Page 62 of Lucas & Melissa Falling in Love
Feeling a need to giveSabrina some of what she’s dishing out, I say, “How long have you two been married? It has to be a decade by now?”
She swats at me from the other side of the table and turns to Melissa, “Vito and I were childhood sweethearts and I married him at nineteen. Lucas never could get over the notion that we were in love at such a young age, but I think he’s just jealous.” Then she stuck her tongue out at Lucas. Everyone laughed and the rest of the meal was reminiscent of the kind of family meals that I’d experienced growing up, bringing a warm blanket of nostalgia over the evening.
Melissa gazes at the fireplace mantel. She points to a family photograph and says, “Who is that?”
Everyone freezes in mid-motion from raising their forks to their mouths or lifting a napkin from their laps. Cold and conflicted, I flash a glance at my mother and see her face tighten, but she gives me a small nod. I clear my throat, suddenly dry and irritated. Melissa looks at me in concern and starts to wave a hand.
“I don’t need—”
“It’s all right.” My voice sounds a million years old and from another universe. That’s what being reminded of my lost brother does to me. “This is a photo from very long ago, as you can tell.” I smile at her because she looks as pained as I feel. “This is me and Sabrina and our older brother Domenic when we were young children.”
Melissa puts a hand on my face and begs me with her eyes to stop, but I continue.
“Domenic died not too long after that photo was taken.”
My mother looks away and there’s a silence.
Sabrina clears her throat and says, “We don’t usually talk about him. But since you are going to be part of the family, you should know. Ask anything you want.”
Melissa turns pink and opens her mouth, but doesn’t speak. I don’t know where to start. My mind flashes back to Domenic, as a child, and how I looked up to him right up until the day he died. But Sabrina’s right, we don’t talk about him. The pain still slices far deeper than pleasant memories can overcome. Hearing the mantel clock tick in the silence I look at my mother, at her eyes begging me, so I change the subject.
“Sabrina, you know Melissa and I are not engaged,” I say quietly.
Theresa snickers. She was too young to remember Domenic well.
My mother glares at her, but then looks gratefully at me and expectantly at Melissa. Sabrina, who started it all, throws up her hands and says, “Your lack of engagement is a mere technicality. I see how you look at each other.”
Vito laughs and shakes his head at his wife. Rosalie and Theresa exchange knowing glances and nods of agreement. My mother smiles, only half hiding the sadness that will never fully leave her.
“I’m enchanted, I admit it,” I say looking at her. It’s as much to diffuse the tension cutting between her and I as to admit the truth. I know I’m more thanenchanted, but Melissa is not ready for me to air this with my family.
“Have you heard from Louie at the hospital? How is Papa doing?” I ask.
Now the conversation is taken completely away from Domenic and Melissa.
“When can we go to the hospital to see him?” Theresa says. “It’s not fair that Louie is there and not me and Rosalie.”
My mother says, “Louie has been assigned to stay at the hospital with your father until I return after dinner. If you would like to come with me then—”
“Of course I want to go.” Theresa is pleased. Rosalie agrees in her quieter way.
“Are you sure you want to return to the hospital tonight, Mama? You must be exhausted. I can take the girls.”
“Yes, let Lucas take us,” Theresa chimes in. Rosalie rolls her eyes.
“He’s right, Mama,” Sabrina says. Vito nods and agrees with an encouraging smile.
“It seems everyone agrees but me,” she says. Then my mother turns to Melissa and says, “What about you, Melissa. What would you do?”
Melissa pauses to think, taking the question seriously as I know she would.
Then she wipes her mouth after a sip of wine and says in a gentle voice, serious as a nun, “I know you want to be at your husband’s side, Mrs. Fierro—”
“Call me Gina,ma bella.”
“Gina, but you know your husband will be sleeping the rest of the night, save for a tiny bit of time,” she looks at Theresa and Rosalie, “and your girls will want to take up his attention for those few minutes. And tomorrow he’ll be a little better, a little more awake, and you’ll want to give him one hundred percent then.”
My mother is nodding, acknowledging the truth to her logic.
