Making love to both of them.
One lover nursing his infant, another lover carrying his unborn child.
My eyes well with tears and I burst out the front door and march to the car with urgency.
Antonio’s face falls when he sees me. “Are you alright, Miss Ferrara?”
“I’m fine.” I open the back door before he gets the chance to. “I would like to go home, please,” I say as I get into the back seat, he stares down at me. “Now,” I demand.
“Yes, of course.” He closes the door and gets into the driver’s seat, I glance up at the house as we pull away. Everything appears so sweet, filled with love and memories and photos.
I never really knew my father at all, but I do know one thing.
He was selfish.
Giuliano
The phone rings and I answer it. “Giuliano,” my mother’s soft voice says.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Honey, can you come over and fix the tap.”
I look over to the end of my bed and the naked woman lying there. “I can’t, I’m busy,” I reply.
“What am I going to do about the leaky tap?” Mom asks.
The girl spreads her legs for me and I tear my shirt over my shoulder as urgency to get off the phone fills me. “Call the plumber, Mom. I know nothing about pipes,” I snap, frustrated.
“Oh…” she whispers, disappointed.
Damn it, why does she always call at the most inconvenient time? “I’ve got to go,” I say.
“I love you, Giuliano” she says.
I hang up in a rush and as if hovering up above, I watch myself kiss the girl and then, in the background, I can hear my mother crying.
She’s heartbroken from a selfish son who never had time for her.
Suddenly I’m standing at my mother’s kitchen window, I can see her, she’s sitting on her couch, still crying.
Oh no.
“I’m here, Mom,” I call.
She cries and cries.
I try to open the door but it’s locked.
She’s still crying. “I’m here, Mom,” I call louder, but she can’t hear me.
I feel panic rise within me.
“I’m here, Mom,” I call as I bang hard on the window. “I’ll fix the tap, I’ll do it now. I promise.”
She stands and then holds her head as if in pain.
“I’m here,” I cry.
She holds her temples and her face contorts.
No.
I bang hard on the window as I try to get to her.
She collapses.
“Mom,” I cry, I bang hard on the window, but she can’t hear me.
It’s like I’m hovering and watching from above.
“Angelina,” I hear one of her guards cry, two of them run in the front door and they begin working on her, someone else calls an ambulance.
I need to get to her, quick, hurry.
I run around to the front of her house. I try to open the doorknob.
Locked.
I can’t get in, I begin to kick the front door in as I yell for them to let me to her.
“Stay with us, Angelina,” her guard yells as they begin to perform CPR.
I’m banging on the glass, yelling, crying. Desperate to get to my dying mother.
Panic fills my every cell.
“Mom,” I cry. “Don’t go, I’m here. I’ll fix the pipes, I’ll visit more, I promise.”
I jump awake with a start; my heart is beating fast and hard and I pant as I try to control my breathing.
I look around my bedroom, it’s dark and still.
Normal.
As if my whole world hasn’t just ended.
I stare at the ceiling, as if I don’t have enough to deal with without having fucking nightmares.
There are a lot of feelings rushing through me, sadness, despair, hopelessness…but the overwhelming one is guilt.
I never truly forgave my mother for lying to me as I grew up. For the last few years, I avoided seeing her, visiting only occasionally.
And now that I’ve finally worked it out, it’s too late.
She’s gone.
I drag myself out of bed and go to the bathroom, I get a glass of water from the kitchen and drink it at the sink. My skin is wet with perspiration, I’ve never felt so unhinged. I’m like a time bomb waiting to explode.
Alone.
I stare into space as I imagine what I would say to my father if I saw him now. If I could just have the chance…, what would I say? I see his face and without a doubt, I know what I would do.
I’d kill him.
Without a single regret, I would kill him. I’ve never hated someone so much in my entire life.
My mother was too good for him…too good for me.
I get a lump in my throat, if only I could turn back time.
I’m sorry, Mom, I failed you.
*
It’s Wednesday and I pull my car to park curbside, I turn off the ignition as the traffic whirls by. I look across the road at the apartment block and up to the top floor, her apartment.
The afternoon sun shines through my windscreen and I don’t know why I’m here, or what I’m going to say, but I need to see her.
Francesca.
The woman who so kindly offered support and friendship to me at the funeral.
I can’t stop thinking about her.
And I know that if I were a better man I would, but it’s already established that I’m not.
Tap, tap, sounds on the window and I glance up, startled. “Everything okay, boss?” Antonio asks.
“Yes.” I run my hand through my hair in frustration. Fuck off and mind your own business. “Is she home?”
“Who?” Antonio’s face falls. “Francesca?”
“Who else would I be talking about?” I snap.
“She’s about to go out.” He looks across the street at the apartments. “We’re waiting for her to come down now.”
“Where is she going?” I ask.
“Shopping with her mother, I believe.”
“Right.” I roll my lips, annoyed.
Antonio looks at me for a beat longer than needed and I raise an eyebrow.
“Shall I get her?” he offers.
“No. Nothing important.”
The front doors of the building open and Francesca walks out, she’s wearing a tight, fitted, cream knitted dress and sky-high stilettos, her long dark hair is swept up into a high ponytail. I can see her big red lips and chiseled cheekbones from here, impeccable posture, innately feminine, Italian to the bone.
Perfect in every way.
“Will that be all, sir?” Antonio asks interrupting my thoughts.
“Yes, I’ll call her later,” I reply as my eyes stay glued to her.
“I’ve got to go.” Antonio runs across the street and opens the back door of her car.
She’s talking to the doorman, he and she laugh out loud and I stare over at her in awe.
In slow motion, I watch her walk out, she says something to Antonio as she gets into the car and he smiles and says something back.
He closes the door behind her and I watch as their car pulls out into the traffic and drives away.
I lean my head back onto the headrest and exhale heavily.
She’s gone.
Francesca
“Good lord, these are delicious.” My mother holds her glass up to inspect it.
“I know.” I sip the last of my margarita and smile. “How is it, though, that every time we go shopping together, we end up at this restaurant drinking cocktails?”
“This is how you do it, darling.” She holds her glass up in a silent salute and I giggle.
My phone rings, it’s Anna. “I’m just going to take this.”
“Hi,” I answer.