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“YOU’VE BEEN IGNORING EVERYONE’Scalls for days, and Ma is worried. She made me come here to check on you and make sure you’re okay. We’re all worried about you,” my brother says. He crosses the room and turns the volume down, Pearl Jam’s “Black” playing loud as fuck.
Lena left, and my world has tipped on its axis. I can’t see straight. My thoughts are a jumbled mess. My chest is tight, constricting from the pain. Without lifting my head, I look at Rocco from where I’m lying on the couch. He’s standing to the left of the stereo system, feet apart and arms crossed.
“I’m fine. You can fucking leave now!” I retort and close my eyes again.
“Yeah, because you look fine, wearing the same clothes you were wearing when I saw you a few days ago and smelling like whiskey,” he huffs.
“I said I’m fine, leave me the fuck alone!” I roar.
“Stop being an asshole and get up. At least take a shower. I’ll make you something to eat, and you can tell me about it.”
I jump to my feet and dash across the room to get in his face. “Tell you about it? You want me to tell you about it, fine. The woman I’m supposed to marry in two months walked out the door without saying a fucking word. She snuck out while I was away and disappeared, leaving nothing but a bullshit note with her phone and ring. And then they didn’t fucking live happily ever after! There, end of story, now leave me the fuck alone! I need to deal with this without you or anyone in my face. And leave your key on the counter on the way out!” I scream. I hit the back button on the CD player, cranking up the volume to drown in the lyrics that are currently my life.
“You’re such an asshole sometimes. No wonder Lena left you,” he says before leaving.
Several hours later, I feel terrible about how I treated my brother, but I can’t get past my misery and anger enough to call him and apologize. He’s right. I’m an asshole.
After showering, I call my mother because she gets worried, and that causes her blood pressure to rise. I need my mother in good health. I can’t handle any more bad news right now.
“Hey, Ma,” I say when she answers.
“Figlio, come stai?”
“I’m okay, Ma,” I lie.
“You no sound okay, Massimo,” she says in her thick Italian accent.
“I’m sad. I’m hurt. I’m angry. But I’ll be fine, Ma.”
“Massimo, why you no come here tomorrow, and I make you somemelanzane alla parmigiana, eh? It’s your favorite,” she asks.
“Okay, Ma. I’ll come over tomorrow, see you.Ciao.”
“Ciao.”
I told Benny I’d meet him for drinks later tonight, but first, I drive to Luci’s house. She never answers her damn phone, and I want an update. Besides, the drive will do me good. The weather is finally warming up, so I take the scenic road down Storrow Drive with my windows open, Metallica’s “The Memory Remains” pumping loud through the speakers.
Thirty minutes later, I park in Luci’s driveway and sprint to the front. I rap my fist against the door several times.
“You’re wicked impatient! You need to chill out!” I hear her say as she’s unlocking it. Before it’s fully open, I push my way inside.
“Sorry, I’m on edge, Luci. I’ve barely slept the past few days. I can’t eat and I’ve been drinking too much whiskey. I’m a picture-perfect mess,” I whine. I must sound like a fucking pussy, but I can’t snap out of it. “Have you heard from her? Do you have any news?” I ask as I continue walking back to the kitchen, Luci shuffling behind me.
“Mass, first, you need to relax! Your attitude isn’t helping make anything better!” Luci scolds.
“I’m not here for a fucking lecture! Anything new?”
“Well, then chill out!” she retorts. “Nothing new. I already told you that when I spoke to Lena on the phone, she wouldn’t give me any details because she knew this—” gesturing her hand forward at me in an up-and-down motion “—is exactly how you would act.”
“Fuck, Luci. I’m at a loss here. What am I gonna do?” I ask, more a plea of desperation than a question needing an answer. I pull a chair out from the kitchen table and sit. A flood of memories hits me.
Three Years Ago
Lena invited me over for dinner because Luci is away for the week. She wanted to make Puerto Rican food;arroz con gandules, chuletas,andtostones. I’ve never had Puerto Rican food, but if Lena is serving, I’ll eat. I sit at the table while she sashays her sexy ass around the kitchen—opening the refrigerator to get ingredients, reaching into the cabinets for seasonings, bending to open a cupboard and get a pan. All of it makes my dick hard as a rock. I can’t sit and watch her anymore. I stand, strut across the kitchen in three quick steps, wrapping my arms around her waist, her back to my front, and bury my nose into her neck.
“Fuck, Lena, you’re so sexy. I can’t just sit there and watch you trot around the kitchen like that,” I murmur into her right ear.
“Mmm, is that right?” she teases, lifting her hands, tangling them in my hair. “What are you gonna do about it?”
