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“Ciao, Marcantonio,” she greets me as I let myself in to the spacious open-plan living area. The Lorrer palazzo dates from 1750 and it was in a dilapidated state before Papà made his fortune. He invested heavily in extensive renovations, keeping the period features but modernizing the accommodation so that we can live in comfort.
Mamma comes up to me. “Come stai?” I take in her tall, slender frame, her graying dark hair worn in a chignon. She’s wearing her habitual cashmere sweater and pearls, elegant as ever, but the past six months have aged her, the wrinkles have deepened around her eyes and mouth.
“I’m fine, Mamma. How are you?” I glance at Papà, asleep in his armchair, and she gets that I’m asking about him as well.
“He’s not having a good day.” She runs her hands down her wool skirt. “He had another seizure when we got back from the hospital…”
Her eyes fill with tears, and I put my arms around her. Papà’s fits have become more frequent in recent weeks. “What did the neurologist say?”
“He’s prescribed different meds, but I haven’t had time to take the prescription to the chemist yet.”
“I’ll go for you,” I offer.
“Thank you, son.” She sniffs and wipes her nose with a tissue. “You’re a good boy, but I’d like to go myself and stretch my legs…”
“I’m thirty-five, Mamma. Not a boy anymore.” I bend and kiss the top of her head.
“You’ll always be my boy.” She pauses and a sweet smile brushes her lips. “Papà and I are proud of the way you’ve taken over at San Pacifico. One less worry for us to cope with…”
I give her a hug then go to sit with my dad while she fetches the prescription.
Hard to believe the man before me is my father, he’s changed so much. Before he seemed to take up all the space in a room. Now, he appears shrunken, his cheekbones prominent, his skin sagging.
A shell of his former self.
He opens his eyes. “Ciao,” the word slurs in his mouth.
I take his hands and squeeze them, formulating in my mind what I will say. Both he and Mamma are fiercely independent and have refused live-in help. I think the time has come for them to relent. A team of therapists visit Monday to Friday, and private care staff get Papà out of bed and bathe him every morning. Mamma has been managing the rest of the day and nights on her own, but I know she’s exhausted. “Papà,” I bend and whisper in his ear. “I want to find a permanent nurse for you. Please, would you let me do that?”
He releases a deep, weighted sigh and closes his eyes. He’s struggling to put his thoughts into words, I know he is. Papà and I have a somewhat tempestuous relationship. He found it difficult to acknowledge my love for Alessio, couldn’t understand it because I’d always dated women in the past.
I never clicked with any of them like I click with him.
In time, Papà became more accepting of us. His main regret, he maintains, is I won’t provide him with a grandson to carry on the Lorrer name. He was an only child and my grandfather was one too. There’s nothing I can do about that. Papà has two beautiful granddaughters, Emilia and Violetta, aged nine and seven respectively. My sister married a professor at the university, and they live in an apartment in the San Polo neighborhood.
“M… M… Marco,” Papà stutters out my name.
I catch his eye and he nods.
“I will find you the right person,” I tell him. “Someone Mamma likes, and you like too. You’ll have the final say.”
He emits a grunt just as Mamma comes back into the room, the prescription in her hand. I take it from her, deciding to tell her later about my proposal.
“Be back soon,” I promise, already heading out the door.
My cell bleeps as I reach the ground floor.
ALESSIO.
“I’ll be a little delayed,” he announces when I pick up. “Another development in the case that needs my attention.”
“No worries,” I tell him. “I can hang out with my parents until you’re back.”Chapter TwelveSefiI check my watch. Six p.m. here means nine a.m. in California. It’s a little early to call Camila… she likes to sleep late on a Saturday morning and will cuss the hell out of me if I wake her. I decide to shop for some groceries at the store Signora Rossi told me about and I head there on the way back to my apartment.
I’m still full after the delicious lunch I ate with Marco and Alessio, but I’ll probably be hungry enough to eat something before I go to bed. I buy sliced ham at the deli counter then wander over to the fresh produce section. I notice shoppers putting on disposable gloves they select from a tray, then filling a biodegradable plastic bag with fruit or vegetables before weighing them on an electronic scale… which prints out the price on a sticky label. I do the same, choosing bright red tomatoes and a couple of large oranges.
