by Ella James
I press my pointer finger into the keypad by the family door, and it clicks open. I glance up, and Luca’s smiling—that good, satisfied, amused smile that’s one of my faves. I nudge the door open with my fingers, and we walk through together.
“Here we are. Home not-so-sweet home,” I mutter, making a face.
I watch as his gaze sweeps the foyer, with its glossy hardwood, thick crown molding, crystal chandelier, and marble-topped antique table.
“It’s great.”
“Mm. Let’s go this way.” I drag him down the hallway, past one of the things I do like in the house—a haunting Alyssa Monks painting—and then I open the door to the laundry room and come grin-to-grin with Maura.
“Hello there.” She steps closer to my sister’s wheelchair, wrapping her hand around the handle bar as she nods at Luca.
For a split second, my stomach does a hard roll as two worlds collide. What if Luca can’t see Bec the way I—
And then my sister laughs.
Her face is lit up in a way I haven’t seen in months, and she’s just…laughing. It’s such a shock that Maura starts to laugh, and then Luca is laughing. He’s crouching by her chair, and I’m trying to smile as tears of shock fill my eyes.
“Becca, this is Luca.” She’s grinning so hugely that I know she knows exactly who he is. My sister isn’t mentally disabled. She has a rare disorder that’s been ravaging her body for the last few years—it causes seizures and destroys her muscles—and some of the medicines she’s taking make her a little out of it at times. But she knows what “my boyfriend” means.
“Luca, this is my younger sister Becca.”
“Hi, Becca. It’s nice to meet you.”
Becca flaps her right hand—the only one she can control—and I’m surprised when Luca reaches for it, closing his big hand around her smaller one and giving it a light shake.
Becca laughs again, and Maura wipes her mouth, and Luca doesn’t even flinch. I think of course he doesn’t. Why did I doubt him?
Still, I watch in shock as he tells Becca a long, one-sided story about the time he and his brother decided to make an obstacle course in their house with their mom’s magazines, couch pillows, and two pitchers of red Kool-Aid.
“Our mom was rabbioso.” He says the word dramatically, making Bec smile again. “Do you know what that means?”
Maura smiles knowingly, and after a brief pause, Luca says, “Furious. She was so mad at us, we had to clean the bathrooms for the rest of the year.”
“Bambini cattivi,” Maura murmurs, and Luca looks up at her.
“La tua famiglia viene dal vecchio paese.”
“Si.”
“Maura knows what’s up, huh?” Luca says to Becca. “I bet Maura is your buddy.”
I nod. “Maura and Bec make all kinds of craft projects. They dance and they do hammock time and therapy. Maura and I both read a lot to Bec. Bec is a good reader, but her eyes have been giving her some trouble, and I don’t think she minds too much if we read to her.”
“Elise has told me a lot of stuff about both of you. Good stuff,” he says to Becca, who smiles again.
“What are you guys doing next?” I ask Maura.
“I think we’ll watch a bit of TV and go for an early bed time.”
“Luca and I are going to walk up to the garden for a minute. Then he’s going home. So I’ll join you for that TV. Sound good?”
Becca smiles, and I can tell she’s tired. It’s a lot of effort for her, asking her muscles to coordinate for a smile.
“Thanks for letting me come over,” Luca says to Bec. “Maybe some other time I’ll drop back by?”
She blinks a few times, big brown eyes trained on his face for just a second before swinging back down to her strap-crossed lap. Luca’s hand moves over her head, the motion so gentle I think his palm barely touches her hair. Then he gets to his feet, looking so tall in the small space of our laundry room. He turns to me, and he’s uncomfortable, not sure how to depart—even though I told him we would have to be quick.
“We’re going to go, you guys.” I brush my fingers over Becca’s forehead. “See you soon, sweetheart.”
“Nice to meet you both.” He gives a little crooked smile to Maura. “Prenditi cura delle mie ragazze.”
I can barely look at him as we walk to the elevator…even as I feel the tension rolling off him. We step in, and he steps closer to me. I can feel him looking down at me, can feel him wondering what to say as tears fill my eyes.
He murmurs a curse, and then I hear him blow a breath out. I’m crying. I’m covering my eyes. He moves in closer. I can feel him wanting to touch me and trying not to.
“Elise…did I—”
I shake my head and just keep shaking it as I try to pull myself together. “No.” I look up at him, laughing. “You were perfect.” That’s the problem. He’s so perfect it makes me scared. I don’t know why; maybe I’m afraid I’ll lose him.
His arms twine around me as the elevator opens on the rooftop level. He leads me out into the garden—cold and humid with the nighttime. There’s a breeze that cuts me to the bone. I’m shivering and he is leaning in the corner of the terrace, wrapping me in his arms, then unzipping his black hoodie…helping me into it.
I’m between his legs and in his arms, my cheek pressed to his chest so I can hear his heartbeat.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper after a long time has passed.
“Why?”
“For freaking out when it went so well. You were really perfect with her. It was beautiful.”
He takes in a breath and lets it out. More time passes, with the breeze in my hair. My tears are cold on my cheeks. His body is so warm. Finally my Luca says, “It was really easy. You know…because she’s sort of like a part of you.”
Chapter Thirteen
Luca
Everything is different after I meet her sister. More is given—gladly. More is taken—greedily. All things are assumed, and it feels right for us to be that way. It feels better than right.
And it’s a good thing, because it’s the only thing that does. In every other way, the next three months are a wash of bullshit. Dad started sleeping somewhere else most nights. It breaks my mother’s heart, but not a damn thing anyone can do. And when he is home, he’s got more piss in him then he used to.
I can feel him being miserable, hating himself and hating us because of it. One night when I’m lying awake, thinking of the feeling of her arms around me, I realize that’s how this goes with people like my dad. It’s sort of like he’s falling from the hundredth floor of a building, and he’s flailing with his arms grasping the air and legs all kicking, and he’s fucked. He knows he’s fucked, but he’ll grab at anything to slow that fall. He needs something to hold him. Most of all, I think he needs someone to blame, and so we give that to him. Doesn’t matter if we want to. He’s not asking. When it comes to me, especially, he’s gotten good at twisting me into the enemy he needs.
Christmas Eve is ruined when he comes home drunk after midnight mass, sits down to dinner Soren and I made for Mom, and spoons some of our seafood risotto into his mouth. He spits it out and stands so fast he nearly upends our small table.
“Cold,” he bellows. “Couldn’t even keep the food warm for your father!” He shoves the table before stomping off to his room.
That sends Soren to his own room, where he’s locked himself inside. I can hear him screaming into the pillow. Mom, who was in the bathroom when it happened, helps me coax him out. Normally on Christmas Eve, we watch a movie, but no one trusts Dad not to make trouble, so we finish our dinner and retreat to our own rooms.
I’m nearly asleep—hugging a pillow, thinking of Elise in a way I only let myself when I’m half conscious—when someone knocks on my window.
What the fuck?
It’s Leo.
For a second, I have sort of a flashback to when he used to live in the apartment next door—before his parents divorced and he and his mom moved in with his grand
ma over on Mill Street. With Alesso on the next block, we used to roam the neighborhood and call ourselves the Three Ninjas.
I frown at him through the window now. I shove it up a few inches. “What the—”
“Get out here.”
Leo’s got one blue eye and one brown one. Right now, they’re both fucking huge. I hold up one finger, shut the window, scrawl a quick note for my mom in case she comes into my room, pull on my coat, and then swing out the window. My sneaks crunch dirt in the narrow alley. Maybe ice, too.
“Fucking shit, Luca. Alesso’s with Tony, and he called my house from Tony’s mobile. They were doing something with some truck—unloading some shit over by the pier—and Tony ran his fucking duckbill, I don’t even know—” Leo waves his arms around as he walks toward the alley’s mouth— “He got his ass kicked. Alesso stepped in. He’s got a bad cut on his head that he said’s bleeding everywhere, and he and Tony ran off to some alley. They’re pretty fucked up, but Tony’s talking about going to kill those guys.”
Leo hangs a right onto the sidewalk that runs in front of the apartment complex. He starts walking faster. Then he’s jogging, and I’m jogging with him.
“Hotwired zio’s Cutlass so we can go to the pier faster. Clacking all around when I drive because he’s got catering shit in the back.” He waves at the red car that’s parked like shit along the curb.
“Ah, shit. Luigi—” Alesso’s uncle— “will fucking kill us if he finds out.”
He shakes his head as he unlocks the door. “Fucking Tony. Alesso’s been doing shit like almost every night.”
We drive to the pier with Queen singing “Bohemian Rhapsody” from the dashboard speakers. Makes sense, because Luigi sings in a Queen cover band sometimes on weekends. When we get near the pier, there’s a cop car with its lights on but no sirens.
Turns out Tony busted some dude’s face up and then he and Alesso bounced. Leo can’t find anywhere to turn around, and has to do a ten-point turn right near the cop, who pulls him over and writes him a ticket for driving without an ID.
I get home at two-thirty, after going with Leo to see Alesso. Aless needs stitches near his temple, but he won’t go for them, so Leo and I tape his shit up with some Band-Aids. Alesso looks like ass. He’s grown inches since I last saw him, but he looks skinny and scared, more like a kid than someone who turns eighteen in a few weeks.
I give him one of those back clap kind of hugs and feel damn sorry when we have to leave. Leo thanks me, like I need to be told thank you. I tell him to fuck himself, and he laughs, and it feels more normal—more like we were before I started going to Manhattan Magnet. We promise to get together soon, and I’m back up through the alley window with no further drama.
A quick trip through the house reveals that everyone is sleeping, which is good since I forgot to wrap my presents.
I fish the items out of the back of my closet and sit on the scarred floor, surrounded by gifts, tape, and wrapping paper. As I unroll some paper, I think of Elise. I wonder if she’s sleeping, if her house is all dressed up for Christmas. Would it be the kind of place that has a twenty-foot tree? I bet it is.
I think about her sister Becca, and I hope their parents pull their shit together and make it a good time for them. I lean my back against the foot of my bed. Fuck, I really miss her…the way she feels all wrapped around me, and her good smell. We still have to sneak around, so we don’t see each other all that much. But we meet up at parties, school sports shit, and sometimes at the public library near her house. I’m used to seeing Elise pretty often. So it sucks not to.
I wish I felt like I could call her—but her dad check’s her cellular phone log. I’ve emailed her from the library that’s near me, but it’s not the same.
There’s this feeling inside my chest like something clawing. Doesn’t matter, I tell myself. School will start again in nine more days. I’ll be okay until then. She said she might call sometime tomorrow—if she can find a safe time to try it from the house phone.
I get up, slip off my shirt, and pull on the sweater she gave me this past Friday night—at the MM Athletics Christmas party. It was the only way that we could swap gifts. I gave her a small gold ring I got one night I rode along with Tony on some sketchy jewelry store shit, and she gave me this sweater and a leather-bound edition of Lord of the Rings. I glance up at my bed, where the book hides in the covers.
Then I reach into the pocket of my jacket, where I’ve been holding onto something I was going to give her but didn’t. It’s a gold necklace with an amulet of St. Jude. I got it that same night with Tony, but when I arrived at the school gym for the athletics party Friday, I unwrapped the thing and stashed it in my pocket.
I thread the necklace through my fingers now and wish that I had given it to her. Maybe I will after New Year’s. I can tell her it’s Saint Christopher—for protection. One day, she’ll figure out it’s Jude. Or maybe she won’t. Maybe it gets lost before she even moves to college.
I fasten the necklace around my neck, quietly wrap my gifts, and steal into the living room to see what Santa Lucia left for Soren and me. Our stockings each contain a few small oranges, the same honey biscuits “Santa Lucia” always brings, cannoli in those plastic boxes my Zia Eva always puts her homemade stuff in, gold coin chocolates, several handfuls each of Double Bubble gum, ten dollars for each of us, playing cards for each, Pokémon cards for Soren, and at the very bottom of my stocking, my grandfather’s pearl cufflinks.
Seeing those makes me smile. My mom’s dad was a high school math teacher. Everyone says I look just like him.
I wear Saint Jude to sleep that night, despite the tightness of the chain around my throat, and open my eyes Christmas morning dreaming of Elise and me. She’s got on a fancy gown, and I’m wearing a tux with Nonno’s cufflinks. We’re going somewhere, but I can’t see our surroundings. It’s too dark out.
Elise
Four Months Later
“So I don’t get it…”
“Every reflection Ref of its own inverse.”
I slap my textbook shut. “Arggh. This is tedious!” Calculus. “And boring, and not intuitive. It’s like learning to speak another language.”
Luca laughs. “Because that’s what it is.”
I drop my forehead down onto my notebook, letting out a sigh that seems to echo in the closet-sized library study. “I’m perfectly satisfied with plain ole English.”
“But you can speak a few other ones too, right?”
I lift my head and then shift so I’m sitting cross-legged, facing him on our shared bench. “Some Bengali and a lot of French, which was my chosen language in middle school and ninth and tenth grade. I did Spanish in eleventh grade and this year.” I smile softly. “And now I know a little bit of your language.”
He gives me a silly grin. “Arubesh?”
I lean in closer. “L’italiano.”
“Sei pronto per stasera, la mia rosa?”
It’s a question, so I just assume that it might be about… “Tonight?”
“Anything you want to do?” He smiles softly. “Or do you trust me to come up with something?”
“I trust you. But there’s that afterparty, too, remember?”
He looks blank.
“It’s at my friend Isa’s. We can go if you want, or not if you don’t want to.”
“Do you want to?”
“Sure. It sounds fun.”
It’s April 12, which means tonight is prom. I’m officially going alone, with Dani’s driver, Fil, picking me up. I’ll meet Luca at the dance. There’s an afterparty at Isa Arnoldi’s home that’s supposed to last till 3 a.m. My parents won’t let me spend the night with Dani, not after what happened the night of Luca’s game. Like six months ago.
So Mercer will pick me up from Isa’s house at 2:50.
Luca scoots closer to me. He cups his palms over my shoulders, runs his hands slowly down my arms. His fingers encircle my wrists as he leans in closer.
“Missed you yeste
rday…”
“I missed you more.” Our mingling breath smells minty from the gum I brought to our calc study sesh. I brush his lips with mine…a little feather kiss. Luca can’t hold back, and pretty soon I’m on his lap with his arm locked around my back, his free hand threaded in my hair, tugging as his mouth ravishes mine.
We kiss until my lips feel bruised and swollen. Then he tucks me against his chest—the place I most love to be. I hug him hard in return.
“Is everything okay at your house?” I murmur. He missed school yesterday, and his only explanation was that he had “something to deal with.”
“Yeah,” he says now. “Better today.”
I can feel him take a long breath, though, as if he’s tired. I hug him more tightly.
“Your family’s lucky to have you, you know.”
He sucks another big breath back and leans away.
“What’s wrong?” I murmur.
He lets go of me, putting space between us.
“Nothing.” It’s a rough whisper. He gives me a strained smile.
“You don’t feel that way…like they’re lucky?”
He laughs. I know him well enough by now to hear how forced it sounds.
“Seriously though. How can you not see this?”
“I didn’t say I couldn’t see it,” he says, sounding defensive.
“But you can’t. I can tell it makes you feel weird when I say it.”
“What, that they’re lucky to have me?” His face hardens. “They’re not lucky. And how do they have me? I come here for school. I want to go to college somewhere, and I would if I could.”
“Do you really plan to not go?”
He shuts his eyes, then opens them again and looks down at the bench. “I could do a two-year school.” His jaw ticks.
“Luca. Robert Malone told me that you’re ahead of him, and he’s been top of our class since freshman year.”