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He gives a little shudder. “That place creeps me out.”
“The Hamlet?” He can’t be talking about my hometown. Can he?
“Yeah. It’s all so—perfect.” The laughter drops from his voice when he sees my face. “Sorry. I’m not trying to be rude or anything. It’s just that—” His eyes lock on mine. “Families aren’t really like that.”
I’m sensing a wound here. A body of pain living deep inside him. A dark spot in his heart from his past.
One that won’t let him move forward.
“So, its safer to stay single,” I say. “To divest your life of close relationships. Memories. That kind of thing.” Basically, all the things that make life worth living.
“Exactly!” He bangs the heel of his hand against the countertop like we’ve finally made a breakthrough.
Coming from a loving family, I can only imagine the pain of not having come from one.
Sometimes I just find it funny how men can be so oblivious to the obvious when it comes to their emotions. Probably because they prefer to pretend they have none. My father and brothers do the same thing.
But everyone has feelings, and right now I’m having some strong ones.
I haven’t even left American soil and I’m already homesick for the Hamlet. There’s a longing in my gut, almost like a magnetic pull, drawing me to the new house that’s to be mine now whenever I visit. Strange, to think that my childhood bedroom at my parents’ will no longer be where I stay when I come back here.
If I come back here.
It won’t be often that I’ll get back to the States. The responsibility of running an estate in Italy will be demanding. Especially while continuing my education. More likely my mom will visit me with a gaggle of aunties who can all help me manage my new role.
I’ll visit with the Bachmans who live in Italy. Get to know that side of the family. But mostly, I’ll be acclimating to my new family.
The Russos.
“You’ve gotten quiet,” he says, tearing me from my thoughts. “What’s going on over there?”
“Eh-hem.” I clear the looming tears from my throat. I tap my gel, not stick-on, fingernails against the ceramic of my mug. “There’s something I need to do before we leave on the trip.”
The determination in my tone makes him take note. He sits up straighter. “You gonna tell me what it is?”
“Mm.” I look away.
“Jesus Christ, not this again,” he laughs. “Complete sentences, please?”
“I’ll explain. Later.” I take my mug to the sink, washing it out.
“Anything for you, princess.”
I soap it, rinsing and drying it by hand. “I just need to go by the house.”
“We are. Remember? Your farewell dinner?”
“Not my parents’. I mean the one my mom and Charlie had done for me and…”
“The house they fixed up for you and your husband. Try saying that word out loud. You’re gonna need to get used to it.”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” I say. “And why I need to go to the house.”
He brings his mug to the sink. “For a psychologist-in-training you’re making no sense right now.”
“Oh, yeah?” I take his mug, our fingers brush, and that electricity thing happens again. I wash it as well. “And what about the rest of the time?”
“You’re pretty brilliant,” he mumbles, so low I almost miss it.
