Chapter 6 #3
Antonio is right in front of us, playing, and making engine noises. Rava glances behind us and squints at the wood. "Jesus. Look," he says. I turn to see what he's staring at.
Our names are still carved there.
His is still half done. He had two chances to finish it and both times I interrupted him. Once because I was throwing pebbles at him when we were kids. The second time because I started crying, convinced my mom was dying.
He runs his fingers over the letters and laughs softly. "I can't believe it's still here," he says. "It feels creepy."
I stare at him, smiling. He's just as sweet as he was back then. I don't regret a single thing that happened to get us here. "Your name is still unfinished," I add, brushing the carved lines.
"Yeah," he says, smiling. "I tried to finish it five years ago. But someone had a breakdown and I had to calm him down instead of fixing my broken name."
I nudge him with my shoulder. "You're welcome."
I look at Antonio. "I gave you your bracelet here," I tell him. He immediately pulls his sleeve up and shows it to me, proud, like I might've forgotten.
I lean over and hug him tight because I physically can't not.
Rava's hand comes up to my head, fingers in my hair, slow.
"How weird is it that back then we had completely different problems," he says quietly.
"We were scared if your mom would get better.
If I'd go to Canada. What my dad would say when he found out about us. "
I lift my head. "Wait, has he… talked to you at all since the wedding?" I ask.
Rava shakes his head, eyes dropping. "No." It hits me with that old familiar sting. Still. It hurts that someone like him never got accepted by his own father.
On the other hand, I'm glad as fuck that Charles is not in our lives. I have no idea what he's doing, and he has no idea about us. About Antonio. About the baby girl coming. About our house, our lives, our stupid fights, our mornings.
And maybe that's exactly how it needs to stay. Some people don't deserve a second chance just because they used to share your last name. His whole face drops a little, and he looks away, sulking quietly like an offended Playmobil.
Before I can say anything, Antonio marches right between us and dumps a whole handful of pebbles on the wood between us. Rava bursts out laughing. "Bean, what is all this?"
"Toys," Antonio says very seriously.
I nod like that makes perfect sense. "That's... nice. What game are we playing with them?"
He grabs them with his tiny hands, picks out three, hands one to me, one to Rava, and keeps one. "Race," he announces. "We throw far."
I start laughing. He's in full competition mode. "Rava, we're raising a legend."
"Someone has to carry the legacy," Rava says, grinning.
I turn to Antonio. "Whoever throws it the farthest wins?
" Antonio nods. "I go first," he says, and takes position.
I put my hand right behind his back, wait until the exact second he throws his little stone, and launch mine at the same time, but harder.
He sees "his" pebble flying way ahead and landing far.
I didn't do it to inflate his ego. I just know him. If he saw his own stone drop half a meter in front of him while ours flew off, he'd cry and our whole sentimental swings moment would turn into a meltdown.
His whole face lights up, and immediately so do ours. Rava grabs his own hair in fake shock. "Antonio? Be honest. You've been practicing for this. You're experienced."
Antonio giggles. "No."
"What, you were just born this good?" Rava asks.
Antonio nods, laughing. "Do it again," Rava says. "I don't believe you." Antonio throws again. This time it drops right in front of him, but I toss mine at the same time and let it land farther again.
He shrieks with happiness like he just broke a world record. I have no idea how we're ever going to top this when he finds out physics is real.
"Antonio, remember me when you're a world-famous pebble-thrower," I tell him. Rava is dying next to us. Actually crying laughing. Antonio looks confused.
"Dada, why you laugh?" he asks, laughing too just because we are.
"Nothing, bean," Rava says, wiping his eyes. I pick Antonio up and sit him on my lap. "Do you think Dada might be teasing us a little? Huh? You think he's tricking us?!" I whisper dramatically. Antonio gasps.
Rava throws his hands up, still laughing. "I'm not! I promise I'm not teasing!"
"He's lying," I tell Antonio. "What punishment should we give him?"
Aside from the one I'm giving him tonight when we're alone. The best kind.
Antonio leans in and whispers his idea in my ear.
I gasp. "Oh, wow. You're harsh." I turn to Rava. "Rava, today, you are NOT having chocolate with us—wait, Antonio, are we being too mean? It sounds a bit cruel."
Rava covers his face with both hands and makes the saddest fake sobbing noise. Antonio immediately wraps his arms around him, pressing his little face to Rava's chest.
"I'm sorry, Dada," he says.
"It's okay, bean, I forgive you," Rava says, kissing Antonio's hair. I turn back to the plank behind us. "Antonio, you know what this says?" I ask, pointing at the half-carved Rav that never got finished.
He squints. "Dada. It's his name. One letter is missing. Will you help me finish it so his name is written properly next to mine?"
"Vava?"
"Yes! Vava."
Antonio nods immediately. I take his little hand in mine, curl his fingers around the rock, and together we carve the last ‘a’ into the wood.
It scratches loudly, rough against the wood, but when we pull back, the name is finally all there. RAVA.
Antonio starts clapping all by himself.
"Finally," Rava laughs. "I feel complete. Justice. I've been waiting years for that letter. Almost two decades, man." He looks at the wood and smiles in this soft, quiet way. "I guess it was never meant to be me that finished it. It had to be Antonio."
"I have an idea," he says suddenly. "Should we write your name under ours, bean?" He looks at Antonio, and Antonio starts nodding fast. Rava picks him up and settles him on his lap, facing the wood.
He guides his little hand, and together they start carving ‘ANTONIO’ under our names.
I sit there watching them, and it hits me like a truck. Back then, I was just a little kid who liked writing his name everywhere because I was a cocky show-off.
Ten years old, carving Gio into anything that didn't move, because I thought the world needed to know I existed.
I had no idea that one day, under that stupid little name, my kid's name would be carved too. And I definitely didn't know that the boy I was throwing pebbles at back then, the one trying to write his name next to mine while I pelted his head, would end up being my husband.
I never let him finish it. Not the first time, not the second. I kept interrupting him every time. Like on some level I already knew it wasn't my job to complete his name.
It was our son's.
28) Being In Charge
Gio
Today was Valentine's Day. We were supposed to have this whole thing planned, get dressed up, go out somewhere nice.
But Antonio's a bit sick, nothing serious, just enough to make us both paranoid, so going out was a no from the start. Our date gets pushed to another day.
Instead, we put him to bed, and then said screw it, let's at least sit on the couch like adults for once. With wine.
One thing led to another, and now there isn't a single piece of clothing on either of us under the couch blanket.
I'm not taking full responsibility for this, but also, I'm not innocent. Rava is stretched out on top of me, his head completely squashed against my chest.
I can literally feel how hot his cheek is from the wine, like he's got a radiator glued to my ribs.
My arm is around him, and I'm massaging his scalp, playing with his hair, while my own head is spinning just a little in that nice, slow way.
Every few minutes, one of us says something that isn't even remotely funny and we both start laughing like idiots. We're not drunk, but we're definitely not fully sober either.
We're in that perfect middle zone where everything feels lighter and everyone looks prettier, especially the person stuck to your chest, breathing against your skin.
Our dicks are rubbing up against each other. I lift my hands up, lace them behind my head on the pillow. Rava lifts his head a little, eyes flicking from one of my arms to the other like he's seeing them for the first time.
Just stares. Doesn't say shit. Doesn't move. I let him look. Don't do anything. Just letting those green eyes eat me alive.
Fuck, I wish I could freeze this.
Keep those eyes glued to me forever. Only me.
Yeah, I'm greedy as hell. I want it all. Don't care if it's selfish. Sue me. He shifts, plants his palms better on my chest so he's braced right over me.
Then his tongue darts out and starts messing with my lip ring, tugging it lightly, flicking it, playing. His whole face is melted. It's so fucking hot watching him like this.
I drop my hands from behind my head and go straight for his ass. I grab two full handfuls of those cheeks and pull him in tighter.
Our dicks press harder, trapped between our stomachs now. I don't know if it's the wine we killed earlier or what, but the want in me is dialed up to stupid levels.
Like five times worse than usual. All day I've been walking around half-hard thinking about him. From the second he woke up this morning looking like absolute sin without even trying. No glasses, no fancy fit, no styled hair.
Just Rava in a plain white tee, hair a fucking mess from sleep, rubbing his eyes and scratching his stomach. Basic as hell.
And yet I've been feral since breakfast. Nothing objectively sexy. Just him. Just Rava being Rava.