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I push the wooden gates to the garden open and I see her. The solemn look on her face is evidence enough of that dysfunction.
She’s tending to the miniature yellow roses she planted last year. I don’t know much about flowers in terms of when they bloom and when they’re supposed to look their best, but Ma knows how to keep a garden looking like it’s fit for the good Lord himself.
That’s what she says her aim is. Nobody would believe that I was raised Catholic. Me with my sex club. Then again, nobody would imagine a Giordano in a church either, not with the connotations linked to our name.
Ma hasn’t seen me yet and I take my strides evenly so as not to startle her. Her hair’s grown longer, and she looks good. She looks similar to how she did before the cancer took her. She fought long and hard. What I would call a battle. She fought for three years and she won. Her fight for survival impressed me. That’s what she’s like though. She’s a fighter and she’s always impressed me. I look a lot like her while Georgiou is the spitting image of our father. I think I’m more like her too in a lot of ways. She has this free-spirited side to her that I know rubbed off on me. What I don’t like is that she puts up with the same shit most of the women in the family have to deal with from their men. The taste for cheating runs strong with my father and uncles.
Ma looks strong right now, but I sense her heart is weeping.
Fuck, I can already guess from the sight of her that some shit has happened, and she hasn’t even looked at me yet. It’s the way she’s pruning the roses. With care, but with an edge of anger.
The garden is her place of Zen. The place she comes to on the regular and most often stays out in for the whole day just to get away from my father’s shit.
“Buonasera, Ma,” I greet her when she lifts her head.
She smiles at me and her whole face comes alive with that heart warmth that coming home should feel like.
“My son,” she says and comes over to give me a hug. “I was hoping to see you before you went into see your father.”
“I always come and see you,” I remind her.
“Yeah you do but, when you’re in one of your moods I can’t tell what you’ll do,” she says with a chuckle. “I have to say Christian that ignoring your father’s calls is not the best thing to do if you want to keep on his good side. I know why you did it though.”
“Thanks. It’s nice to have your understanding,” I answer.
She looks across to the terrace and I follow her gaze. A maid I haven’t seen before has just walked out with a dust cloth and she’s started cleaning the tables.
She lifts her head and sees Ma watching and looks away quickly with the fear of God in her eyes. She’s not that far away that I can’t tell she’s scared.
When Ma looks back to me her eyes look glassy.
“Do you think she’s pretty?” she asks. “Your father does. Every year they get younger. She’s eighteen. Wants to go to college but can’t afford it. Working here helps. I’m sure your father will pay her handsomely for her services.”
She’s not talking about cleaning. The tear that slides down her cheek pulls on my heart and I don’t know why she stays. She doesn’t need to put up with shit like this.
She wipes away the tear quickly with the heel of her hand and rights herself with a smile she plasters on her face like a mask. It’s a habit I grew up with.
“Ma, what happened?”
“Nothing, dear,” she says shaking her head. “Don’t be late. Don’t make your father mad.”
“Ma tell me what happened. He’s going to be mad at me whatever I do,” I insist, and she knows I’m right.
“It’s just been awhile since I caught your father doing something …unsavory. I know it happens, I’ve seen him in action enough times, but it’s hard when you’ve walked the line of death and you don’t even have the husband you thought you had to support you.”
“Leave him…” I tell her. it’s not the first time I’ve said it.
She smirks. “I don’t know if I have the strength and my heart won’t allow me to leave the boy I used to know.”
God… I’ll be damned. I have to calm my rage. If we were talking about different people I would march into the house and beat my father to a fucking pulp. I can’t do that though. I have to do what I always do and look the other way. It would be worse if I did anything other than that.
“Don’t say anything, Christian,” she cautions. “I’ll figure things out. Go, don’t be late. Don’t let them push you around either.”
I dip my head in appreciation and give her a kiss on her forehead before making my way into the house.
I see the same maid cleaning the stairs and give her a hardened gaze when she looks at me. The look I give her is warning enough, although I know it means nothing. She doesn’t answer to me. She answers to my father. he’s the fucker in charge here and we’re all under his control.
His office door is open.
