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“You don’t have to be the apple. You are your own man. You already want to change the way that this family earns money, you can change other things, too.”
“I’m not giving you up.” He looked at me with ferocity.
“What?”
“I told you not to ever ask me to give you up.” His jaw muscles flexed.
I shook my head, “That’s not where I was going with that. I don’t want you to give me up, Tommy.”
He didn’t look like he believed me.
“I don’t,” I assured him. And it was true. There was hope in me for him, for us.
“You don’t want to go home?” He asked and there was pleading in his eyes.
“I’m home. Y
ou’re my home.”
He shook his head like he doubted what I was saying, got up and walked to the bar and poured a drink, “Want one?” he asked.
I nodded.
He drank a shot of whiskey and then poured another shot. Then he reached for the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine and poured me a glass.
I was surprised and a little hurt that my declaration had no apparent effect on him, “I just mean that you don’t have to let the darkness engulf you. You could go to therapy. Maybe you should.”
“Fuck that,” he said through gritted teeth and I stopped talking and accepted the glass of wine. I took a sip and then decided to try again,
“But…”
“FUCK THAT!” he downed the shot and threw the glass; it shattered against the wall, making me wince. He stormed out of the room, slamming the door.
I bit back tears and just sat and stared off into space. I thought about the recording. I thought about my parents. I thought about Thomas Ferrano Sr. I thought about who Thomas Ferrano Jr. was, why he probably was the way he was, and I knew that there was hope for him, for us. He knew his father was wrong. If his father was guilty of all of the things that he looked to be guilty of, Tommy wouldn’t just stand for it. The demands that had been put on Tommy from a young age, losing his mother, it had all caused this darkness in him. That he could also be sweet and fun-loving, was hopeful, wasn’t it?
I wondered what would happen next, how Tommy would get to the truth. I also wondered how I’d cope with the fact that the man I was about to marry was the son of a man that might have been the reason my mother was taken from me.
When I got ready to go to bed I put on the blue and white checked shirt that was on the chair beside the bed. He’d worn that before I gave him the massage. I picked it up and put my nose to it. It smelled like fabric softener and it smelled like his aftershave and it was comforting to smell it. I fell asleep with the sleeve against my nose, absorbing the smell, wishing my nose was against him. I didn’t know if he’d gone out or if he was in another part of the house but he clearly wanted space so I just turned out the light and climbed under the thick fluffy duvet sniffing the sleeve and imagining he was beside me.
Just as I started to drift off, I heard him come in and then I heard the shower turn on. When he got into bed a few minutes later he didn’t touch me, didn’t reach for me. I crawled over and put my head on his chest and my palm over his heart. He still didn’t touch me. He just laid there. The tension in the air was so thick.
I rubbed my hand up and down his chest and touched his skin with my lips and snuggled in. He let out a sigh.
“Tommy?” I whispered.
He didn’t answer me.
“I’m here for you,” I said.
“Yeah?” he whispered.
“Yeah,” I draped a leg over his and rubbed the sole of my foot up and down his calf.
“Tia,” his voice was laced with warning.
“I’m yours, baby. Take what you need,” I said and trailed my hand down toward his waist. He caught my wrist before I reached my goal.
“Fuck, baby. You don’t know what you’re offering.” He shifted me off of him and put his hands over his face.
