Sixteen
The house was dark. Pulling into the driveway, I wondered if Alex had fallen asleep.
I made a pit stop at the grocery store to buy a bouquet of flowers.
The deep red, orange, and yellow hues reminded me of her fiery nature.
The cashier, an older lady who wore several plastic bangles, had said that she wished her brute of a husband would buy her flowers.
After checking out, I pulled an orange dahlia from the bunch and handed it to her.
She told me, “Whoever she is, she’s a lucky woman. ”
When she first moved in, I made Alex promise to always keep the front door locked, even during the day. Instead of a locked door, I found that it was ajar, and I lost ten years of my life imagining the worst-case scenario.
“Alex!” I screamed, running inside.
“Yes?”
“Where are you?”
“Over here.”
“Jesus.”
I found her in the living room. She was still wearing her crocheted hat, and nothing else. My mind was racing. I was torn between wanting to ravage her, run like a madman to close the front curtains, interrogate her, and then I noticed an elaborate full-course dinner on the table.
“Are those for me?” She was stretched out on the couch with her arm draped over it reminding me of artwork displayed in a museum. “They’re beautiful.”
“Yes,” I said, placing them on the coffee table. “Why was the door open, baby?” I asked, rushing to draw the curtains.
“Shit,” she said, sitting up. “I went to take out the trash. When I came back, I kicked it closed, but I guess it stayed open.”
“And the curtains? Have you been walking around naked?”
She covered herself with a couch cushion which did nothing to extinguish my arousal. “Maybe. But that’s why the lights are off. Is that all you have to say?”
Never in my life have I met a woman who could be both sensual, and child-like at the same time. She was pouting, and for good reason. I was firing questions at her, and worried about the peeping Toms of the world instead of expressing my gratitude and kissing the hell out of her.
“No,” I said, sitting next to her, and handing her the bouquet. “Of course not. You... you leave me speechless.”
Taking in the flowers’ scent, she said, “That’s more like it. Thank you for these.”
“You did all this while I was gone?” The food looked incredible.
The table was set with our good crystal, and my grandmother’s dishes that I never used.
Touched, I placed my hand on the nape of her neck, pulled her close, and kissed her deeply.
“I love you so much, I can’t even describe it in words. ”
“Ditto.”
“You scared me when I saw that the door was open and the lights were off. I was expecting a bloody murder scene.”
“I’m sorry. I wanted to surprise you. It was getting close to dinner time and I was rushing, and...”
“Don’t be sorry. I love it. All of it.”
“I’m so happy. I didn’t think I could pull it off!”
“And no fire to report.”
“Not a big one, at least.”
“Alex...”
“I’m kidding! You should see your face right now,” she said through a mischievous grin. “There’s an open bottle of red on the table. I’ll be right back. It seems a little uncivilized to eat naked. You can watch me while I walk away.”
I did and relished every second. A Whitney Houston album was paused on the turntable.
I flipped it to the other side, lit two candles, and surveyed the feast that Alex had prepared.
I gained weight simply looking at it. She had made roast pork, mashed potatoes, two sides of vegetables, a European salad, and what looked like homemade bread.
I was not about to disappoint her. The diet could wait.
“Remember this?” she asked, twirling like a ballerina.
“How could I forget? The thrift store made fifteen bucks off you that day. You look gorgeous,” I said, handing her a glass of wine.
“Thank you, kind sir. So? What did Cable want?”
“Let’s not talk about him,” I said, indulging in the wine.
“But I want to know! We’re supposed to share everything, Pip. Not just our spit.”
“Our spit? Are you sure you write romance?”
She punched me in the arm. “Tell me.”
“I fight again in two weeks. It’s an easy win.”
“Well, that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Except that I have to work my ass off in the gym. I’ll be away quite a bit.”
“Oh.” Alex walked over to where she kept her cigarettes. She pulled one from the pack and held it unlit. It was another nervous habit of hers.
“The winner gets a thousand bucks.”
“Sounds like a good payday.”
“What’s wrong?” I walked over to where she was standing and gently took the smoke from her hand.
“Nothing. I’m glad. You can’t stop boxing because of me. I can finish the book in no time if you’re not around to distract me. It’s great news.”
“Then why are there tears in your eyes?” I asked, wrapping a piece of her hair around her ear.
“Fuck,” she said, swiping at her eyes. “I’m such a mess!”
“Alex, talk to me.”
“No.”
“What? I thought we were supposed to share everything.”
“No, I mean... this is our night. I’m fine. I promise. We should eat before everything gets cold.”
“Are you positive?”
“Cross my heart, and hope to die,” she said, placing her hand over her breast.
Alex walked over to her side of the dining room table and stood next to her chair. I pulled it out for her and smiled internally. I sulked the first time she sat down on her own. Pulling her chair out for her was our thing, and it pleased me to feel like a gentleman in a world full of lotharios.
“This looks amazing, baby.”
“Hold that thought until you taste it!”
“You’re too hard on yourself. Did you make the bread?”
“I wish. I ran out of time.”
We passed around the platters until our plates were full. I was on cloud nine, despite the calories and fat that I shouldn’t be consuming. I thought I could hear the devil on my shoulder whisper Cable’s name.
“Do you like roasted peppers?”
“I love them.”
“Me too. I used to grill them over charcoal. Can we get a barbecue?”
“We can’t use the gas one?”
“No. It has to be charcoal. These are oven roasted, but there’s way more flavor using charcoal.”
“You’re sexy when you talk about food this way.”
“I’m a woman of many talents,” she said. “Gravy?”
“Yes, please.” In passing me the gravy boat, it slipped from her hand, fell on the table and splattered everywhere. I wasted no time blaming myself. “Dammit! I’m so sorry. I should have grabbed it with both hands.”
“But it was my fault,” she said, standing.
“No, it was mine. Don’t get up. I’ll get paper towels.”
Alex helped me clean the mess and then I threw away the paper towels, along with the unlit cigarette that I had left on the counter.
“I hope you like pork without gravy.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I’ve never known anyone who paired gravy with pork. “Of course,” I said, sitting down, and digging in. “Gravy’s not really an Italian thing. I only have it if it comes with my dinner at a restaurant.”
“What about turkey? What do you use at Thanksgiving?”
“Thanksgiving isn’t an Italian thing either,” I said, reminiscing.
“When I was in grade 5, I came home from school and told ma she needed to make turkey. Our teacher wanted us to write an essay about our Thanksgiving traditions and report back after the holiday, and I wanted to fit in and not be the odd kid out.”
“Did Mama Mia make it?”
“Mama Mia? Is that what you call her?”
“Yes. I hope you don’t mind. I wanted to name her something special.”
If I had a ring, I’d propose on the spot. “I love it. And she did make it. Right after she called every person she’s ever known to ask if they knew anything about the Bird Holiday.”
“That’s hilarious... and adorable. I love your mother.”
“I’m pretty sure that she loves you too.” There were enough mashed potatoes on my fork to feed both of us. They were creamy, and smooth, and I could feel them coat my insides.
“Really? How do you know that?”
“She calls you Alessandra.”
“But that’s my name! Well, the Italian version.”
Whenever rumors spread like wildfire within our circle, it was usually about the younger generation getting into trouble.
Whether the gossip was about a Gino who joined a gang, or about a Gina who had gotten pregnant, it didn’t matter if ma liked the kid.
If she heard bad news about them, they were stripped of their name and referred to as “The Bad One”, or “Black Sheep”, or the dreaded “Schifoso. Disgusting One”.
Alex was still Alex, despite ma believing we were living in sin.
“Exactly.”
“I’m confused. But I trust you. Let’s make a toast,” Alex said raising her glass.
“What should we toast to?”
“To you kicking that guy’s ass.”
“I’ll drink to that,” I said. “You’ll come to the fight?”
“I’m not missing another one. Now stop leaving me in suspense! How’s it taste?”
I ate the fatty piece of juicy meat that was resting on my fork and made the face. “The face” is what Alex called it the first time she witnessed it. Whenever I make the face, it means I just had a culinary orgasm.
“Succulent.”
“Yeah?”
Wordlessly, I traced the air around my face, as if to ask, “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Thank Goodness.”
“You did great, baby.” She was drinking faster than me and barely eating. I picked up the wine bottle on the table, briefly read the label, and refilled her glass. “This is a good wine.”
“I was saving it for a special occasion.”
“Then why didn’t we save it?”
“Because this is a special occasion.”
I know her birthday isn’t until December. I racked my brain trying to think of the reason why this day was special, but there was nothing in my mental filing cabinet.
“I’m sorry. I think I forgot what day this is.”
“No, you didn’t. Put down your fork.” Alex held my hand, and said, “It’s not about marking the day. It’s a special occasion because every day is special with you. You held me up when I was ready to fall. You make me feel safe. You make me feel whole, and you completely changed my life. You also...”
“What, baby?”
“You made me realize that I can still love someone with all my heart. Just because a heart is broken, doesn’t mean it’s dead.”
When I was old enough to have an adult conversation with ma, I asked her if she ever thought about getting married again.
Her answer surprised me. She had said that maybe she would, if the right man came along.
Then she told me a story about pop, and the day he lost his wedding ring.
He had been afraid to tell my mother, thinking she’d be angry, but she simply told him, “Why would I be mad? Does it mean we’re no longer married?
” Ma said she’d always be my father’s wife, and as for pop, he’s an angel, and angels don’t get jealous.
Ma never did meet the right man, but with Alex sitting in front of me, looking ethereal, I struggled not to cry. She chose me.
“I love everything about you,” I said, brushing my thumb across her lips, “including your beautiful, smart mouth.” I winked at her so that she knew I was teasing.
“Sometimes, you scare the shit out of me, like tonight. But that’s what gives me a reason to get out of bed in the morning.
You’re spunky, and spontaneous, and I can’t imagine my life without you.
I never want to imagine my life without you. ”
“When did you fall in love with me?”
“The second I first laid eyes on you.”
“Come on. Be serious.”
“I am being serious. You’re a force of nature, Alex. Love has eluded me all my life. Even my mother was starting to worry about me. But now I know that I wasn’t meant to fall in love before now. It was only ever supposed to be you, and every day, I fall deeper in love with you.”
“How deep can you go?”
“Pretty deep, apparently.”
There was nothing reflected in her eyes except sheer love, and a raw hunger. Alex drained her glass and scraped her chair across the floor. She extended her hand. I took it and felt her warmth. “We’ll heat up dinner later,” she said, leading me to the bedroom. “I need you. Now.”
The morning sun shone through the kitchen window.
I made coffee and said a prayer, thanking God for bringing her to me.
We had left the dishes in the sink, unconcerned with how the house looked, but I made sure to clean up so that Alex didn’t have to.
By the end of the night, we had opened three bottles of wine.
I took them to the garage where I keep the empties and next to two large, black garbage bags, I found a receipt on the ground from Giuseppe’s Deli & Catering.
Instead of being upset that she lied and pretended to cook for me, I folded that receipt to put in my wallet and vowed that I would never in my life tell her that I found it.
I would take the secret to my grave. It represented the lengths she would go to just to please me, and I couldn’t think of a single more romantic gesture.