Chapter 1 #5
This classroom is my second home, literally.
Some of the kids have picked up my phrases without even realizing. I hear little versions of me walking around the room saying stuff that only I say, and it hits me how dangerous this job actually is.
The things I say, the way I react... they stick.
Having the right teachers at this age matters so much more than anyone admits. Mine sure did. One of my old teachers is the reason I grew up terrified of mistakes.
He was like Charles.
He used to yell like crazy whenever someone messed up an answer. You open your mouth, you get it wrong, the whole class watches him tear you apart. After a while, you just... stop opening your mouth.
I promised myself I'd never be that kind of adult.
I grab my notebook, take a breath in the quiet of the staff room, then push the door open and step out.
By the time I reach my classroom, they're already inside, waiting.
The moment I open the door, I don't even get to step inside properly. A bunch of tiny humans crash into me at once, wrapping their arms around my legs, my waist, wherever they can reach, and I burst out laughing.
"Happy birthday, Mr Rava!" they all scream together, voices overlapping, and I have no idea who to hug first.
My legs completely disappear, I look down and all I see is little heads and backpacks. I bend down and try to hug as many of them as I can at once, still half-standing in the doorway.
"Aw, thank you all so much! How did you even remember my birthday?!" I ask, laughing.
"Sienna told us!" Vivia says.
Of course she did. She remembers everything. And just like that, I miss Emiliana.
I can't believe time went by this fast. She left elementary last year, and we both cried. Like, ugly cried. She promised she'd come visit, and I told her whenever she needed help with school, she could ask me, no matter what.
We even went out once, all together with her parents. It was perfect. They are actually so chill.
She hasn't met Antonio yet, though. And I really, really want her to. Emiliana is important to me in a way I don't fully know how to explain.
I don't know exactly what she said to Gio back then, but I know it mattered. It was one of those random conversations that somehow pushed everything in the right direction and led us here. Plus, I still have her bracelet. It hasn't broken once since then. Not even a little.
I take care of it. Gio does too, whenever his fingers slide over it on my wrist. I finally step all the way into the classroom. "Good morning officially," I say, laughing. Nico squints at the bag in my hand. "What's in the bag, Mr Rava? Is it sweets?"
I laugh. "Wow, you caught me. I brought something sweet to treat you for my birthday!" The whole class erupts into cheers like I just told them school is cancelled forever.
"But," I add, lifting my hand, "we're sharing them at break time, okay? First, you're all going to tell me how you spent your Christmas holidays. Where you went, what presents you got. And then we start the lesson. Deal?"
They all shout "Yes!" and then somehow, miraculously, sit down quietly.
Hours pass.
We go around the room, one by one, everyone telling me where they went and what they did. It's kind of wild how every family does the holidays completely differently. Some kids go to Paris. Others go nowhere.
There are moments where one kid almost makes fun of another because, "I went to America and got ten presents," while the other quietly says, "I stayed home... I got one." Those moments punch me right in the chest.
I feel this weird mix of sadness and responsibility, and I catch myself thinking about Antonio, what I need to teach him to do and not do. What I want him to be like when he's sitting in a classroom one day, listening to kids talk about their holidays.
I hate that I have to stop everything and explain that not all kids have the same opportunities. That some parents can afford trips, and some can't. That some get ten presents and some get one, and it doesn't mean anyone loves them less.
I tell them that every parent does the best they can with what they have. That a single present bought with whatever money they could put together is worth just as much as ten expensive ones. That their value isn't measured in how many boxes were under a tree. Most of them understand.
Or at least, they try to.
Overall, everyone had a good time. Except for one sweet kid whose cat died. That one destroyed me. I cried in class. And no, I didn't feel embarrassed. If anything, I felt worse for even thinking I should hold it in. I gave him two sweets instead of one.
He lit up instantly and started talking about something else, basically forgot the cat in ten seconds. Meanwhile, I was the one walking around traumatized for the rest of the day, thinking about a poor tiny cat I've never met.
Now I'm finally in the car, driving home.
The sky is already that winter grey-blue, and my brain is tired in that teacher-way where your body feels like it's at 5% battery.
I really hope Gio's home. I want a hug.
I step inside and kick my shoes off. "Hi!" I call out.
Nothing. The house is weirdly quiet.
The bedroom door is closed. I head to the bathroom, wash my hands. I open the door and almost drop dead. I get attacked from both sides, Gio and Antonio burst out of nowhere, yelling, "SURPRISE!" and shoving a cake in my face.
They're both singing happy birthday, completely off-key. Antonio is in a full dinosaur onesie, tail and everything, and Gio... yeah. Classic Gio. All black, silver rings, like this is a funeral and not my birthday.
The cake is clearly decorated by Antonio.
Emphasis on clearly.
By the time we reach the "to you" part, Antonio blows out the candles. All of them. Very confidently. I don't even get to inhale first.
"Dude! We agreed we would let him blow the first ones!" Gio groans. "Oops," Antonio says, tiny and proud. Gio relights them with a huff. "Come on, we'll blow them out together, yeah?" I tell Antonio. He nods hard. We lean in, count to three, blow together. He claps his tiny hands.
Gio sets the cake down on the counter and I pull them both in, hugging them with everything I've got. I kiss Antonio's cheeks, both of them, until he giggles, then tilt up and kiss Gio. "Happy birthday, Ravioli," Gio murmurs against my lips.
"Happy bithday, Dada!" Antonio echoes, arms wrapped around my waist. I'm going to cry again. "Thank you, guys," I say, voice already soft. "You even got me a cake... I can't believe it."
"Excuse me? We made it," Gio says. "You should've seen him. Someone got your cooking skills. He was mostly sitting on the counter chewing on a spoon but he did it with confidence, so it counts. And he helped me pour everything in."
He smirks. "And before you pass out—yes, I filmed it. I didn't forget. Tell me I'm amazing."
I laugh and finally take a proper look at the cake.
It's... a little... I choke on a giggle. It's leaning to one side, like it barely survived the journey from the kitchen. It absolutely looks like Antonio made it alone while Gio just supervised badly.
But Gio is looking at me like this is a Michelin star dessert. He's smiling way too big, on purpose, waiting for me to say it's perfect. "There's a ravioli on top," he says, pointing proudly. I pick up the little ravioli decoration and that's it, I lose it, laughing.
"I can't believe you did this," I say, my chest hurting in a good way. "It's perfect. You're perfect. It's even better than last year's. I'm serious." Antonio grabs my hand with his tiny one, squeezing. "I helped Daddy make it," he says in his little baby voice, all proud of himself.
My heart just melts into nothing. "I know you did," I tell him, lifting him up onto my hip. "You're amazing. I'm sure it's going to taste incredible. Should we cut a slice and find out?"
He nods eagerly, so I set him down to go grab plates. But Gio stops me with a hand on my arm.
"Nope. You sit. I'll get everything. You're the birthday man." He kisses my cheek. "We'll eat, and then we'll give you your present."
"Oh, I get a present too?" I ask, licking frosting off my thumb. Gio gives me a look. The ‘are you actually dumb’ stare. "Have I ever left you without a present? No, seriously. Has that ever happened?" he says.
I start laughing. "No. I'm sorry."
"That's what I thought," he mutters. He cuts us slices and we all dig in. I take one bite and my eyes go wide. "Damn," I say, around a mouthful of cake. "It's actually good."
"Actually?" Gio raises a brow. I ignore him and take another forkful. It's soft, too sweet, a bit uneven, but weirdly perfect. "Wow," I add, because it deserves it.
Gio basically inhales his slice and goes in for another. He leans over and high-fives Antonio. "Well done, champ. We nailed it."
I watch their hands. Gio's big, ringed, rough-knuckled one slapping against Antonio's tiny dinosaur-sleeved palm.
I can't even begin to imagine how happy Gio feels living all of this with little Antonio, after everything he lived with big Antonio.
How it must be to have the name back in his mouth in a completely different way. And I really can't imagine how it'll feel when he starts doing things with this Antonio that he never got to do with his own dad.
All the little moments he missed. I know him. He's not doing any of this because he's "supposed" to as a father. He's doing it for his kid and for himself. Filling that hole no one filled for him. And I get to be here for it.
I get to watch him give what he never received. It's... a lot. In the best way. He sets his plate down and wipes his fingers on a napkin. "So," he says, looking at Antonio. "Should I go get Dada's present, or are you getting it?"
"Me!" Antonio yells immediately.
"Okay, go," Gio laughs, lifting him off the chair. Antonio takes off, sprinting down the hallway in his dinosaur onesie, tail bouncing behind him.
We hear the bedroom door open, then silence.
Two minutes pass.