CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
SEAN
It was funny the way life turned out sometimes. One day I was wishing I could find someone to share my life with and the next, the most infuriating brat dropped in and turned everything upside down. Those years ago, I never imagined he would be the one.
As I dressed, I tried to focus on our lovely morning.
I was a bit annoyed about him going behind my back and giving me so much money but it was hard to stay that way when everything was so…
perfect. His words of devotion and love were a piano song in my heart.
I never thought I’d hear them from him and I regretted not telling him how I felt sooner.
My throat tightened and my heart squeezed as I realized I was one of the lucky ones. Was I really getting everything I’d wanted?
The feeling didn’t last long because I’d meant what I’d said. I was determined to stand by Matteo’s side and give him the support he deserved. I was going to make sure he knew at least one person besides his grandmother loved him in this fucking world.
I shrugged into a tight t-shirt that highlighted my muscular arms because I wanted Matteo’s father to know I had a wicked right hook and wasn’t afraid to use it for the ones I cared about.
I came to stand at the base of the stairs and listened.
All I caught was a shocked whisper followed by a stretch of silence.
After a few beats of my heart, I descended the staircase and found Matteo standing still as a board at the door, his jaw hanging open.
I took my place by his side, prepared to duke it out with his father.
Instead, I found his mother dressed spectacularly in her best labels and finest jewelry.
But she looked smaller than I recalled with tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, the mascara slightly runny.
Her chin did that trembling thing again.
It didn’t take a lot to understand why she was here, clutching a stuffed duffle bag but all Matteo could do was stare at her.
“Mrs. Fernandez,” I started and cleared the gravel from my throat. I looked at Matteo. “Might you want to come in for a moment?”
He snapped back to reality and moved aside. She seemed uncertain and stepped in, her head swiveling around as if it had been a very long time since she’d been here. Maybe she was confused as to why she was here.
“Mama, is Papa with you?” He finally asked, his tone raw and I wished I could sweep him away from all this heartache.
I squeezed his shoulder to remind him that I was here. It was the best thing I could do for him right now.
She said something in what I assumed was French that made Matteo frown as if he’d been presented a calculus problem. He looked at me. “She says she came alone.”
“Mrs. Fernandez, can I take your bag?” I asked, wanting to help the process along.
“Yes, thank you,” she mumbled.
I accepted the heavy bag as she floated into the living room and took a seat on the couch still covered in a white sheet.
“Matty,” I said to get his attention, who was still in a state of shock. “Listen to what she has to say.”
He nodded and proceeded to stare at her from the safety of the foyer. I wanted to take over, but he needed to do this. The best I could do was give them a gentle push in the right direction. When he was ready, he approached and sat at a distance from her.
I set her bag on the table in the foyer then retreated into the kitchen. I didn’t want to hoover, though I kept my ears perked for any hints of cruel words. She might want to reconnect but that didn’t mean she just stopped holding her beliefs regarding certain things.
To keep myself busy, I made some ginger tea, the process relaxing me.
I sipped at the steaming mug, the urge to sit next to him gnawing at me.
I came to understand I was not just angry for the bigotry he’d suffered, but angry on my own behalf.
Neither of us should have gone through what we’d had.
We deserved to be loved and cherished by our parents.
Matteo surprised me when he walked into the kitchen, his eyes red-rimmed from tears.
I held my arms out. “Come here.”
He did without a word, and I cuddled him close. He sniffled into my shirt, fingers digging into my back. After a moment, he dried his eyes and looked at me.
“When I was really young she taught me how to speak French and we would make a game of talking in the language. It was our own little secret, you know? Sometimes she’d whisper something behind my father’s back and wink at me.
” He took a shuddering breath. “I can’t remember when that stopped.
Maybe it had been a gradual thing. Like, slowly chipping away at something until what it used to be is no longer recognizable. ”
He looked behind me to where the tea pot was sitting on the stove and I said, “It’s ginger and chamomile. Do you want some?”
“Not for me,” he muttered.
“Okay,” I said, figuring it was a good sign he wanted to take care of his mother. As I fished out a mug and napkin for her, he started talking again.
“She said she left. She keeps saying it over and over and won’t give any more details, but… I don’t understand what she’s expecting from me.”
“Matty,” I started as I poured the tea into the mug. “Do you think it’s possible she might be a victim of abuse just as you are?”
I’d chosen my words carefully and posed them as a question because I wanted him to come to his own conclusion.
He ran his wide eyes everywhere, from the kitchen floor to the steaming teapot and finally settled them on me.
It was like looking in a mirror, his devastated and lost expression echoing my eighteen-year-old self the day I’d left home.
I wished with all my heart I could have spared him that.
He inhaled, held it for a moment and sighed, sending his hair fluttering.
“I didn’t think about that. She just…shut down.
Stopped talking to me. Barely looked at me.
My father would go off the rails and punish me for something inconsequential and she’d just…
look away. I always thought it was because she was disappointed with me, but… Fuck! I’m an idiot, I never—”
“Everyone processes their trauma in a unique way,” I said and dropped a slice of orange into the tea.
“It’s not your fault. But it seems to me she’s here because she’s trying to break the cycle.
She showed up in her best clothes, but her make up is runny and her hair disheveled.
Her bag is stuffed tighter than a size-queen’s ass.
You know your father best. Imagine the strength to go against him and show up here. ”
Biting his lip, he blinked at the mug. “Will you bring her the tea? I need to make a phone call.”
“Sure thing.”
As I shuffled around the marble island, he said, “Thank you.”
I offered him a warm smile. “You know I’m here for you, brat. Whatever you need, let me know.”
“No, I really mean it. I’m not sure what I would do without you.”
I closed the distance between us and tugged him into a lingering closed-mouth kiss. He smiled in the way that I loved, and I peeled myself away from him to deliver the tea.
Mrs. Fernandez was sitting on the couch, curled into herself, and blinking blankly at the carpet between her sensible Ferragamos. When she noticed me, she moved her mouth as if she wanted to speak but wasn’t sure what to say.
“Thank you,” she said as she accepted the tea from me. She cradled it in her hands for a moment. “You were at the hearing. Are you…his…?”
“I’m his,” I confirmed.
She nodded softly and sipped at the liquid in robotic motions. “This is delicious.”
“Yeah, I’m a terrible cook. Even my spaghetti sucks and spaghetti is the easiest thing you can make but I brew up a mean cup of tea.”
She made a soft sound that let me know she’d heard what I said but had no thoughts on the matter. Maybe she did but was so used to remaining silent she didn’t know how to respond.
I shifted my weight on my feet, unsure if I should stay or leave. My mother had been in agreement with my father concerning my queerness and she’d never refrained from being vocal about many things so I was unsure how to deal with a woman that had likely been forced into silence.
“It’s been years since I visited Carla’s home,” she said just as I was about to leave. “She would serve me this tea with anise in it. I didn’t particularly enjoy the flavor very much, but the company was preferable.”
Biting my lip, I lowered myself into a single-seater and proceeded to listen. Matteo had described himself as being muzzled and I reckoned it was the same for her. I supposed she wanted someone to talk to.
“But that was so long ago when Matteo was just a baby,” she said with a smile and dabbed her mouth with the napkin. “He was always so bright and rambunctious. Bringing him here to spend some time at Carla’s house was the highlight of our day.”
That smile slowly died and she took another sip of tea. Her eyes were watery as she looked all around her. Finally she settled her attention on the grand piano next to the floor to ceiling windows.
“My son plays the piano. Did he tell you?” She asked, her tone rising.
“He plays for me all the time,” I confirmed.
“Yes, of course… I’m sorry, I don’t recall your name.”
I offered her a half-hearted smile. “Sean.”
She whispered my name and dabbed at her mouth again. I couldn’t help feeling awkward about the whole thing.
“He’s very good at it,” she said absently. “I wish his father…”
She didn’t say anything further, just proceeded to stare at the carpet between her feet. I could hear Matteo talking in the kitchen, his words clipped.
I motioned to her cup. “Can I get you a refill, Mrs. Fernandez?”
“Oh, yes please. Thank you, Sean.”
I took the mug from her and retreated to the kitchen. Matteo was sitting on one of the stools, hunched over the island and staring at the marble with his phone still in his hand. He noticed me and slid off his seat. I closed the distance between us and hugged him close.