Chapter One #2
Even though the conversation had moved on from her and Rosa flying off to God-knew-where, that didn’t mean Mari had stopped thinking about it. Paulo had entered her thoughts several times throughout the evening, which somewhat surprised her.
Of late, when she was alone with her thoughts, she wondered how her life would be different if Paulo was still with her.
The two extra bedrooms in her apartment had been vacant for a few years now. Almost all of her children’s things had been removed, leaving only empty beds and echoes of memories.
Luca and his family had defaulted to this building as their residence. But did they stay there because of her? Someday they might want a home with a yard. A place for a dog that Franny had been begging for since she saw her first puppy. And shouldn’t she have that? Shouldn’t Luca have the choice?
Chloe was right. The restaurant did run without her. At least the cooking portion. Luca managed the kitchen. Took many of the shifts. Mari only filled in on the occasion of a sick employee or someone wanting time off. Ironically, something Mari hadn’t done in over ten years.
And Salena ran the rest of the staff. Though that was limited. Newly married with her own business building, it was only a matter of time before Salena moved on.
Piece by piece, Mari dusted her hands of the daily responsibility of the restaurant. Her father had been younger than her when he passed the establishment over to her and Paulo to return to Italy. They’d been so young, so full of energy to take on the restaurant and make it theirs.
Mari wondered, if her husband was still alive, would they have done the same to Luca? Would they be staring down at retirement in ten years and walk away then?
But Paulo wasn’t there.
And what would Mari do if not for her business keeping her busy?
As these random thoughts and memories swam in her head, Mari changed into her pajamas and brushed her teeth.
On her way to bed, she grabbed a photo album and snuggled with the covers up to her waist before she began flipping through the familiar images.
She ran a finger over a high school image of her. Two years before she met Paulo.
The faded color photograph had been taken by the San Diego Harbor. The city skyline was much less developed and barely recognizable from what stood there now.
This, Mari mused, was why she felt so old.
So much had changed in Little Italy in the life she’d lived there. Which was all of it.
Her parents had opened the restaurant back when Little Italy was twice the size it was today.
According to her father, what was once a fishermen’s village with Italian roots thrived when he’d first come to America to start a new life. Then, around the time of Mari’s birth, San Diego expanded, and construction of the 5 freeway split Little Italy in half.
The photograph she was looking at had been taken after many people in the community had sold and fled to the suburbs. Those that were left struggled.
Thankfully, Mari’s parents had built their living quarters on top of the restaurant, and they stuck it out.
Mari flipped the page of the photo album, knowing what came next.
“Look how young I was.” Just a baby.
She imagined Franny walking down the aisle in nine short years and shook her head. No wonder her parents had put up such a fight when she and Paulo pleaded their undying love.
But things had worked out for them when so many young married couples didn’t stand the test of time.
Rosa was a prime example of that.
Her husband felt forced into their marriage and regretted it from the beginning. Eventually, he’d gone on a “business trip” to Italy and never came home.
It had only been a year since Rosa’s divorce had been finalized, even though she’d been alone for some time now.
And Rosa was itchy.
Something had taken hold of her between Chloe and Dante’s marriage and Rosa’s divorce.
The cozy conversations about easing into the next thirty years of their lives with grandchildren and family dinners didn’t seem to be enough for her.
Probably because Rosa wasn’t blessed with grandbabies . . . yet.
The evening conversation about age and next chapters might have been recently brought up by her family, but Mari had been listening to Rosa carry on for months.
Damn if Rosa hadn’t planted a tiny seed.
One that had Mari pulling out old photographs and trying to remember what life was like before she was left on her own with her children.
Before Paulo got sick.
“You’re too young to live your life alone, bella.” Paulo’s hand rested on Mari’s cheek just days before his last hospitalization.
They both knew his time was limited.
He’d lived longer than predicted, desperate to see that his family was going to be okay once he was gone.
“I have our children. I will never be alone,” Mari told him softly.
“And they will have families of their own. Franny will have brothers and sisters . . . cousins, with our children tucking them in at night. But who will tuck you in, cara?”
Paulo’s frail hand looked thirty years older than it was with his body decaying from the inside. He gripped her hand and placed his dry lips to her fingertips. “Promise me.”
“Promise you what?”
“That you’ll look for love again.”
The thought of another man gutted her. “You can’t ask that of me.”
“I can and I am. You’re too young and too full of life. This cancer has robbed us of laughter for so long. I want to leave knowing you’ll dance again.”
She placed a finger over his lips. Telling him she would look again someday was a lie. Denying his last request was cruel.
Mari gave him the only thing she could.
“Maybe one day. Many years from now.”
That seemed to sate the tension behind his eyes and allowed his breathing to slow.
Mari remembered the bone-tired agony of those days.
She’d spent every moment possible beside him. Forcing herself to stay up and capture every second she could when he was awake.
Her forty-fifth birthday had come, and within three days, Paulo was gone.
With him went her promise of “Maybe one day.”
Mari pressed her lips to her fingers and touched the photograph from their wedding day before closing the book and setting it aside.
She turned the light off and rolled to her side.
Her hand reached for the pillow on the other side of the bed. She tried to remember the way he looked lying beside her. Or the sound of his soft snores, or loud ones on days he worked too hard.
His touch . . . it was almost impossible to remember the way he held her. The feeling of safety was all she recalled. And when his body weakened, that feeling was gone and replaced with dread.
As much as Mari had tried to toss aside everything negative about those days, the dread of being left without her husband had lingered like nothing before or since.
Not when her parents had returned to Italy.
Not when her mother had died soon after.
Not when Luca’s first marriage had fallen apart.
The uncontrollable fear of living her life without Paulo was only tolerable with her children at her side.
She’d kept it together for them.
And wept when she was alone.
Those tears were gone now.
She didn’t love Paulo any less.
Mari simply didn’t let grief take hold any longer.