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My mother frowned at him, and they were off in Italian again. “Look at her,” said my dad. “She’s tired and traumatized. She needs his protection.”
“But they’re not married.”
“Don’t you think your son can be trusted? She’s an old family friend.”
My mother waved her hands in alarm. “And I want it to stay that way. What will Stefan and Freja think?”
“They’ll be grateful she’s taken care of. If you must play chaperone, you can move in with Milo and Alice until she finds another place.”
I raised my voice over their clipped conversation. “You should speak English in front of Alice.” I crossed to the couch and sat beside her. The numbness persisted, the urge to be businesslike and take care of things. It allowed me to shove aside the fact that it would be excruciating to have her stay with me, constant temptation within reach. “They’re wondering where you’re going to stay,” I said gently. “They want you to feel safe.”
She looked shocked, like she hadn’t even thought about that yet. “I…I don’t know.”
“You can get a hotel room if you’d like, something close to your work. Your insurance company should give you a stipend when your claim goes through. You could stay with my parents, if you don’t mind commuting from Chappaqua, or you could stay here for a while, in the guest room.” Jesus, if my parents knew that we’d made out on this same couch last night…
“If you don’t feel comfortable with that, we can find you something else,” my mother said quickly.
“But you would be safe here,” my father said with equal fervor. “Milo could look after you. You’ve had a difficult time.”
“But if you feel it’s not appropriate…” My mother, who’d been trying for years to engineer our wedding, got cold feet at the idea of emergency cohabitation. I loved my parents, but they were making a bad situation even worse.
“Live here,” I said. “At least until you’re back on your feet again. I have plenty of room, and Blue loves you. My parents are just worried we’ll be unable to control our physical urges while we’re cooped up in this apartment together without any supervision.”
“Massimiliano,” my mother chided. “That wasn’t what I said.”
“It’s what you implied.”
I saw the first shadow of a smile on Alice’s drawn features. “It’s okay, Mrs. Fierro. Milo and I are just friends. We have no romantic interest in each other, honestly.” She said it with an edge of resignation. My parents probably didn’t hear it, but I did. She turned to me, and I saw how exhausted she was by everything. “If you don’t mind me staying here, that would be great.”
“I don’t mind at all.”
I said it quickly, and I meant it. The rest of my bullshit was secondary. My lust, my longing, I’d learn to overcome it.
“Hopefully it won’t take that long to find another place,” she said.
“It doesn’t matter. You can stay as long as you like.” I said this in a carefully modulated voice, even though my numbness was starting to wear off.
Shortly afterward, while my parents sat with her, I put on a coat and walked the three blocks to the Michelin building, or what was left of it. I wasn’t sure what I hoped to find there. Maybe a mostly-intact violin case lying in the gutter across the street, blown from her apartment’s window to safety. What I found was absolute destruction, a building reduced to rubble, and bricks melted by the magnitude of the fire that followed.
Fuck. Everything was gone. I’d hoped I’d find something to take back to her, some small thing that had survived, that was miraculously hers, but there was nothing but brick, metal, and ash strewn in the street, surrounded by a plastic security boundary.Danger. Do Not Cross.
I stared at the hole where her building had been, glad she wasn’t with me to see it. It was sad to lose the Grapeleaf violin, but if I’d taken her home when I’d wanted to…or if Blue had let her leave in the middle of the night…
If the world had lost both of them at once, Alice and the violin, I don’t think I could have lived with the tragedy. I kicked a scorched brick lying near my foot, imagining what might have been, and turned on my heel to walk away.
Chapter Four: Alice
Snow fell outside,a late December storm obscuring the holiday lights still blinking in the city. I curled in my bedroom’s shallow window seat, toying with the hem of a pale green sweater Milo had brought me the day before. He called them “presents,” and he bought me too much, but I didn’t feel strong enough to go out and buy a whole new wardrobe, so his kindness was appreciated. Christmas had passed without much merriment, bringing useful gifts and necessities. It was one of the few days in the last week that I got out of bed.
Now New Year’s was a couple days away, but I wasn’t feeling very festive. I no longer fantasized about swooning in Milo’s arms as we rang in the New Year as a couple. We weren’t a couple, and we never would be. We were just friends.
Blue stirred, nudging me with one narrow paw, letting me know the other member of our pack was home. He somehow knew the moment Milo stepped on the elevator down in the lobby. “Thanks, bud,” I said, scratching one of his ears. “How do I look? Slovenly? Maybe I should at least brush my teeth.”
I’d been officially living at Milo’s house for a week, and I wasn’t a great roommate. I slept weird hours, ate all the Christmas cookies his mother brought us, and stole his dog’s affections so he’d keep me warm in bed. Well, Milo wasn’t going to do it, although he made sure to check in with me a few times a day.How are you feeling? Is there anything I can do? Is the bed comfortable?
If the bed wasn’t comfortable, I wouldn’t have stayed curled up in it for fifteen hours at a stretch. It was a luxurious, king size bed in a minimal but beautiful guest room, with fluffy blue blankets and sheets. The ivory carpet cradled my feet in softness when I managed to haul myself out from under the covers. The whole room was like a den of coziness, and I was so grateful for it. I needed it to keep everything at bay, from the loss of all my worldly possessions, to Milo’s rejection of me as anything but a friend. One was more life-altering than the other, but both really sucked.
I was dressed, at least. I washed my face and brushed my teeth, and felt more presentable. Blue’s yawn and the soft, rumpled sheets beckoned me back to the bed, and I picked out a book from the nightstand so it would look like I did more than sleep. When Milo knocked, I pretended to be engrossed in a JFK biography as I invited him in.
