Chapter Twenty-Four #3
“Dad.” Dr. Vasquez holds up a pair of surgical scissors. “Would you like to cut the cord?”
“Of course.” Marcello steps forward.
As he cuts the cord, his hands are steady, which doesn’t really surprise me.
I feel like Marcello has mastered the art of not panicking.
The most rattled he looked was in the car when I was in pain with contractions.
I think he felt helpless. That’s probably the worst feeling in the world for a control freak like Marcello.
Before I know it, they’re lifting the baby onto my chest. The child is warm, wet, and intimidatingly small. I put my hands around this tiny, screaming, red-faced person and my mind goes completely blank. I can’t think. I can’t speak. I can only hold on and stare.
“Congratulations,” Dr. Vasquez says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “You have a son.”
I have a son.
He’s screaming. His face is scrunched and furious and his fists are balled tight.
His skin is blotchy pink and there’s dark hair on his head.
When I press him against my chest his screaming quiets.
He lies there breathing, fingers splayed against my skin.
My heart aches with a love I’ve never felt before.
It’s completely different from any love I feel for any other being.
I look up at Marcello. He’s standing beside the bed with tears on his face. For once, he’s not fighting them. Not hiding them. Just standing there with his hand on my shoulder, looking at the baby on my chest.
I whisper, “Come closer and meet your son.”
He steps forward, leaning down, and his breath catches at the back of his throat. He reaches out with his tattooed hand and he caresses the baby’s back. The baby turns his head toward Marcello’s warmth and makes a screeching sound.
“He has your hair,” I say, smoothing my hand over the baby’s soft, dark hair.
Marcello gives a rough laugh. “He has your lungs.”
Maureen appears beside us with a warm blanket. She tucks it around the baby with practiced hands and checks my monitor and writes something on her chart. Before she leaves she pauses and looks at the three of us, and her face softens.
“This is the best part of the job,” she says. “Seeing the parents with their baby once the hard part is behind them.”
Marcello frowns. “I doubt that was the hard part. Raising a whole human seems pretty daunting.”
Maureen smirks. “Well, that was the easy part for you, for sure. Poor Elio did all the work.”
“Hey, Marcello was with me every step of the way.” I grab his hand.
He gives a weak smile. “I appreciate you having my back, Tesoro, but you’re the one who pushed a human out of your body. I just fed you ice chips and gave motivational speeches.”
Maureen chuckles as she walks away. “I’ll send in the lactation nurse in a bit. That’s another treat for you, Elio.”
I wince and call after her, “I wouldn’t mind sharing some of the fun.”
“I’d breastfeed the kid if I could.” Marcello grimaces, rubbing his pecs.
The room empties slowly of medical personnel and equipment.
Dr. Vasquez checks me one last time and then leaves.
Someone dims the overhead light and I feel myself relaxing.
Marcello leans down and tenderly kisses me and then the baby.
He smiles at the sleeping infant, and whispers something in Italian.
“What did you say?” I murmur.
He looks at me and his eyes are red-rimmed.
I can read all the emotions on his face and it makes a lump form in my throat.
Marcello often tries to hide his feelings.
I know it’s because of who he is and how he was raised.
He thinks emotions make him appear weak.
I think he’s wrong. There’s nothing more attractive, or more powerful, than a man who can be brought to his knees by love.
“I said ‘welcome to the family.’” He sniffs and wipes at his eyes. “He’s the newest Foschini. One day he’ll replace me as head of the family.”
“That’s a scary thought.”
“That’s because you worry too much.” He touches my cheek. “My grandmother always used to say, ‘Perché preoccuparsi due volte?’ It means why worry twice? If something bad is coming for you, you’ll deal with it then.”
“In other words, don’t ruin today worrying about tomorrow?”
“Exactly.” He nods approvingly.
I sigh. “I’d love to learn to do that.”
He considers me. “Think about this, Elio, what did all your worrying about Fabio ever accomplish? He still got sick. You still had to do what you had to do to get him his operation.” He smirks. “Which luckily brought you to me; the best thing that ever happened to you.”
I fake scowl. “You’re an egomaniac.”
“Yes, but I’m also right. All the worrying did nothing. When trouble came, you dealt with it. That’s all we can do. That trouble brought you to Kessler, which brought you to me.”
“Guai buoni,” I say softly. Which means good trouble.
“Your Italian is improving.” He looks pleased. “And yes, you are correct. I’m good trouble.”
“No matter what kind of trouble you are, you’re the perfect kind of trouble for me.” I reach up and pull him down for a tender kiss.