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“Nope,” Marco smiles. “But he takes that damn phone out every few minutes to go and call you.”
I look away, closing my eyes to stop the tears. Why can’t he show that emotion to me? Then, I feel so stupid. Last week he was in a blind fury and blaming me for his father’s death, now he’s wanting to apologize to me and unable to? What do I want from it all though?
“There’s been a few more messages too, from the blackmailer.” He’s looking at the counter now, shaking his head. “It’s horrible. Just Michael—” he jams a tongue into his cheek. “Michael never questioned me, ya know? Twenty years he treated me like a son … And this bastard taunting us.” Rage flashes across his face.
I reach across and grab his hand. He smiles and nods. I can only imagine how hard it is for all of them. The Colombinos as a whole must be struggling to grieve and still work as a machine.
Marco sucks his lips in and shakes his head. Then he smiles. “Lemme tell ya why it’s gonna be hard for those Manettis now that Luca is in charge. One time,” he begins. “This is when he’d just bought himself a new car—leather seats and all that. Might’ve been a Beamer? Anyway, we’re driving along after getting some burgers and fries. I dropped one crumb, one little bee’s dick of a crumb on the carpet. He went nuts. Totally ballistic.”
The story isn’t that funny, but the way Marco tells it, and the fact that I’ve barely had a decent conversation in almost a month, makes me giggle like crazy.
“He’s livid. Fucking demonic. Red like a tomato. He’s screaming at me as we drove down Ocean Boulevard,Marco you fucking asshole! This is new leather! This is fucking mountain cow brown!”
I lose it. The laughter is pulled from me.
“And I say,Mountain cow brown? What the fuck is that? You buy this car from America Car Dealership?”
I laugh out loud and my sides are hurting.
“It was horrible. A terrible joke. Completely shit. And he fucking laughs his head off. It broke him,” Marco says, finishing his roll and wiping his mouth again. “He just needed to break his cycle. He just—” He smiles at me, then turns serious. “Even if sometimes it’s hard, andharshwhat he says, you just gotta break that cycle.”
“Break what cycle?” Luca asks.
I jump, and we both turn to him. He’s just emerged from the bathroom. His face is serious. Like laughter is illegal.
“Nothin’ buddy,” Marco says, winking at me. “Just talking.”
Luca nods. “Well, we have to keep going.” Luca comes over and kisses me on the head. Still wooden, still a little awkward, stilldifferent. “See you tonight,” he says, holding the tip of my chin in his hands.
I stare up into his eyes, unsure of what to make of him. I am with a man that I don’t know anymore, but feel that I didn’t really know in the first place.
Luca arrives near midnight. I hear him moving through the house quietly. He takes a shower and then makes a quick snack for himself. I close my phone just as I hear him coming from the kitchen towards the bedroom, I’ve been up reading about babies.
He opens the door and I pretend to sleep. The light spills over me and I feel him watching me. He enters and peels off his clothes and soon jumps into bed. As he lies down I pretend to wake slightly and turn towards him.
He reaches out and caresses me. I touch him back.
We’re like wooden puppets. I feel unsure, and I feel that he is unsure too. It’s like we have to do this, not want to. But maybe I’m overthinking? I don’t know.
He said he’s forgiven me and apologized for blaming me for his father’s death, and then for how he acted as well. But there’s still distance between us. Those words still feel odd on my tongue.Forgiven me?For what? I don’t know what to make of him now. Would he always blame me so easily? I remember Marco’s words.
I touch him again, caressing a hand across his chest. I snuggle against him.
Just have to break the cycle.
I reach out and touch his chest again. I glide the length of his body. I edge toward his crotch. His hands are tentative and hesitant. But soon they begin touching me too. It’s like we’re kids and inexperienced. He moves towards me and we kiss each other, but it’s like ghosts kissing behind plastic masks. His lips are like wax, his hands like plasticine.
I’m compelled to break his cycle though.
We try kissing more passionately, but the heart isn’t in it for either of us.
“Sophie,” he whispers.
And I know what he’s going to say. “I know,” I reply. I move away from him, but he stops me.
“No, don’t go.” he whispers.
I lie there for a few seconds, my heart pounding as I wonder what we’re going to do. I slide back to him and he cuddles into me, resting his head on my chest. He holds me tight and squeezes. I go to say something to break the silence but he beats me to it.
