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Those words have been replaying in my thoughts all day. They were spoken in a moment of passion.
He didn’t mean it. Rocco doesn’t honestly think that forever isn’t enough time with me.
It was his cock talking, not his heart.
“Ouch!” I let out a sigh when I look down at my index finger.
A drop of blood is pooling on my fingertip. It serves me right for working with straight pins when I’m daydreaming about the most incredible man I’ve ever met.
I stand and cross my apartment to run my finger under cold water from the kitchen faucet.
Movement in Rocco’s apartment catches my eye. I stop, hoping to share a moment at the window with him.
It’s not meant to be.
Marti is with him. Her hands are cupping his face, a soft smile graces her lips.
It’s a moment in time between a loving grandmother and her grandson.
I glance back at her purse. It’s sitting on the wingback chair waiting for my attention.
I brush the blood on my finger away with a tissue from the box on the kitchen counter and I head straight for Marti’s bag.
I sit with it in my lap, looking over the leather.
The interior is stained. Holes have worn into the bottom of it.
I run my hand along the inside, feeling the silk, wondering how many years the purse has hung from Marti’s shoulder.
I stop when I reach a zippered compartment. The bump within is obviously something Marti overlooked when she dumped her purse on the table at Calvetti’s.
I open it and reach inside.
It’s a small yellowing card. Curiosity bites at me so I open it.
I read the words that are handwritten inside.
Happy Mother’s Day Mama!
I know you’d never treat yourself to this, so I got it for you.
Thank you for helping with Rocco, Nash and baby Luke.
You’re the best in the world.
I’ll love you forever and ever.
Your Gaia
Gaia.
Marti’s daughter. Rocco’s mom.
I look over at the window. Rocco and Marti are nowhere in sight.
I stare down at the purse, tears pricking the corners of my eyes.
I understand now why Marti is so attached to this purse. Her daughter gave it to her.
