Chapter 18
Olivia
Now
I’ve mastered the look of unaffectedness, needing a thick skin after cooking for different palates over the years, but I had to reel it in when Carmello looked at me as we sat on the sidewalk last night.
All serious with those dark eyes. The veins in his neck contracting while he spoke.
The tattoos at either side that I wanted to trace with my tongue.
Chemistry was never our problem, Jones.
I almost told him how dizzy I was with the desire for him to keep looking at me like that, to say my name over and over, to trail his fingers along my collarbone.
After he dropped me off and I got in bed, I was pulsing between my legs, sure that I’d see some nasty things when I fell asleep.
But the dream was soft instead. We were teenagers again, and I was looking up at him wondering how dangerous it would be for my heart if I fell in love knowing I’d eventually have to leave.
Now I’m realizing I was scared for myself, but I wasn’t scared enough for Carmello back then.
As a result, he built walls to protect himself from me, and I don’t blame him, but I have a feeling his walls aren’t strong enough.
That if I press a little, we’ll break the barrier and fall right into each other.
I believe in fate, but I also believe in choice.
Carmello made his. I not only want to respect it, but I want to consider both of our hearts this time.
And as much as I want him, there’s another part of me that yearns to get to know him again in a different way.
To rekindle a friendship I made a mess of.
If I let go of fantasies about a romantic future with him, being friends might just be possible.
I kick off the covers and grab my phone from the nightstand to send a text. My client reads it and replies with hearts and: Weeks earlier than I expected you to answer and thank goodness because I was holding my breath hoping you’d say yes.
Then I write an email to Celia that maybe she’ll see in the afterlife:
Dearest Celia,
I asked for a sign, and I think I got one.
Carmello wants me to help make some changes to the restaurant.
I’m honored you still felt comfortable enough to talk things through with me, and that you thought to give me your shares.
Whether that was for bucket list trickery, your last big laugh, or because you thought Carmello and I needed this, I’m happy you loved me.
I love you too. Always. And I think Carmello and I might have a shot at being long-distance friends after this.
I promise to be there for him whenever he needs it—just like you were there for me.
But I’ve accepted a job that’ll take me out of the States for quite some time.
I’m going to Tokyo. Remember when we said we wished we could see it together?
Promise to write to you plenty while I’m there.
<3 Olive
PS: I have an idea I’m not sure your son will like very much. I’m pretty persuasive though, and I think I’ll be successful convincing him with the argument that my idea started with you.
My heart feels tender after I send it, but I’m relieved to have certainty about what to focus on while I’m here.
And that won’t be the urge to lick Carmello’s jawline while he concentrates on whatever he’s cooking.
It certainly won’t be the way his smile makes my stomach flutter.
Or how he sucked his bottom lip and looked at me under the streetlights last night.
I throw myself back onto the pillows with a sigh and run my hand over my T-shirt.
My nipples are hard underneath. I pinch one between my thumb and index, roll it around and…
Feel a sudden twinge in my stomach. The first sharp sign of a cramp, and maybe one from the universe telling me to stop thirsting for this man.
My endo always acts up when I’m not watching what I eat, and I’ve definitely been overdoing it.
As nice as it’s been to be back in Rhode Island, it’s hard to avoid cravings here.
The small state offers more culturally diverse options for food in a one-mile radius than anywhere I’ve traveled to.
I had Colombian cuisine from La Casona Restaurant the other day, feasting on fish and fried yucca.
That same afternoon I ate a zeppole from D.
Palmieri’s Bakery. I’ve been tasting all the dishes I’ve missed at Celia’s.
Then there was the perfect meld of Mexican food flavors from La Fogata truck and those fried donuts.
I could’ve skipped that pepperoni and cheese Hot Pocket yesterday.
I feel myself sulking. Sometimes a girl just wants to indulge and throw back margaritas with her friend on a night out like she used to. But I guess it’s back to being more careful.
I make a wish that the spasms will stop but I have a feeling it’ll be one of those days.
***
When my symptoms start to flare, sometimes walking can help.
It takes an hour to get to Celia’s on foot.
I concentrate on the warmth on my face from the sun beaming instead of the pain in my pelvis.
As a further distraction, Denise sends me a sneaky picture from what looks like a café line.
It’s of my ex-husband—with his hand in the back pocket of someone else’s jeans.
She gives me about twenty seconds to digest what I’m seeing before she calls.
“Girl. Did you fucking see it?”
“You’re short of breath,” I say.
“Because I just ran out of that coffee shop,” says Denise. “After your boy turned around and decided to make awkward small talk with me. Why are you short of breath?”
“I’m walking to work. Atwells Ave is kicking my ass. And he is not my boy anymore.”
“You okay?” Denise asks. When I was first diagnosed with endometriosis through a discovery surgery years ago, we were new friends, but she still came to sit with me in the hospital. We made jokes about the food there, and she helped me get out of bed to pee.
“I’m fine. Just trying to avoid a bad flare,” I say.
“Will telling you about Michael trigger some shit I shouldn’t be triggering?” she asks.
I laugh a little. “Nothing you say about Michael could affect me that way.”
“Even if I said he’s having a baby?”
“Well, shit,” I say, stopping short. “Wait. He told you this?”
“He didn’t have to say a damn thing. His girl couldn’t hide it if she wanted to,” Denise says. “And she didn’t. When he came to talk to me, she rubbed her big ole belly and said she’s in her third trimester.”
I try to catch my breath. “Oh. Oh wow. I don’t even…Third trimester?”
“Yup. I did those same calculations in my head. Here you were waiting till the ink was dry on the divorce papers before you let anyone lay the pipe down and this man was already starting a family?” Denise kisses her teeth and takes a bite of whatever she ordered.
She chews while she speaks. “At least he had the decency to look ashamed when I gave him a death stare.”
I recenter myself. The sun on my face. The breeze at the back of my neck.
Slow breathing. I wasn’t in love with him.
He has his own life to live. I have to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
Only two blocks before I reach Celia’s Place.
I start walking again. “He has nothing to be ashamed of. He wanted kids. Now he’ll have them. ”
“And I hope the first one is ugly,” Denise says.
I snort. “Wishing bad on a baby, Dee? Foul even for you.”
“I’m just cranky this morning,” she says. “Men suck.”
“Forget Michael. Tell me what’s up with you,” I say, trying to forget too.
“My husband said I gotta pump my own gas this morning, can you believe his ass?”
“I love you,” I say. “And I love that you’ve got one of the good ones.”
“He’s annoying sometimes, but I got lucky,” she says. “So will you.”
“I hope so,” I say right before I see Steven throwing trash in the dumpster outside of Celia’s. “I have to go, Dee. Talk to you soon.”
“Wait. Where exactly are you working right now? I thought you had some time off?”
“I thought I did too,” I say.
“You’re being cryptic,” she says. Then gasps. “Atwells Ave. Isn’t that in Providence?”
“The small city in Rhode Island that I said I’d never return to?” I say. “Yeah, possibly.”
“Because you want the restaurant or because you want Carmello?”
I knew I shouldn’t have told her why Carmello called. “Neither,” I say.
“No wonder you couldn’t care less about Michael,” she accuses. “You’re scheming on how to get back with a different ex.”
“I am not scheming, Dee. I’ve officially let him go. But I’ll call you later. Okay?”
“Don’t forget the closure-sex. You need that, or the moving on isn’t cemented,” she says.
“I don’t believe that, and I won’t be spinning that block again,” I say. “So please don’t get your hopes up on hearing anything wild.”
Steven whips his head in my direction, and when I get close enough to pass him, he sings a song with the phrase “spinning the block.” Warmth cuts across my cheeks. I tell him to hush, and he shrugs before breaking down more cardboard boxes from this morning’s produce order.
By the time I pull open the door to Celia’s, my cramps have eased slightly, but I’m later than I intended to be.
There’s already a couple looking over the menu at a table up front and a little boy across the room.
It’d be fairly normal to assume he’s with the couple, that he’s their kid, but somehow I know who he belongs to the moment I see him.
The small boy fixes the chairs at one table and moves on to the next to adjust the vase there.
He leans down to smell the fresh flowers, turning just enough for me to see the same curve to his nose.
His hair has short ringlets at the nape of his neck. The shape of his face is…
He catches me staring and jumps back, knocking over the vase.
The water spills on the tabletop, and for a second neither of us moves.
But when he tears his eyes away to frown at the mess in front of him, my body goes on its own.
I grab napkins from the bar and now I’m right in front of him.
Trying to catch the water while it’s slipping off the sides of the table.
His chest rises. Falls. He doesn’t say a word.
“Hey, it’s okay,” I tell him. “It was an accident. I’m sorry I scared you.”
Standing this close, I’m haunted by that face. His skin isn’t as dark as his dad’s but he’s got the same yellow undertone. Long curly lashes. Eyes just like I’ve envisioned.
“Are you Teddy?” I ask.
The boy is silent for too many beats of my racing heart.
I wonder if I’m wrong. Then, he nods. And I knew, I knew, I knew.
But the confirmation hits differently. Carmello and I just spoke about him yesterday, but knowing he exists and seeing so with my own eyes alters my world for a second.
I want to tell him he doesn’t have to be afraid of me.
That I loved his father like I’ve never loved anyone else.
And since a part of him comes from Carmello, there’s warmth already in my chest for him too.
“I’m Olivia,” I say instead because that other thing is inappropriate as hell to say to a child, and a strange feeling—even for me. I pick up the vase. “Should I go get them more water?”
Teddy nods again, and while I do that at the sink behind the bar, he uses one of the napkins to pat the surface of the table so it’s fully dry.
When I place the vase back down, Teddy points to the flowers.
“You want me to smell them?” I ask. Another nod. “Okay,” I say, and lean in like he did earlier. When I pull back, the corners of his mouth lift, and God, does that smile span generations. I swallow, eyes stinging at the thought of Celia missing moments with her grandson.
She must have passed on her love of flowers because when Teddy speaks for the first time he says, “Hydrangeas.” He turns around, points to another table. “Carnations.” He shifts back to me, picks out a single flower with a long stem in the vase between us. “Gladiolus.”
His pronunciation is perfect, and I’m impressed. “Did your grandma…” I start to say, but then a throat clears from behind me. Teddy’s face lights up seeing his dad before I do.
There’s a look on Carmello’s face that I can’t discern when I turn around.
“Hi,” I breathe out, hoping I didn’t break a boundary talking to his son.
“Hi,” he says back, then glances around me. “Teddy, what did I tell you about staying with Steven? He told me he turned around to use the stove and you disappeared.”
Teddy frowns and says, “Sorry, Daddy. I just wanted to help.”
I can see the tension leave Carmello’s face. He sighs. “It’s okay, bud. Just next time, you’ve gotta be with someone out here. Okay? You scared me.” When Teddy agrees, Carmello nods toward the kitchen. “Steven’s making lumpia. You can go help him roll some if you want.”
“I do,” Teddy says, and his canines peek out when he gives a full-face grin.
He walks over and leans his forehead against Carmello’s stomach.
Mine squeezes for a good reason watching them interact.
I feel like this simple show of comfort might be able to tell me more about their relationship in twenty seconds than twenty minutes of explaining could do.
When Teddy puts his small body behind pulling the kitchen door open, I can’t help but smile. He’s so cute. “Go wash your hands first, little gremlin,” we hear Steven call out.
And then I’m left alone with Carmello.