Chapter 22
N atalie
February
“Are you ready for your mantra?”
I sigh, grinding my molars as I glare at my therapist. “Violence isn’t the answer. Relationships are a two-way street. I can’t solve all the problems for everyone. Mostly.”
Pete’s eyebrows raise. “Mostly?”
“Well, I agree with two out of three. But can we modify one? What about the threat of violence? I’ve found people shape up when they think they’re about to get clocked in the nuts.”
Now it’s Pete’s turn to sigh. “Natalie. It’s not okay to threaten violence either.”
“I know,” I grumble. “But I hate when friends are hurting and I can’t do anything about it.”
“You have a very compassionate heart. For the most part, you see the good in everyone. I’m sure people tell you often how bubbly and full of life you are,” Pete says.
“Yeah, I get told often I’m the perfect school teacher.”
“Which is why I really don’t get where this violence comes from.”
“I’ve never hit anyone.” My eyes widen as I realize Pete must think I’m the same as Rob. “You know that, right? I’d never hit someone. And I don’t think I’ve even ever threatened to hit someone. These damn pregnancy hormones are making me crazy, Pete. A year ago, I’d just use a little psychological warfare to fight. Sign someone up for a hundred different mailing lists. Put a very vague ad on an online marketplace with petty details about someone. But right now, I feel like I’ve got this rage under my skin that needs to come out. Is there a plate-throwing place near here? I need to break something.”
“You need to break something?”
“Yes. I broke a plate last week, and the immediate relief I felt was amazing.”
“Well,” Pete pauses, tapping his lip with his pen as he stares up at the ceiling, “I think it’s good that you’re recognizing the feelings you’re having, and that you’ve found a way to way to get relief. It’s interesting that you speak of pregnancy hormones. How far along are you?”
I stare at him in disbelief. “Have I never mentioned pregnancy in our sessions?”
He looks back through his notes, flipping through a notebook. “No. We’ve had weekly sessions for around three months.”
“Oh. I’m about twenty-two weeks, or a little over five months along.”
Pete’s eyes widen. “That’s a big thing in your life to have forgotten to tell me about.”
I shrug. “I didn’t think that was part of the reason I came here. I wanted to get a little closure about an abusive ex-boyfriend — and now I understand why you’re concerned about my weird violent streak — and didn’t think the pregnancy factored into that. The baby isn’t his, by the way. So that’s good. Although the baby daddy, Alex, I have his son in my class. So there’s a really weird gray area there. But these hormones are killing me. I yelled at Ben last week in class, made him cry, which then made me cry, and it’s a mess.”
Pete stares at me. “You’re pregnant with Alex Santo’s child?”
“Yeah. How do you know Alex?” Weird. We’re in a neighboring town, but I guess the Santo family is well known all throughout the mountain towns. “Did you go to school with him or something?”
“Or something,” he murmurs. “Listen, Natalie, I think we’ve made great progress with you over the past few months. You understand that you weren’t at fault for Rob’s abuse, and you’ve taken ownership over your own destiny at work. Unfortunately, I have a scheduling conflict that means I will be unable to continue your sessions. I have an excellent female therapist I’d like to refer you to. Is that okay?”
“Really?” I sigh, my lip popping out in a pout. Pete is definitely introverted and quiet, and it’s not like we’re close friends, but I don’t want to start from scratch again. “I mean, I guess.”
“Great. I’ll pass along your file to her. You’ll like her, I think. Her name is Grace. She’s probably about your age as well,” Pete tells me cheerfully. He jumps up from his seat, motioning for me to get up as well.
“Oh, I didn’t think our session was over yet,” I mutter as he pushes me toward his office door.
“No sense continuing when you’ll be working with Grace from now on. Best of luck!” As soon as my shoes hit the hallway outside his office, the door is shut behind me.
“What the actual fuck,” I mumble. I pull my phone out of my pocket, seeing that I now have an extra thirty minutes before I’m meeting Arianna for lunch. Something seems off with how Pete basically booted me from his office. And from his service. Maybe I can do without therapy. I think I’m doing okay. Except for the desire to break shit. That is a fairly new feeling.
Thirty minutes later, I’m seated at a booth in a small Greek restaurant on the outskirts of Denver. I had suggested Italian, because I’ve been craving lasagna like nobody’s business, but Arianna turned up her nose at that. According to her, no one can beat her Nonna’s cooking, so she’s not going to bother trying to find a suitable alternative.
As I’m looking down at the menu, I hear the familiar baby babble of my favorite toddler, but I’m surprised to look up and find Arianna headed toward me with Bianca in her arms, and Nonna behind her. Now I also understand the reasoning behind the cuisine today.
“Hello, my little girasole ,” Nonna says as she pinches my cheek. Arianna busies herself getting Bianca settled in her high chair as I stare up at Nonna .
“What did you call me? I’ve heard it before.”
“ Girasole .”
“Oh, jeez,” Arianna mutters. “This family and nicknames.”
“What does girasole mean?” I ask, intrigued.
“It means sunflower. I thought you knew,” Nonna says innocently, but I notice the way her eyes narrow ever so slightly as she watches my reaction.
“Obviously I didn’t know that. I’m not sure how you knew Alex calls me that, though,” I say hesitantly.
“Oh, sweet child. I know everything. Best if you remember that,” she says, slapping my cheek gently before plopping into her seat.
“Hey!” I hear, and I swivel to find Arianna holding her cheek. “Gentle, Bianca!”
“Isn’t it lovely that traits are passed down from generation to generation?” Nonna cackles. “Arianna was a big hitter as a kid. Her mother was, too.”
“Mom is your daughter-in-law, Nonna, so I’m not sure how you’re gonna claim that as something you passed on,” Arianna says dryly.
“I take credit for everything.” Nonna stares defiantly at Arianna, waiting for an argument. Arianna rolls her eyes and sits next to Bianca, directly across from me.
“So how was therapy today?” she asks.
“Weird. Halfway through the session, I sort of announced that I was pregnant, not realizing I’d never told my therapist. He suddenly got really skittish and told me he needed to switch me to a different therapist because of a scheduling conflict, then ushered me out of there immediately.”
Both Nonna and Arianna stare at me before Nonna pipes up. “What’s his name? I can have him disbarred by dinnertime.”
“He’s not a lawyer. You don’t disbar therapists,” Arianna retorts, but Nonna waves a hand at her.
“Whatever. What’s his name?” Shoulders back with a serious expression on her face, Nonna looks like a serious competitor.
Loving how Nonna has become the new me, I gleefully tell her, “Pete. Pete Ducey. ”
I watch as the wind deflates her sales. “Oh. Damn. Never mind.”
“What? Why?” I ask, crestfallen. Not that I really want him to be disbarred — or whatever it would be called for a therapist — but I liked that fact that someone was going to bat for me.
“I can’t do anything to Pete. Dominic sees him, and I believe he’s referred Alex to him as well. I won’t mess with the mental health of my grandsons. I assume that’s why your therapist ended your session, girasole . It’s a conflict of interest because of Alex.”
“But you’d mess with the mental health of the rest of his clientele?” Arianna asks, an amused lilt to her voice.
Nonna shrugs. “I’d help find them all suitable therapists.”
“I’m pretty sure you getting a hold of his client list violates a gazillion different laws, Nonna,” Arianna says, catching a cracker that Bianca throws in Nonna’s direction.
“Eh. I could die tomorrow. They won’t take me to trial. Besides, the county district attorney is scared of me.”
“That doesn’t surprise me at all. I’m sure the list of people scared of you is longer than the therapist’s client list,” Arianna remarks.
“I’m sure there’s overlap. I’ve lived a long life. Lots of opportunities to make people scared of me,” Nonna replies, a wicked gleam to her eyes as a grin spreads across her face.
“Did you say that Alex might have been referred to my therapist?” I ask quietly.
Nonna’s smile falls, as she reaches over to pat my hand. “I believe so. He’s trying, girasole . Give him time.”
I wave my hand in the air, attempting nonchalance. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. I just want him to be happy, however that may be. For our child’s sake.”
“Uh-huh,” Arianna remarks. “You’re saying if Alex came to you today, telling you he wanted to date you, you’d say no?”
I think for a moment. “I think so, yes. I don’t think he’s ready for any kind of relationship. He needs to finish his own grief first. So I’m glad he’s going to therapy. I suggested it to him months ago, for him and his kids. Clearly, it’s taken him a while to recognize it himself. ”
“The Santos are a stubborn lot,” Nonna says loudly. “Best recognize that if you’re in it for the long haul.”
“It’s not a long haul. We’re just co-parenting,” I tell her.
She gives me a sarcastic smile. “Denial, thy name is Natalie. Keep telling yourself that.”
Alex: I hear you had a run-in with my grandmother.
Me: I did. That woman either doesn’t know what a boundary is, or just chooses to jump over them.
Alex: I like to think she has a motorized scooter and she breaks through anything in her way, running over people when needed.
Me: All in the name of awkward encounters.
Alex: It’s a gift, honestly. We should be lucky she’s in our orbit.
Me: Her boundaries also include wonderful stories from decades ago.
Alex: Fuck.
Me: A very interesting Easter parade.
Alex: I was five.
Me: You flashed a thousand people.
Alex: I. Was. FIVE.
Me: And a week later, you mooned your kindergarten class.
Alex: See above text.
Me: She said Ben also mooned his kindergarten class. Something about genetic traits being passed along. I wonder if our child will moon his or her class as well.
Alex: …
Me: …
Alex: For fuck’s sake. She told you about the all-you-can-eat buffet, didn’t she?
Me: She did.
Alex: In my defense, I was sixteen and a moron.
Me: What sixteen year old kid doesn’t understand the rules of a buffet?
Alex: I was trying to impress a girl, and got carried away.
Me: By eating so much you had a pyrotechnic puking experience, and then slipped in your own barf and fell, breaking your arm.
Alex: Yup. Teenage boys are dumb.
Me: Clearly.
Alex: I know that’s not all she told you.
Me: What? (She says innocently.)
Alex: I know where this is going. (He says sheepishly.)
Me: Honestly, it’s pretty brilliant. I bet you never got too hot and heavy with a girl on her family’s couch again. A walk of shame without pants? Diabolical.
Alex: You are correct, I never did it again. And I plan on creating that rule for Abbie and Ben.
Me: How would that work with Ben? He walks around the property line in his skivvies?
Alex: I haven’t worked out all the details yet. But I’ll never forget the wind whipping against my balls, and I doubt he will, either.
Me: Wait. You weren’t wearing underwear?!?!
Alex: I’m not sure where I’ve gone wrong with you, Sunflower, that I have to explain how sex only works if clothes aren’t in the way.
Me: I just figured you had them pulled DOWN. Not completely off.
Alex: Completely off. I was a teenager, and it was my first time. I thought I had to be naked for it to work right.
Me: It?
Alex: My dick.
Me: God, this just keeps getting better.
Alex: Do you have a grandmother I can call up, so I can get fun stories like this about you?
Me: Nowhere near as fun as Nonna, unfortunately.
Alex: That is a shame. Every family needs a Nonna.
Me: I can tell you my first time was in the back of a pickup truck, and we got caught by a deputy patrolling the farms a couple miles from my house.
Alex: I never understood car sex. There’s not enough room to maneuver.
Me: The BACK of the truck, Alex. There’s enough room back there for sixteen-year-olds.
Alex: OH. I thought you’d be inside in the back seat.
Me: Nope. I had this vision of sex under the stars. All I got was a bruise on my ass from the truck bed, a warning about indecent exposure, and being grounded for two months.
Alex: Damn. Did you at least get off?
Me: No. My high school boyfriend was incredibly sweet, but dumber than a box of rocks. He had no idea where the clit was. Ironically, he’s now a deputy sheriff, and married with his fifth baby on the way.
Alex: Sounds like he figured out where the clit is.
Me: I’m not sure where I’ve gone wrong with you, Alessio, but you don’t have to know where the clit is to get a girl pregnant.
Alex: I can do both, fortunately.
Me: That you can.