Chapter 37 Erin
Erin
For the next three weeks, I’m a wreck masquerading as a functioning adult. I reorganize bookshelves that don’t need reorganizing. I volunteer extra hours. I alphabetize the pantry twice. I watch far too many movies starring Robert De Niro. But every quiet moment I have, he gets in.
I wonder if he still looks the same, and if he’ll still find me attractive. Will he forgive me for walking away that day? Will we still find things to talk about? Will I still get goosebumps when—if—he accidentally brushes my hand?
By the twentieth night, I’m pacing the kitchen at the crack of dawn, my heart racing, for no logical reason other than the fact that in a few hours’ time…
I will see Augusto Zanotti again.
I stop pacing long enough to grip the edge of the counter and inhale slowly.
“Mom?”
I jump half out of my skin. Paige is standing in the doorway in oversized pajamas, her hair in a messy bun, her fingers wrapping around each other restlessly.
“You’re awake,” she says.
“So are you,” I smile.
“I can’t sleep.”
“Prom nerves?”
Her mouth twists. “Everything nerves.”
That makes two of us.
“Let me warm you some milk.” I fill a mug and put it in the microwave. “It might help.”
She takes it from me gratefully and heads back up to her room.
As for me, I know for a fact no drink is going to squash the nerves inside my chest—not a warm milk nor a triple shot of whiskey.
So, I pace.
By three in the afternoon, it looks like another glitter bomb detonated in my house, only this time it isn’t of the craft variety but the make-up and clothes variety.
There are palettes of eyeshadow, blush, lipstick and contouring powders everywhere, curling irons on the floor, enough shoes scattered about to fill a small department store. And Paige’s dress hangs from a hook in the hallway like a sacred relic we are both afraid to touch.
Paige is scurrying back and forth, squealing down the phone to her friend Meredith—who’s going to be here in less than an hour, go figure.
And me?
I’m pretending to be calm while my stomach feels like it’s trying to get out.
“So, um, what time did he say he was coming?” I ask Paige as she scurries past me for the millionth time.
I aim for a casual tone but achieve something halfway between highly strung and tipping over the edge.
She checks her watch. “He should be here any minute. Oh God, and I’m really not ready.”
“You are. You look beautiful.”
“But I haven’t decided which shoes to wear, and I’ve lost my perfume and I can’t put mascara on until my lashes have dried, and—”
I’m about to grab her by the shoulders when the doorbell rings.
Everything inside me stops. My breath, my pulse, my sense of reality.
Paige’s eyes snap to mine.
“Oh my God,” she whispers. “It’s starting. My junior prom is starting.”
My heart is suddenly in my throat.
“Okay,” I breathe. “It’s okay, it’s fine. You look stunning. It’s going to be amazing…”
The bell rings again and I stare back at Paige.
“Can you get that, Mom? Please?”
I nod, swallowing, then I walk to the door on legs that don’t feel like mine.
My hand hovers over the handle and I can almost feel him on the other side. His presence is magnetic. The closer I get, the greater the pull.
I take one final sobering breath and turn the handle.
The air sticks in my throat.
How is it possible for someone to get even sexier with age?
His hair is a shade lighter, his skin a touch darker, his chest still firm and rounded beneath his suit jacket. His eyes are still brown with flecks of emerald, and—
“Erin,” he says, quietly.
My name still sounds like a symphony on the edge of his tongue.
“Augusto.”
For a moment, nothing moves, only an awareness deep inside me that I am well and truly helpless.
Then Paige barrels into him, squealing. “AUGIE!”
He absorbs the impact completely, one arm coming up to steady her as if softening her blow is something he was made to do.
“Hello, principessa.” A corner of his mouth curls like he can’t help it.
She pulls back immediately, horrified. “It’s so nice to see you, but I look insane. My hair isn’t finished, my makeup isn’t done. I haven’t even dressed yet. Why did you come early?!”
He glances at me. “You said four.”
She looks back at her watch. “It’s three fifty-eight.”
“You’re right,” he frowns. “That is early.”
She stares at him. Then, to my utter shock, she laughs. And just like that, some of the tension dissolves.
“Come on in,” I say, timidly. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Um…”
“I have whiskey.”
He looks far too relieved. “Yes. Yes please. A whiskey would be great.”
Stepping inside slowly, he looks around at our home. “This is nice. Really nice. When did you move in?”
He follows me to the kitchen where I pour out two glasses because God knows I need a little bit of help today too.
“About a year ago. It took some time to organize all our assets after Gerard passed, and I wanted to get a place near to Paige’s school but not too far from my Mom’s, and—”
I turn around and release a breath. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling. It’s just—”
“You look…” Augie stares at me, his gaze covering every inch of my body in a matter of seconds. “Christ, Erin, you look...”
I swallow but my nerves are not in favor of forming a coherent response.
“Thanks. Um, so do you.”
He takes a step forward, tentatively. “Thank you for letting me be here. It means a lot to me.”
“It means a lot to Paige too, it seems.”
“She’s an amazing kid.”
“I know.”
We continue to stare at each other. I’d rehearsed everything I was going to say but right now, I can’t remember any of it, and I don’t want to.
“Mom!” Paige yells from a room upstairs. “I need your help!”
Augusto smiles and I feel the relief roll off my shoulders. “I’ll be right back.”
I collide with my mother in the hallway. Her arms are full of shoes.
“You’re on dress duty,” she says, breathlessly. “I’m on footwear.”
“Roger that.”
I run up the stairs and find Paige in my bedroom standing in front of the large mirror, a floor-length scarlet red gown draped over her teenage body, the delicate hem just skimming the wooden floor. I stop at the edge of the room and press a hand to my chest.
Paige sees me over her shoulder in the reflection. “Do I look okay?” she asks timidly.
“You look beautiful, my darling. Just… utterly beautiful.”
“You’re sure you’re not just saying that?”
I step up behind her and sweep a curl from her face. “I’m not just saying it. You look all grown up, like a real lady. I still can’t believe this is your junior prom.”
She turns to face me and I cup her chin gently.
“You have grown up to be the most precious, funny, kind, caring, bright and driven young woman. You make me so proud every day.”
“Mom, don’t,” she sniffs. “You’ll make me cry.”
“Okay.” I wave a hand in front of my face to curb my own tears. “But just know you look absolutely beautiful my love and don’t let anyone make you feel otherwise—ever. You got that?”
“Got it.”
“Now, when is Meredith getting here?”
“In about ten minutes. I wanted to take some family photographs before she arrives.”
“Shoes first!” Mom’s panicked voice enters the room before she does, and a substantially narrowed selection of shoes clatters to the floor.
Paige looks up at me. “Which ones do you think, Mom?”
I point to a pair with a mid-height heel, covered in silver crystals—perfect for a belle’s first ball. “Those. Definitely.”
“Great.” She slips them on and glances at my mother and me. “Come on… Pictures!”
We descend the stairs—Paige first, my mother and me just behind. It gives me a bird’s eye view of Augusto’s expression.
He’s moved to the hallway and when he looks up, he goes completely still. He blinks, his lips falling open a touch.
A flash of feeling darts through me—those lips against mine as he pumps me from behind in one, last, desperate connection. I shake my head. This is my daughter’s moment—I need to focus.
“Paige… You look beautiful,” he says simply.
Even though I can’t see her face, I know it’s just lit up like the sun.
She pauses on the bottom step. “Really?”
“Yes.” He glances over her shoulder at me as if he wants me to be sure he really means it.
She hops to the ground and spins once, nervously. “Is it too much though? Is my hair okay? Is it—”
“It’s perfect,” he says with a smile.
And just like that, she believes him. With me, she’d question it endlessly.
I reflect briefly that this is what she’s needed all her life—a father figure—and she never really had one in Gerard. Has Augusto been providing that from a distance these last eighteen months? Is that why she’s been calmer? More settled?
I feel Augusto’s gaze on me as Paige skips away to apply yet another lick of gloss to her mouth. Mom steps past me leaving just him and me staring at each other.
Even as Mallorie’s voice enters the house and I hear my mom chatting with her, I can’t tear my eyes away from this man that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about despite every single attempt not to.
He lifts the whisky to his mouth, slowly. Pauses, and then throws it all down his throat.
I wet my lips. My voice comes out all husky. “You want another of those?”
He winces only slightly. “Uh huh.”
My fingers brush his as I take the glass. An electrical storm rages through my arm and my eyes snap to his. They’re so dark now. Thunderous.
“Erin—"
“Not yet,” I whisper.
His breaths deepen like I just promised him eternity and he nods.
We gather in the living room and Augusto generously assumes the role of photographer while we each pose with Paige.
After about twenty minutes of posing and rearranging hair, Paige glances up at me nervously. “Mom, can I have a picture with Augie?”
I swallow, surprised.
“Um, sure. Let me, um…”
I take the phone from him and he steps a little uncomfortably into the frame.
Paige looks so happy it makes me smile even though my insides are spinning like it’s too much to get my head around.