The evening air is damp from the afternoon rain, and it smells of summer flowers and savory breads. Jazz music pulses from Vernon Park, as does loud laughter.
The world has continued to turn, hasn’t it? Just like when Mother died, it will indifferently carry on without Lydia.
“Buena sera, Mariano!” calls the man behind the counter of Pompei’s.
“Buena sera, Mr. Davino.” The Italian rolls out of Mariano like a ribbon. “How are you? How’s the family?”
But the man’s eyes are fixed on me. “You’ve brought a lovely girl with you, I see.”
“This is Piper.” Mariano’s hand grazes my back.
I offer an awkward wave. “Hello.”
“Hello, Piper. My daughter will be very sad to hear that you’re quite beautiful.”
I blush. What does one say to that?
But Mr. Davino doesn’t need me to answer. “What can I get for the two of you on this summer evening?”
Mariano buys us slices of bread and cheese pizza, which Mr. Davino wraps in butcher paper for us to eat in the park. “Have a good time. And, Mariano.” He seems to hesitate a moment. “I believe I saw Alessandro heading over to the park earlier.”
Am I imagining that this is a warning of some kind? The way Mariano says, “Ah, thank you,” with a stiff smile makes me think I’m not.
Outside, we cross the street to the park, which is full of families and couples enjoying the mild evening. We settle on a bench near the fountain, where the music is loud enough to fill up the gaps in conversation without us having to yell over it.
“You grew up close to here?” I ask as I unwrap my gooey slice. I’ve never eaten this before, but if it tastes half as good as it smells, I think I have a new favorite food.
Mariano nods. “Just a few blocks over. We played soccer here as kids.” He gestures to somewhere in the distance. “I still remember a magnificent goal I scored between those two trees. One of my first memories.”
The park swims with young Italian boys, and it’s not hard to picture a pint-size Mariano rolling in the grass and playing soccer with his friends.
“Alessandro is one of my brothers.” Mariano’s words slice into my imaginings. “I’m sure you were curious.”
“You don’t have to explain to me.”
His smile is strained. “Thank you, but I should before we run into him. I’m sure Mr. Davino only mentioned my brother because he’s here with his girl.” Mariano reworks the butcher paper around his pizza. “His girlfriend, Zola, she . . .”
Zola. I hear the name in my head, only spoken in my brother’s razor-edged voice. Has he even told you about Zola?
“She and I used to be together. But . . .”
“You don’t have to explain,” I say again. But I’m not trying to comfort Mariano, am I? I’m trying to protect me. Because I haven’t built a wall around my heart with Mariano like I have everyone else. And the vulnerability unnerves me.
“No, you should know.” Mariano takes a deep breath. “We knew each other as kids, me and Zola, and we were engaged. Should’ve been getting married a couple weeks ago, actually.”
“And why”—I try to swallow away the wobble that’s in my voice—“didn’t you?”
“She wasn’t interested in being a detective’s wife.”
“Oh.”
He slides his gaze to me. “Oh?”
But how do you say that you had hoped it would be more about a change of his heart rather than hers? On a first date, no less. My first first date.
It seems safest to not even try to explain. “That must have been very difficult for you.”
Mariano hesitates. “It’s gotten much easier recently. Though now that she’s with Alessandro, it’s hard again.”
My heart twists in a way that makes me long for stone walls. How fast could I build one? Or once you’ve let someone in, is it impossible to wall them back out? “I’m sure it’s difficult to see her moving on.”
“No, I didn’t mean it like that.” Mariano’s hand clasps mine. “I didn’t mean that at all. It’s only difficult because Alessandro chooses for it to be. He seems to think he bested me somehow, and it’s hard for us to talk without it turning into an argument. I hate feeling pitted against my own family. More than I already am.”
Mariano’s grasp loosens, and he weaves his fingers between mine. “But—and I want to make sure this is completely clear to you, Piper—I have no lingering interest in her. And no regrets that I’m sitting here with you.” He squeezes my hand. “Is this bothering you?”
When I look up from the captivating sight of his olive fingers entwined with my fair, I find Mariano’s face is close to mine. “No.” I squeeze back. “Not at all.”
He grins and leans against the bench. “How’s Sidekick doing? He’s put on a good amount of weight the last few weeks. He actually looks like a decent sidekick now.”
“I think he’s doing well. Though if I leave the house for too long, he expresses his anger by dragging my shoes from the closet. I finally put them on higher shelves.”