8. Elio #2
Fuck, does it ever feel good to hear somebody else say it. And now I can’t stop picturing Deirdre in my kitchen, lovingly cooking me a meal. Not that she’ll ever have to do that if she doesn’t want to. I’ve got Rosa and other people for that.
But I still can’t shake the image. My sweet little Songbird stirring a pot, maybe even in an apron or some cute shit like that.
As long as she doesn’t put poison in it, we’ll be goddamn golden.
“Deal,” I tell her. “But first we gotta make everything official. Starting with this.” I jab a black finger at my computer screen, gesturing at the various white and pink and red rectangles with their fancy writing.
The computer screen looks like Valentine’s Day threw up on it, and then I blink, because Valentine’s Day is actually really soon, and for the first time in my life I actually might want to do something to mark the day.
Elio Titone celebrating Valentine’s Day. Goddamn elementary school shit. It’s so fucking saccharine it makes my teeth hurt.
And I don’t even care. Because Deirdre is mine in every single way and that means she’s my valentine, too.
“Alright,” Valentina says. “What kind of announcement are we talking about, anyway? The wording is going to vary depending on if it’s something for, like, social media versus an engagement announcement that goes into a newspaper.”
I stare at her flatly. Social media? Is she for real?
Not that I don’t have accounts, because I do. Anonymous burner accounts I use to keep track of Deirdre’s profiles. But she’s not very active online, so I don’t use them much, anyway.
“Right,” my cousin says, reading my look. “So newspaper-style, then?”
“Yes,” I confirm. “We’ll be sending it out to all our contacts in the media as soon as it’s done. Get them to plaster press releases all over their website homepages and get it printed in tomorrow’s paper editions.”
She nods, all business, then grabs some spare paper and a pen from my desk, beginning to make notes.
“Typically, newspaper announcements like that are from the point of view of the parents,” she explains. “Like, So and So are pleased to announce the engagement of their daughter . That kind of thing.”
“No. Not like that,” I say. I don’t want Deirdre’s papà or mine listed, because neither of them has a name worthy of being printed beside hers.
And I doubt my Uncle Vinny and Zizi, who are essentially my adoptive parents, will want to be listed when they don’t know this thing is even being written in the first place.
“Make it from my perspective,” I tell Valentina. “ Elio Titone is pleased to announce his engagement to Deirdre O’Malley … Is there a better word than pleased?”
Pleased sounds too… lame. I’m pleased when one of my capos follows my instructions to the letter, or when the car shop does a great job detailing one of my vehicles. There’s something too distant and sterile about it to be used in the context of marrying Deirdre.
“Hmm,” Valentina says. “How about thrilled? Elio Titone is thrilled to announce -”
“No,” I cut her off. “That makes me sound fucking giddy.”
Valentina purses her lips and taps her pen against her chin.
“Excited? Delighted?”
“Definitely not excited,” I groan. If anyone serious in this city reads the words Elio Titone is excited in their morning paper they’ll probably think I’m on meth or something. “Delighted is a maybe. But it’s not quite right, either.”
“We could leave out any adjectives entirely,” Valentina proposes. “ Elio Titone announces his engagement to Deirdre O’Malley .”
It feels a little cold, but maybe that’s a good thing. I don’t need to spill my guts all over the local papers and tell them about the ooey gooey good feelings I seem to have developed for my Songbird.
Yeah, that’s probably the best option. I’m about to tell her that when Curse suddenly pipes up from his seat.
“What about honoured?”
Elio Titone is honoured to announce his engagement to Deirdre O’Malley .
Honoured.
Like something sacred has been bestowed upon me and I’m down on my knees with the force of that grace.
“It’s fucking perfect. Write that down,” I say to Valentina, and she dutifully does so.
I cast my eye over at Curse, who’s gone silent again, wondering just when my quiet, violent brother became so eloquent. I guess it’s all those books he reads. Though he probably reads about a thousand words for every one he speaks.
“Alright, how do we want to handle the parents thing, then? Do you want anyone else listed on here, or just you and Deirdre?” Valentina asks.
“Our mamas,” I say firmly. “I want both their names on there. But make sure you write Florencia Titone instead of her married name.”
Unfortunately, there’s not an easy way to do that for Deirdre’s side. I could have her mother referred to by her maiden name to avoid associating her with that piece of shit O’Malley, but Deirdre doesn’t have another last name to use yet, so the name O’Malley is going to have to be on there anyway.
“Alright,” Valentina says. “Careers are usually included. What do you want to be listed as, Mister Boss Man?”
“Just put me down as a purveyor of multiple business interests,” I instruct her. “And mention Deirdre’s music. And her academic stuff.”
“Done. Is there a wedding date?”
“As soon as possible,” I answer instantly.
“OK… That’s gonna look a bit weird,” she says. “Ending off this nice formal notice with wedding as soon as possible! It feels kind of frantic. If you don’t have a specific date, you can just state the season. Like, winter of next year or something.”
“Winter of this year.”
I hadn’t realized Valentina was chewing gum, but she just about chokes on it when I say that.
Coughing and banging on her chest, she stares at me with watery eyes.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she rasps. “Miserable Ontario weather aside, there’s technically only, like, six weeks left of winter. It’s practically February!”
“How about the last day of February? That should give you enough time to prepare,” I tell her.
“Too soon,” my cousin says stubbornly. “Venues book out a year in advance and-”
“Valentina,” I interrupt, and there’s an edge of warning in my voice that she recognizes. She instantly stills and listens.
“You will get this done,” I tell her, my words very slow, crisp, and even.
“This timeline is of paramount importance and I will not accept failure from anyone. I don’t care which venue you pick – I’d marry Deirdre in the middle of the fucking dump – but she deserves something nice so you had better make it nice .
I don’t care who the venue has to bump to make room for us, and if they don’t wanna play ball then you can kindly remind them that Titones don’t play with balls, we play with bullets. You got that?”
“I do,” she says succinctly.
“Then it’s decided,” I say. “Last day of next month. February twenty-eighth”
“It’s a leap year this year,” Curse says.
“Why the fuck do you even know that?” I ask him, baffled. “You’ve just got all the answers over there today. What’d we even call Valentina for? You probably could have drafted this entire announcement and planned the whole damn wedding yourself.”
He shrugs, and I know I’m not going to get any more out of him, so I turn my attention back to Valentina who’s currently putting the finishing touches on the engagement announcement.
February twenty-ninth. Celebrating our anniversary is going to be weird, but I kind of like that we’re getting married on a day that doesn’t even exist most years. Like the date conjured itself just for us, pulled itself out of thin fucking air. It feels lucky in a distinctly Irish way.
“Is there something special about leap years in Ireland?” I muse out loud, not to anyone in particular, but Valentina picks up her phone to check a search engine.
“Apparently February twenty-ninth is called Bachelor’s Day, or Ladies’ Privilege,” she says, reading from her screen. “I guess it’s a day where women ask the men to marry them instead of the other way around.”
What kind of dickless wonder waits so fucking long that his woman feels the need to propose?
I snort at what Deirdre is going to think about all this.
She probably wouldn’t ask me to marry her in a thousand fucking years, but it doesn’t really matter at this point.
Although it does remind me that I need to get the ring sorted out.
I may have bluntly informed her of our impending nuptials instead of actually popping the question, but she’s still going to get a ring. And then there’s the wedding bands too.
I frown, trying to figure out how the hell I’ll wear a ring with my screwed-up hands.
I think a ring will probably irritate the scar tissue, plus no one will be able to see it under the gloves anyway.
And I fucking hate looking at my bare hands, so wearing an adornment on one of them that will specifically draw my attention feels kind of stupid.
I guess I could just not wear a ring. But I can feel my mouth pulling downwards even further in response to that because I do not fucking like that option.
Hmm.
“What is it?” Valentina asks, no doubt noting my displeased expression. “What part do you want me to change?”
I was so lost in thought that I hadn’t even realized she was reading the final engagement announcement out loud.
“I wasn’t listening,” I tell her with a dismissive wave of my hand. “Start again.”
She rolls her eyes but does so, clearing her throat before she reads from the beginning.
“Elio Titone of Toronto, son of Florencia Titone, is honoured to announce his engagement to Deirdre O’Malley of Toronto, daughter of Fiona O’Malley.
Mr. Titone is a purveyor of multiple business interests, and Miss O’Malley is an accomplished violinist currently completing her Bachelor of Arts in Music at the University of Toronto, due to graduate with honours next spring.
The wedding is set for February twenty-ninth of this year. ”
“Good,” I say. “Now send that out to every one of our media contacts. I want this fucking everywhere. I don’t want a single person in this city opening their phone or their newspaper and not seeing this first-fucking-thing.”
“Got it,” Valentina says, rising. “Can I go up and see Deirdre? If we’re going to pull this together by the end of next month we need to get started today.”
“No. She’s sleeping and she needs her rest,” I reply.
“And she has school tomorrow. You can come by after her classes to talk about whatever it is you need from her. But don’t bug her with too much event-planning stuff.
She has classes and music to focus on. You take care of all the details. You’re good at that shit.”
“Yeah, I’m good at it, but most girls still want a say in their own wedding,” Valentina says, giving me an odd look.
“I’m not entirely sure you’re going to find that to be the case,” I respond dryly, standing up.
A mild way of implying that if Deirdre had her say, there wouldn’t be a wedding at all.
“I have so many questions,” my cousin says, rising and grabbing her coat. “You know that, right? Alright. Whatever. I’ll get this started.” She flaps the paper at me, then shoves it under one arm so she can do up the thousand-and-one fasteners on her weird coat.
Curse gets up too, opening the office door for her. Valentina walks through it, already typing furiously on her phone, paper still pinned under her arm.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” she calls as she hustles away to the front of the house. A minute later, an email notification pings on my phone and computer at the same time. It’s from Valentina and it contains the digital copy of the engagement announcement she just wrote by hand on paper.
I print it off and fold it very carefully so that I don’t crease a single word.
At the last moment, I take out my wax warmer from a drawer in my desk.
It’s a small heated plate with a spoon that sits on top that you can melt the wax in.
Takes a little longer to set up, but it beats holding an open flame in my hand while dripping wax onto paper.
Once the crimson wax is the right consistency, I pour the glossy, honey-thick liquid onto the paper then stamp it with the Titone seal.
It’s the exact same thing I did with the contract I signed with O’Malley a year and a half ago. Feels symbolic.
“Alright. We’ve got our letter for Darragh,” I say to Curse. “Time to go.”