AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I almost cry when Rosa throws the door open. It’s how she reacts, her face crumpling in emotion, her hands flying up to cover her mouth as if shocked at my presence. She’s tall and thin, wears an artsy top and torn jeans, and has her deep brown hair cut into a confident fringe.
“I’m so happy to see you.” She hugs me tightly. “I feel like it’s been forever.”
I hug her just as tight. “That’s because it has. I’m still angry at you for not visiting.”
I mean it as a joke, but then her grip on me tightens.
“Hey, I’m just kidding. I knew you had school.”
She’s studying English literature and poetry, which suits her perfectly. I’m going to be an accountant one day, lost in the boring world of profits and sums and the clean sense of the numerical world.
As she leads me into the house, I don’t mention that she refused to visit even during the holidays, and when I mentioned coming here, she became awkward. I’ve wondered why, but I can’t figure it out. Sometimes, I feel like I’m missing something obvious.
“Look who’s back, Mom,” Rosa says, stopping in front of the shrine to pay her respects.
This is another reason I can’t ever think about Leo Esposito. I can’t let my mind stray to his height. He must be at least six and a half feet, a giant compared to most men. I can’t think about his hair, mostly silver but with flecks of obsidian here and there, or his intense eyes, which seemed to consume me the few times I saw him as a kid. They fascinated me, too, one stark blue and the other brown. I can’t think about trailing my hand down his arm, feeling his muscles, strength, and how his confident smirk shapes his lips.
I stop in front of the shrine. It sits beneath the double staircase, photos of Angelica, Rosa’s mother, filling it, flickering in the light of the lit candles. She died in a gas explosion when Rosa was fourteen, a few years before I lostmymom.
So much tragedy. Oh, God, this is bad. For a second, a shameful one, I feel almost jealous of this woman. She got to kiss Leo, hold him, and be with him.
“Emma?” Rosa says, jolting me out of the fantasy.
No, not fantasy. Notthat.
“Yes?”
“Hungry?”
* * *
“Hey, I’ll have you know poets can make fortunes, some in the tens of dollars.” Rosa grins as she gestures with her toast, much happier in the rooftop garden. “Oh, to wish I had a dish, maybe with somefish… Are you hearing this? I’m going to be talked about for generations.”
I laugh at her sarcastic tone, then take a bite of my toast.
“Anyway,” she says amidst the scent of the flowers and the warm sunshine. “How are you feeling?”
I shrug. “It is what it is.”
“That’s not much of a description.”
“Feelings have always been more your thing,” I say, trying for a bantering tone, but it sounds wrong and way too real. “How areyou?”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“You’ve seemed tense on Skype.”
She flinches, and she’s right. Iamchanging the subject because I have to. Talking about one feeling could lead toallfeelings.
“I have?”
“Yes,” I say, “and there’s the stuff about not being able to visit each other. I feel like something’s going on. I didn’t want to say anything until we met in person.”
She drops her toast, tears off a piece, then picks up the original section. Then she puts it down again.
“Everything’s fine.”
“Hmm.”
