27. Alina
27
ALINA
I don’t think I’m going to hear from Tomas until Friday, but to my surprise, he texts me a couple of hours after I open on Monday.
Any complaints about the double-billing?
Only one. I got really lucky.
Gerald, the finance influencer, spent ten minutes bitching about my incompetence, but I bit my tongue and offered him a free month, which took care of the problem.
Would it be tactless to point out I predicted that this would be a non-issue?
Yes.
Hmm. Well, then pretend I didn’t say it.
His next message comes an hour later.
The couch in the lobby is disgusting. Use some of that money I won you and buy something better before someone catches an STD off it.
You’re an expert in STDs now, are you? Is that the voice of experience talking?
If that’s a roundabout way of asking me to fuck you on that gross couch, Ali, I can be talked into it. As long as you don’t take it personally when I shower in bleach afterward.
I laugh out loud.
Fine, I’ll buy new furniture. Point of clarification though: I did all the fighting, so I believe it’s money I won, not you.
Sadly, that’s not how betting works, dolcezza.
I get another text at nine in the evening on Tuesday.
You’re still at work, aren’t you?
Yes, why?
You probably started at six in the morning, and you should be done by now. Hire someone to staff the front desk before I do it for you.
I should be annoyed by the bossiness, but there’s an undertone of concern there that’s really sweet. Like the ibuprofen in Milan, and insisting he give me a ride home. His directives always come from a place of caring, and they warm me up from the inside.
That doesn’t mean I’m going to roll over for him.
I think you need a contract refresher. According to Section 4, neither party may make hiring decisions unilaterally.
You’re quoting my own contract at me? Seriously?
I smile smugly.
Can dish it out but can’t take it? Goodnight, Tomas.
Someone comes up to me to ask a question, and I set aside my phone. But the rest of the evening, I can’t stop smiling. Our banter always leaves me feeling fiercely alive. It’s only been a couple of weeks since we met for the first time, but already, I can’t remember a time when Tomas wasn’t part of my life. Bossing me around, checking up on me, making sure I’m taking care of myself. He doesn’t ride roughshod over my wishes—no, he makes me feel supported and cared for.
And it’s been a long time since anyone make me feel that way.
Tomas isn’t the only person in my thoughts. I’ve been avoiding thinking about Vidone Laurenti, the man who says he’s my father, but he’s always there, lurking in the background of my mind. I don’t feel excited when I think about him—no, my only emotion is a cold, gnawing uncertainty. I have too many unanswered questions. Why did my mother run away? Why did she hide my existence from Vidone?
But my mother is dead, and I can’t ask her why. If I want answers, only one person can give them to me.
It isn’t until Wednesday that I finally summon up the courage to call Vidone. With shaking fingers, I bring up my contacts and scroll to his name. My thumb hovers over the entry, as I talk myself into moving forward. What if he doesn’t answer? What if he does? What if this changes everything?
Taking a deep breath, I press the Call button.
It rings four times. No, five. I doodle ominous clouds on the notepad in front of me as I wait for him to answer. I’m almost ready to hang up when the call connects. “Hello?” a woman says.
“Hi,” I say cautiously. “Could I speak to Vidone, please?”
“Vidone?” Her voice turns suspicious. “Who’s this?”
Umm, what do I say? If this is his wife, I don’t feel entirely comfortable introducing myself as Vidone’s long-lost daughter. I don’t want my existence to come as a shock. Well, any more than it already has.
“My name is Alina Zuccaro.”
“Alina—” she starts before her voice is replaced by a male one. “Alina?” a man who must be my father says. “Is that you?”
My heart starts to beat faster. My grip tightens on my pencil. “Yeah.” I start adding droplets of rain to the sketch. “It’s me. Alina. Teresa’s daughter.”
“My daughter.”
I bite my tongue to keep quiet. There are so many raindrops now that it’s a veritable thunderstorm. For good measure, I add streaks of lightning. Where were you when I needed you? I want to scream. Where were you when my mother was dying in the cruelest way possible? You don’t get to call me your daughter. You haven’t earned it.
But I’m not being fair. Going by his letter, Vidone didn’t know I existed until a few days ago. His story certainly has the ring of truth to it. My mother was secretive—there’s no denying that. She never volunteered information about my father, and she actively discouraged me from asking questions about him. Even toward the end, when she stopped recognizing me, he never came up. It’s as if she locked the memory of him into a vault and threw away the key.
“Yeah.” I don’t know what to say next. “I got your letter. Thank you for the photo.”
“You’re welcome.” His voice turns warmer. “Tell me about yourself.”
“Umm, you already know I live in Venice.” I frown. “Wait, how did you know that? How did you know where to send the letter?”
My question must take him by surprise. There’s a split-second of hesitation, and then he says, “I looked you up on the Internet and found Groff’s.”
“Right. Of course.” Simon spent a lot of time obsessing about search engine optimization. “I’m working on the SEO,” he used to loftily declare whenever I railed at him about how he wasn’t pulling his weight. “You wouldn’t understand.” I wasn’t convinced; we never got the surge of members that Simon predicted, but it looks like it paid off in the end.
“Well, I moved to Venice two years ago.” I search for something else to say about myself. It’s harder than I think. I work too much, and I haven’t had time for anything else for a really long time. “I’ve always wanted to live here. Umm?—”
“Are you married?”
I try not to get annoyed. God knows I’ve heard that same question far too many times from well-meaning friends and acquaintances. “No.”
“Seeing someone?”
An image of Tomas swims in front of me. “It’s complicated.”
“Complicated how?”
This is starting to feel like an inquisition, and I don’t like it. “You already know about the gym,” I say, pretending like I didn’t hear his last question. “I’ve been doing martial arts since I was seven. I started with Brazilian jiujitsu and then moved to judo, and after that, Muay Thai. I’ve wanted to run my own gym since I was a little girl. Some days, it’s a struggle, but most of the time, it feels like a dream come true.”
“You sound very passionate about it.”
Okay, better. He seems to have gotten the message about laying off my personal life. “I am.” I hesitate. “What about you? Are you married?”
“Yes. That was my wife you were talking to just now. Her name is Serena.”
I swallow and dig my pencil into the pad. “And children? Do you have any?” I’ve always wanted siblings. As a kid, one of my coping strategies before my mom took me to the gym was to pretend I had an older brother who would punch anyone making fun of me. I even gave him a name—Christian.
“I had a daughter,” he says. “She died.”
“Oh God. I’m so sorry.” What was her name? What was she like? I want to know everything about her, but I hesitate. I don’t want to put my foot in it.
“Her name was Sabrina,” he volunteers. “You would have liked her.” He gives a little laugh. “This is a little awkward, isn’t it?”
Thank heavens, it’s not just me. “A little,” I agree. “I guess I don’t know what to say.”
“Me neither. And it feels weird to do this on the phone. Why don’t you visit? I’d love to have you.”
I realize I know nothing about my father. “Where do you live?”
“Palermo.”
That’s all the way at the other end of the country. The island of Sicily, where Palermo is located, is in the south of Italy. I’ve never visited, though. Growing up, my mother always headed north on vacations. Never south. I’m starting to understand why. She was avoiding Vidone.
What happened? Why did it turn so sour that she never wanted to see him again? Why did she hide me from him?
“I can send you a plane ticket for this weekend,” he continues. “Or even earlier. Why don’t you stay with us for a week? I would love to get to know you better.”
“This weekend?” I have to laugh. My father clearly has no idea what running a gym entails. Even if I hire someone to staff the front desk like Tomas suggested— ordered —it’s going to take a few months for me to feel comfortable enough to leave for an entire week. Even the thought of being gone that long is giving me anxiety. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.” I take a deep breath and explain, not wanting him to feel rejected. “The gym is in a period of transition. We’ve lost a lot of members over the last year.” Tomas thinks I’m being dramatic, but he’s wrong. “I have a new partner, and we’re turning things around, but now is not a good time for me to take time off.”
He exhales in a long breath. “If it’s money you want, I’m sure I can help out.”
“What?” I sit up in shock. “No, that’s not what I’m saying at all. I don’t want your money.” I just want what I’ve always wanted. A family. “It’s my gym. I’ve poured my blood, sweat, and tears into it for the last two years. I just hired a new instructor, and I’m going to add on a few more in the next month or two.” My voice softens. “I want to visit; I really do. Once things are steady here, I’ll be able to take time off.”
“When will that be?”
It’s almost the end of September now. “November, maybe?” That seems really aggressive—November is only six weeks away. “Or December? December is always slow.”
“November,” he repeats, his voice flat and displeased.
“Or you could come visit me,” I say in a rush.
“In Venice? That’s complicated. Maybe…” His voice trails off. “Yes, maybe I’ll do that. I’ll call you back.”
Then he hangs up.
I stare at my phone blankly. I don’t know how I thought my first conversation with my father would go, but that wasn’t it. It feels almost disloyal to admit it, but I’m a little disappointed.