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There’s a lump in my throat. Does Luigi really believe I don’t value him? When did I stop respecting and caring about the family?
He starts to slump back toward the door, his eyes plastered to the ground. That walk is really provoking me somehow. Why is he acting so depressed?
I grab his shoulder when we get inside to lead him toward my office, but he shakes under my touch. I ignore it… at least… I pretend to. But I’m worried about him.
“Can we go into the tasting room?” He asks pitifully.
I nod, already knowing what it’ll bring.
Sadness.
Gloominess.
Despair…
It’s the only room that has not been fixed since the incident. There’s no carpet in there anymore. That’s been ripped out. Too many blood stains, but the wood around the fireplace was still blasted by bullet holes.
The mirror frame was still there, but the glass was gone.
Luigi looks at me. “I lost someone I care about in here…” he says with a grumble as he sits down on the blue velvet arm chair. My eyes shift to him, and he crosses his legs.
“You always act like you hate everyone…”
“Yeah…” he sighs. “And don’t you forget it.” He tries to laugh slightly, but he coughs and wipes away a tear.
I couldn’t help but wonder which person he meant. I cared for most of them.
He looks like he’s trying to pull himself together as his eyes dart around the room. A lot of things in the room are still smashed.
“He died over there…” he points to the fireplace and stands up. “We used to come here and have drinks after each night.” He stands at the fireplace and places his hand timidly on the mantle. His voice is full of an emotion I’ve never heard out of him. His voice is quaking and choked. “It was like our own little secret hideout…” he says.
“Hide out?” I scoff. “This whole club is a hideout..”
He sighs heavily, and starts to pace. “I just feel like we all could have done more to protect them…” He brushes his hand through his hair.
“Why are you so proud?” I ask. “You’re human…”
He scoffs. “Pot… Kettle…” he grumbles, pointing from me back to himself.
“Your friend knew you weren’t Superman…”
“Maybe more than a friend…”
“What do you mean?” I ask, confused. But then, when I look him in the face, I see that I’m a complete idiot. As soon as the realization hits
He shifts on his feet nervously.
I shrug. Who am I to judge?
He could like anyone he wanted to. It explains a few things. Namely why after all these years, I’d never seen him even glance at a broad. He’d never been married. He’d never wanted to, it seems. I just always thought he was too wrapped up in this world to ever try to start a life outside of it.
He looks annoyed and grumbles before pushing himself up from his seat with a heaving breath. “Stick around for a few?” I ask, moving over to the liquor that still sits next to the armchair, basically untouched.
“I’m not going anywhere…” he says. “You have my undivided attention tonight…”There’s something solemn in his voice; and I can tell he’s been reliving that night just as much — if not more — than I had.
“I have something for you…” I smirk before I dig into the box atop the mantle. I’ve been saving it there for a while. For our next big celebration…
This time seems as good as any…
