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“That’s honest, and I think Micola will love you even more for that.¨
¨I do too. But I have a question for you.¨
¨Yes, Mrs. Costa?¨
¨Have you told her you loved her…recently, not during that bad time. But, recently.¨
I shake my head, ¨No. Unfortunately, I have not. I’m scared to tell her anytime soon.¨
¨Interesting because at a time like this in her life…I think she wants to hear it. But what do I know? An artist’s heart is a complicated place, I hear.¨ She shrugs, staring off into the road.
Her words linger on me before she starts asking about my own mother. Interesting how the web of Italian men in our families have created and continue to maintain the animosity between us. Too bad I, as one man, can’t fix it. What I can fix is what I will fix.
¨Well, once Micola gets back from Acapulco, I will definitely have a word with her about you.¨ She nods firmly before she smacks her hand onto her mouth.
As much as I’m revved up from hearing where Micola is, I feel for Mrs. Costa as she’s spilled the secret of her daughter’s getaway.
Dropping her hand from her mouth, she exclaims, ¨Oh, heavens.¨
¨It was an honest fumble.¨
¨Well, of course, you will say that. Please, if you can, try your best not to tell her you heard from me. But, I personally believe that if you pop up wherever she is, she can’t deny the love I’ve always known she has had for you. Just… don’t be a typical mobster pig. There are enough of them, and although I can’t control my sons and their choices, I will do what I can to help protect my precious Micola’s heart. Do you understand me, Mr…Masters?¨
I nod. ¨Yes. Yes. I do.¨
When I get back in the car, I’m thrilled to see a response from Micola. It’s literally a gorgeous view of the pacific ocean, the pink polish on her pretty toes, and a light honey complexion. I want to touch her through the phone as I read the message under it.
Hey. I’m enjoying much-needed R&R and much-needed painting time. I’ll reach out when I have enough energy to talk.
Immediately, I look up flights to Acapulco. I’m so tempted to arrange a private flight out, but I need to stick to my word. A first-class ticket to see the love of my life should be enough. Knowing that I have the privilege to do so right now should also be enough. I booked it, not knowing exactly where I could find her in Acapulco. However, I did give her a phone, and I’m sure it’s the same one she’s using. I will, no question about it, find her.
Epilogue
Micola
It’sfifteenpastfourin the afternoon, and my flesh is sore. I have to refrain from the sun. Although I’m heavily protected with sunscreen, my sun hat, and even the light shade of this glorious palm tree, the Mexican sun is one powerful thing, and my god, I am sure feeling it.
I pull my easel into the shade and open up the huge umbrella I bought across my little villa this morning. I must say, I am incredibly proud of myself. I completed two paintings since being here, and I’ve only been here for five days so far. I feel like I could plant myself here forever, and after the little chat I had with Teresa, I think I may just. Fortunately, Teresa is all in about taking over the studio. Her presence is such a staple as she connects with the kids in ways I’ve been unable to. She also has a lot of grit and knowledge regarding how to establish a thriving art space for youth. At times, I think I’m here to provide the rack in the resources. Once again, I need to shift the legacy of my family. Too many of us are known as thieves of people we’ve seen as ¨less than.¨ Too many Costas are entrenched in the dogma that everything we touch ought to be ours.
I am not that Costa. I will never be that Costa.
I am the Costa who buys an art studio in the heart of Brooklyn to cater to the children, the young artists from Brooklyn, and the surrounding boroughs. For that reason, unlike Alexander, I will keep my name in order to restore it.
I reach for my water when I get an alert from Whatsapp. It’s Alex. He’s been on my mind at least every waking hour. It’s hard to really place him anywhere. I feel like he has such great potential of maybe being a good friend if we figure out a way to keep our hands off each other. Yet, if we can’t help but keep our hands on each other, shouldn’t we take the leap of being with each other? I still get alerts about our pictures. Seems as if people love our photos more than they love Carvel. Such a mess.
Are you ready to talk yet?Is Alex’s message. I’m not sure how to respond, but I “heart” his message and close out of the app.
I stare at the exquisite array of blues in the sea in front of me. Maybe I am ready to talk. Maybe I’m not. Either way, it doesn’t stop me from thinking I’m hearing someone calling my name. It’s soft and distant, and when I turn to my side, my mouth flies open. Walking toward me is one helluva man.
¨Really.¨ I gasp, hopping right up onto my feet.
Gorgeous as ever, Alexander Masters, who was once the man that broke my heart, has returned brand new. Dressed in none other than jellyfish swim trunks, his pectorals glisten with a bit of sweat, or is it water? I can’t tell from here, but I see that his smile is bigger than mine. Once he’s closer, I have to meet him, toss my hands around him.
¨You did not!¨ I shake my head, but before he can respond, he lifts me up and twirls me around.
¨Oh, yes. I had to. I told you before, and I will say it again. I will heal every part of you where I’ve caused pain. You have my word.¨
I roll my eyes playfully as a deep calmness settles in my body. Visceral as it is honest, I can fully say not only is my body and mind happy with this surprise, but so is my heart and my spirit. And, with that fact, I have no room to ramble on about what should or shouldn’t be; I most certainly can’t predict the future. I would have never predicted this when I set eyes on him in that snobby bar in Brooklyn. But, for now, we can certainly agree that this feels just right.
