3. BLUE
BLUE
Idon’t remember when I fell asleep last night, but I remember Gianni promising he’d be home by sunrise.
I sat up, my sleepy eyes staring at the clock as it ticked past six in the morning.
I told myself there was still time for him to come home, but deep down I knew this would be one of those mornings when I’d have to lie to our mother again.
I exhaled and stood. My gaze drifted to the window I’d left open for him.
A seagull swooped in and landed on the windowsill, lifting its head and spreading its wings toward me.
I grabbed a pillow and swung it through the air, trying to scare the poor bird away.
It only shuffled farther along the frame.
I tossed the pillow back onto the bed and stepped closer to the window.
For a moment, I forgot the seagull was even there. My mother was already walking down the street on her way to work. My chest loosened a little. I had until two in the afternoon to find Gianni, but the feeling that something was wrong kept pulsing at the back of my mind.
Just as I turned toward the door, the seagull took flight from the windowsill. Sailors celebrate them. They know that when they see one, home, or at least land, isn’t far away.
For me, they come before a storm.
And something deep, deep down inside me told me it was coming.
In my head, I already had a plan. First, I’d call that asshole Oliver and ask where my brother was. If Gianni wasn’t with him, I’d search the town myself.
Dragging my bare feet across the floor, I made my way downstairs.
It reminded me of the nights Gianni and I would sneak out and climb over the fence to steal our neighbor’s figs.
The old man never complained. He had no family of his own and seemed happy to share them, but our mother saw it differently.
In her eyes, we weren’t children. We were monelli, proof that she hadn’t raised us properly.
She always worried more about what the neighbors might think than whether her own children were happy.
Part of me knew she didn’t know any better, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. If anything, it made it worse.
I let out a slow breath as I stepped off the last stair and onto the kitchen floor.
We only had a landline, a yellowing phone that had hung on the wall since the nineties and barely worked.
I’d always wanted one of those flip phones so I could call my friend Annie, who lived in Greece with her parents.
But every time I managed to save enough money, it ended up going towards the rent instead.
I never questioned where it all disappeared until the day Gianni told me our mother was spending most of it on cigarettes.
I pressed my finger against the thick plastic buttons and dialed the number I’d known by heart since childhood.
The phone barely rang twice before someone answered.
“1Buongiorno, Villa Sinclair.”
“Buongiorno,” I said. “It’s Gabby. Is Oliver there?”
“2Un momento, per favore.”
The line went quiet for a moment before she called out, “Mr. Sinclair, Miss De Luca is on the phone.”
I kept forgetting that even though Oliver and I didn’t speak anymore, the staff still knew who I was.
“Hi.”
His voice came out rough.
He’s hungover as usual.
“Hi. Is my brother there?” I asked without wasting a second.
There had been a time when I would have asked how he was, then worried, then lectured him. Now I don’t care.
I just wanted to know where my brother was.
“No,” he barely said, “he… we talked for two minutes last night before he just left.”
He sighed as the line grew silent.
“Why?” he asked.
“He didn’t come back home, idiota.“ I rolled my eyes, “why else would I ask if he is with you? To hear your voice?” I laughed.
“Of course. Why would Miss Gabriella De Luca ever be concerned about her childhood friend?”
I laughed.
“Funny. I don’t remember us ending on the word friend.”
“Still holding a grudge?”
“Oh, so your brain still works?” I sighed. “Good to know your last two brain cells survived another night of drowning in alcohol.”
He huffed a laugh.
“So that’s a yes.” A low chuckle crackled through the speaker. “I have more than two brain cells, smart-ass.”
“Oliver, I knew you before you started drinking.” I leaned back against the counter. “Trust me, alcohol isn’t the problem.”
A beat of silence cut through the line, just before he barked out a laugh.
“Jesus Christ.”
“Did I hurt your feelings, bitch boy?”
His laugh came softer this time.
“Good to know some things never change.”
“Unfortunately.” I sighed. “To cut both of our miseries short, I just want to ask one thing… Can I still use the good old cover that Gianni was with you last night in case my mother asks?”
“Sure,” he said simply.
As my lips parted to thank him, he had already hung up.
I leaned against the wall and placed the handset back on the receiver. If this had happened a while ago, my mind would’ve been flooded with regret for hurting him. Now he deserved every harsh word I’d ever thrown at him.
Everything between us felt cold and empty.
My gaze drifted to the sink, overflowing with dirty dishes that waited for me.
If I didn’t wash them, no one would. My mother had given up on housework a long time ago.
She cleaned for everyone else because it was her job, but at home she either lay on the sofa or sat in front of the television.
Everything in this house somehow became my responsibility, as if I were the one holding all of us together.
I closed my eyes and let out a slow breath, giving the memories room to rise.
It was the summer of 2001, just before the Light Festival.
Annie always came two weeks before it began, sometime in the middle of July.
We usually avoided the festival, but that year Annie wanted to see Inno.
They both came every summer, and even though they came from completely different worlds, somehow they’d found one that belonged only to them.
I knew that summer would be different.
It had always been Annie and me.
Now it was Annie, Inno, and me.
I’d promised her we’d go to the festival, but just before midnight, before the fireworks began, we’d slip away to the beach. We’d tuck our wishes inside glass bottles and set them adrift on the sea.
It was what we’d always done, ever since we were six years old.
Setting the last plate on the yellowed plastic dish rack to dry, I dragged my feet towards my bedroom. Mother was working the late shift tonight, so it would just be Gianni and me.
Or at least it should’ve been.
Instead, he’d decided to spend the evening playing video games with Oliver. I could hear them from the living room, shouting and laughing, but I ignored them.
I sat on the top step of the staircase, listening as they crashed cars into walls on the small grey television. I never understood why Oliver always came here when he had giant screens back at the villa, but I’d stopped trying to make sense of him a long time ago.
The front door burst open.
Only one person ever came in like that.
“Annie,” I whispered, already on my feet as I hurried downstairs.
Her black hair was cropped into a pixie cut, carefully styled with a few curled strands pinned beside her left temple.
She was always pale, but tonight her skin had turned a fiery shade of red.
She’d told me she wanted a tan, so instead of sunscreen she’d rubbed herself with olive oil, hoping for bronze.
Instead, she looked like a lobster cooked medium.
She’d tried to hide it beneath pink glitter, but that only made the burn stand out more, matching her low-rise jeans and bright pink crop top.
She lifted two plastic shopping bags into the air before dropping them to spread her arms wide.
“3Malaka, I missed you.”
She pulled me into a tight hug and pressed a kiss to my cheek, leaving behind the bright pink imprint of her lipstick.
“Wow, Annie,” Oliver laughed. “Is the circus in town or what?”
“Ignore him.” I rolled my eyes. “You look gorgeous, and he needs to get his eyes checked.” I turned to glare at him. “The only clown in this house is Oliver Sinclair.”
“Grow up, Gabby,” he scoffed, never taking his eyes off the screen.
“You first,” I shot back before turning to Annie. “Can we go? Like, now? I can’t stand that asshole.”
She raised an eyebrow and led me outside to her little yellow Volkswagen Beetle. I opened the passenger door and climbed in, leaving my legs hanging out while I turned to face her.
Still smiling, she rested the two white plastic bags between us and began pulling things out one by one.
A white dress landed in my lap, followed by the glittery hair threads she loved weaving into my hair.
She leaned closer and gently pulled my dark brown curls free from the messy bun I’d thrown them into. Her fingers combed through it easily, teasing apart the tangled strands.
“So,” she said, separating a shimmering thread, “what’s going on with you and that Sinclair?”
She looped the thread into a small section of my hair.
“We just don’t like each other,” I sighed. “That’s all.”
“Then why is he always around?” she asked, weaving another thread in before starting a thin braid at the front.
“Gianni.”
One word.
The reason we kept getting pulled back into each other’s lives, even when everything else pushed us apart.
She finished one braid, then started another on the opposite side of my face. The shiny threads disappeared into the longer strands at the back, and when I turned my head, they caught the light spilling through the car window, glimmering against the glass.
“But is that really all?” She lifted a brow. “His mouth may hate you, but his eyes always look like they’re trying to understand you.”
“It’s too late.”
I looked up at her.
“When we were kids, we promised we’d always be there for each other. But the moment someone else came along, I was always the one who mattered less.”
I swallowed.
“Eventually, I became everyone else.”
“You two were just kids. Kids forget.” She dipped her finger into a pot of blue eye shadow and swept the color across my eyelid.
“No.” I opened my eyes, blinking when I noticed her finger inches from my face. “I’ll never forget the day he left me alone when I needed him the most.”
“Don’t move,” she scolded. “You’re ruining my art.”
I dragged two fingers across my lips, pretending to zip them shut, then stood still with my eyes closed.
“All I’m saying is… maybe it was all a misunderstanding.”
I shook my head.
“Out of all the words we said, it was our actions that tore us apart.” I paused. “And we weren’t children anymore. We were teenagers who wanted something so badly, yet neither of us got what we wanted.”
A breath slipped from my lips.
“We never wanted to be left behind, but we both ended up leaving at the same time.”
She dusted glitter over my eyelids before carefully lifting tiny rhinestones from a sheet and pressing them into the corners of my eyes, shaping little stars.
When she finished, she stepped back to admire her work.
“Maybe it’s better this way.” Her voice softened. “Sometimes things don’t happen because they’re meant to be. Sometimes they happen because they have to, so we can see we’re better off on our own.”
“Maybe.”
I blinked slowly as she cupped my face in both hands.
“Look at you.” The corners of her eyes crinkled with her smile. “Don’t you dare let any boy take that shine away.”
She grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet. The car door slammed shut behind us. She spun me around until I was facing the window, my reflection staring back from the old glass.
“You are a motherfucking star,” she laughed. “And you’ve got me now.” She gave my shoulders a squeeze. “Now go behind my car and change into that dress I brought you, because tonight we’re going to have fun.”
“And live ignorant lives?” I laughed.
“Exactly.” She snapped her fingers and pointed towards the back of the car.
The sharp crack, like thunder, tore through my mind, pulling me back to the present.
I was still standing in front of the sink, staring at the dirty dishes.
I didn’t move.
For once, I left them where they were, as if that tiny act of defiance was the only victory I’d had in a long time.
One tear slipped down my cheek as the same feeling of unease washed over me.
Gianni still hadn’t come home, and now I was starting to get scared that something might have happened.
What if all those little lies cost us his life?
What if all this back and forth, avoiding the truth, made us lose something we both loved most? A brother. A friend.
I heard footsteps drawing closer. The slow drag across the tiled floor told me it was my mother.
“Gianni still isn’t awake?” She asked.
“No.” I leaned against the sink. “He went to Sinclair’s.” I nodded, then touched my left ear. I always did that when I lied, but she’d never been close enough to notice that little habit. “Oliver had a job for him.”
“Okay.” She nodded and dragged herself into the living room. “I’ll have to go back to the Villa this afternoon. They need extra cleaning for tonight. Harry got engaged.”
She sank into the chair and lit a cigarette. Smoke curled through the air until it reached me.
“He wants to go back to London, leave everything to Oliver.” She took another drag from her cigarette. “But Oliver doesn’t want a cent from him. They fight a lot.”
“Mama,” I said, a little louder than I’d meant to, “I don’t care.”
She laughed. “You always had a crush on that boy.” Then her smile faded. “People like us don’t mix with people like them. You can chase dreams all you want, until that dream becomes a nightmare.”
“You’re right.” I forced a smile. “Dreams are just illusions we can’t afford, right?”
“I knew you were bright,” she mumbled, drawing in another drag. “Do the dishes.”
She changed the subject and turned on the TV. The news warned of an approaching storm.
“That’s what you’re good for,” she said quietly. “Dishes.”
If my heart couldn’t be torn apart any more, this was the moment it reached its breaking point.
And all those scars I had spent years trying to bandage—not a single one came from my enemies, but from my own family.
From the people who said they loved me the most, yet wanted nothing more than to tear me apart.
And I was the one handing them the knife, bleeding while they stabbed me with a smile.
1. Good morning
2. One moment, please.
3. Motherfucker