Page 26 of The Vow

A ray of sun splashed across the bar. Bathed in it, Alex looked radiant. “You two seem close.”

“We are. He’s always been protective of me.”

“I like that,” Alex said.

“Like what? This guy?” he asked, punching me in the shoulder.

The three of us fell silent, and then Alex said something that would forever erase Anjela from my memory. “What’s not to like?”

Riding that high, I coughed twice, which was Nick’s cue to reach beneath the bar. Earlier, I bought a supply of ribbon, Liquid Paper, and different colored Highlighters. Nick placed everything in front of Alex including the Brother typewriter.

“I want you to have it. You can’t write an entire novel with pen and paper.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. You have a job to do, and I want to make it easier.”

Her excitement was plain on her face, even though she’d seen it before now. She reminded me of myself on Christmas Day. Unless Ma was working, she wouldn’t let me leave her sight, so every year on December twenty-third, after she collected her Christmas bonus from her boss, she would dress me in my scarf, hat, mittens, and snowsuit, and would tell me, “I need a few things from the store, Filippo. Dai. Andiamo.” I used to watch as ma filled our cart with Lego sets, puzzles, and action figures, and without fail, every Christmas morning, I would play along and feign surprise. Ma knew I was faking it, but just like pop used to do, she clapped with joy, took Polaroids, and tried desperately not to cry. Years later, she admitted that it was stupid. I told her, “No, ma. Not stupid. I wouldn’t trade my mamma for anything”, which of course made her cry all over again, like Alex was crying now.

“Oh, God.”

“What’s wrong, sweetie?”

“This song... it was our song.”

Give a Little Bit by Supertramp was playing over the radio. My heart was breaking. Without hesitating, I barked orders at Nick, “Cut the music. Play my song. Now.”

The second he noticed that Alex was in tears, he switched off the stereo and placed an album on the turntable.

“What’s... what’s going on?” she asked me through her sniffles.

“Listen...”

“I am listening, but it’s in Italian. What is it? It’s catchy.”

“Translated, it means, 24 000 kisses. Pop used to sing it,” I said, handing her a napkin.

“What’s he saying?”

“He’s pretty much saying that all he needs to be happy is twenty-four thousand kisses.”

“But that’s a lot,” Alex said, blowing her nose and laughing.

“Maybe that’s the point. That it would take a while,” I said, brushing a stray hair from her face.

Everyone in the bar watched as Alex got up to dance. Lifting her peasant skirt, and swinging it around, it was as if she was dancing an Italian tarantella. Her audience faded into the background. Her eyes were locked on mine.

“I love it!” she said, joining me, breathless. Taking my face between her hands, she kissed me on both cheeks. Hard. I’ve been in many fights in my life that caused my adrenaline to soar, but nothing prepared me for the moment I thought she was aiming for my lips. “Thank you... boss.”

“I could use some of your moves in the ring,” I said, grinning. “I have something else for you.” I reached into my pants’ pocket and pushed a white envelope in her direction.

“Money?”

“So that you can start making plans to move.” She stared at it for a long time. “You have to take it. It’s insulting to an Italian if you refuse a money gift.”

“Is being Italian your excuse for everything?”

“Is your smart mouth your excuse for everything? You’re a handful, Alex.”