Chapter 47 #2
“I’d love to,” he says modestly. “My husband is here with me tonight, too. Would you mind if both of us came along?”
Mom laughs uproariously. “The more the merrier! Bring him along, too. His name is Marcello, right? I remember seeing him on the show.”
“Right, Marcello,” Giorgio says. “We will catch up to your group in a few minutes.” Then he turns to Max. “Just text me, Max, where you are in five minutes and we’ll meet you there.”
Max's fingers intertwine with mine as he guides us through the nighttime zoo. Mom's eyes light up at the gorilla exhibit despite the massive creatures being curled up in slumber. Later, we pause at the koalas, their bodies somehow defying gravity as they cling to branches in deep sleep.
"There's something magical about the zoo after dark," Mom whispers, her face illuminated by the soft exhibit lighting. "Even with half the animals sleeping.”
"But just think,” I point out, "all your favorites are putting on a show—the hippos are splashing in their pool, the sea lions darting through water, the tigers are prowling. Even the giraffes are stretching their necks beneath the stars."
We wander over to the hippos. Beneath the water's surface, their massive bodies perform an unexpected dance of weightlessness.
I think of Fantasia—Walt Disney knew what he was doing when he put tutus on these creatures and imagined them as graceful ballerinas.
Max and I settle onto a bench, mesmerized.
Time slips away as Rosie and her calf Mara twirl and glide in their watery stage, defying every expectation their bulky frames suggest.
Mom's eyes never leave the hippos. "Everyone thinks lions or crocodiles are Africa's deadliest," she murmurs, "but it's these guys.
Something about those mothers—they'd do anything for their babies.
And the bulls?" She clicks her tongue. "Pure territorial rage.
That's what makes them so dangerous. One second they're floating there like peaceful river potatoes, the next—" She snaps her fingers.
"They're charging at sixty miles an hour with jaws that can snap a canoe in half. "
I nod. "It's strange, isn't it? They look so adorable from a distance—all fuzzy and innocent.
But up close..." I trail off, thinking of Max. He’s just the opposite from the hippos who look cute and cuddly but are actually aggressive killers.
When we first met, his eyes were winter, his words ice.
The whispers around the office painted him as the executive who reduced Harvard MBAs to stammering apologies.
Yet somehow, beneath that frost-bitten exterior beats a heart I never expected to find.
He arranged all this for my mother—a woman whose name he's barely had time to learn.
And I'd bet my career he pulled strings for her Keytruda treatments when insurance denied her only real chance against the cancer.
And those nights when his hands trace my body with such tenderness that I forget to breathe… .there are no words.
At the lion exhibit, we find the pride scattered across the enclosure.
The male perches in a tree, tail flicking back and forth, his amber eyes tracking our movements.
Females groom their cubs while others bound through the night air, tumbling over one another.
"This is rare," Max whispers, his breath warm against my ear.
"Lions aren't strictly day or night creatures—they adjust their schedules based on their surroundings. We got lucky tonight."
I nod and smile. “It’s like they’re performing just for us.”
For another two hours, we wander the zoo, lingering at exhibits where the animals haven't surrendered to nighttime lethargy.
At the marine mammal pool, Rocky and Buddy, the two male sea lions, bark and splash at each other, their voices echoing across the concrete.
Something about them tugs at me—these bachelors confined together when in the wild they'd be competing for females.
Buddy, with his clouded eyes, at least has a reason to be here.
Rocky's story remains a mystery. They glide through the water alongside several Harbor seals, who watch their antics with what looks like dignified indifference, their whiskers twitching.
Mom squints at her phone. "Says here Rocky was found with a bullet lodged in his skull.
Only has vision in one eye now." She taps the screen, scrolling further.
"Poachers, probably." She'd been wondering the same thing I was—why he wasn't swimming free somewhere.
She looks up at the solitary figure gliding through the water.
"Shame they don't have any lady sea lions.
These bachelors could use some company."
She turns around to find Giorgio and Marcello beside her, their eyes also fixed on the sea lions.
Giorgio drapes his arm across Marcello's shoulders with a playful smile.
"Maybe those two bachelors out there have the right idea—no ladies, no problems." A chuckle escapes him as he gives Marcello a gentle elbow to the ribs.
Marcello returns the gesture, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
Our group moves through the nocturnal animal exhibits, pausing at each enclosure.
I'm surprised to find giraffes among them.
"They're not actually nocturnal," Max whispers, his breath warm against my ear.
"They just don't need much sleep—always watching for predators.
" I glance up at their towering forms, some dozing on their feet while others stretch their long necks toward leafy branches.
"What could possibly hunt something that tall?
" I whisper back. Max's eyes gleam in the dim lighting. "Lions. They hunt in prides."
We move on to where leopards pace behind glass, their spotted coats gleaming under moonlight.
In a different enclosure, maned wolves trot with their distinctive fox-on-stilts gait, while nearby, an aardvark burrows its snout into artificial soil.
An ocelot watches us with jewel-like eyes, and at the Australian exhibit, a kangaroo joey peeks from its mother's pouch, then ducks back into safety.