaw. He was always so put together, I couldn’t help but compare us.
"What happened to hating each other's guts and wanting to kill us for even suggesting you try to get along?" Mateo asked. "Now you're building her a birdhouse like a fucking flamingo trying to attract a mate."
"It's a thank you." I ignored him, turning back to my wood pile and organizing the pieces onto a separate table. I pulled open the can of stain and started mixing it in circles, lifting the sediment from the bottom. "I don't see the issue with that."
"The issue," Mateo said acutely, "is that I don't believe you. And I don't want to know, but I will say, whatever's going on—"
"Nothing is going on," I cut in.
"Whatever is going on," Mateo repeated, "needs to stop before it makes every family dinner for the rest of our lives look like a medieval incest festival."
"That's not even accurate, historically." I scratched my head. "I'm telling you, there's nothing happening with me and Mia. I wouldn't lie about that."
Nothing had happened with me and Mia, technically.
Nothing more than some questionable fingertip touching.
We hadn't crossed any lines, hadn't made anything awkward for the families, no confessions, no hard conversations.
I felt as free as a bird. Sure, I was building her custom hanging shelves for her plants to optimize the little natural light in her condo, but that was because I saw that she needed it, and I was a man who loved helping people.
Thoughtfulness should have been my middle name. It was a friendly gesture.
Any friend would have done it. Plus, it was a thank you, like I'd said. For being my realtor.
"You don't have to worry," I assured him. "Mia still can't stand me, and I wouldn't have enough time to change that if you gave me ten years. She's very intent on never letting Vegas go, and that's fine by me."
"There are hundreds of women in this town to build things for. They probably wouldn't even care about the mediocre dicking if the woodwork was smooth enough."
"You'd know all about mediocre dicking." I shoved him playfully, and Mateo gave me one back.
"My wife is pregnant. You don't know what you're talking about."
"I still can't believe she let you do that," I added with a laugh. "Poor Natalia."
"What about me?"
Mateo and I looked toward the back door at my sister-in-law with her little plump baby bump poking out against a light-green dress.
She was leaning on the frame with a curved smirk, her long hair even thicker and darker than usual.
She shared the same bright smile and full lips as Mia, a very similar air around her, but Natalia was cherub-like.
Not as refined, not as mature, but every bit as confident.
Mateo loved Natalia in a different way, but I think I loved her just as much. And I was going to love that baby, too.
"Am I interrupting something, boys?"