“That’s not what I meant. I’m not talking about giving birth. Of course you’d be capable of that. I’m talking about the rest of it.”
“What rest of it?”
“The part where you’d hand over the baby and leave.” Joe shakes his head. “I just don’t think you have it in you, Nina. I think you’d take one look in that little baby’s eyes and you’d want to stay. You’d want to be a part of its life.”
“You’re wrong, Joey,” she says with absolute certainty. “I have no desire to be anybody’s mother. Been there, done that. I’m leaving in July, and I’m not looking back, no matter what.”
“I know. Independence Day.” He smiles at her. But it’s a sad smile. “So like I said, it’s better this way.”
“Right. It’s definitely better this way. And Joey, you’re going to meet somebody and fall in love and have kids the old-fashioned way,” she says brightly. “Really. You’ll probably be walking down the aisle by the time I’m packing my bags next spring.”
“Yeah. Maybe. Hey, listen, tell Rosalee to get me that Susannah’s number again, will you? I tossed it last week, but I think I’ve changed my mind about calling her.”
Nina makes an effort to keep her smile from fading. “Sure, Joey. You should call her. She sounds great.”
She stands.
“Where are you going?”
“Home. Back to bed. I’ve got to be up early in the morning.” She feigns a yawn.
Joe walks her to the door. The rain has stopped. Now everything is dripping and shrouded in mist.
“Okay, well . . . see you, Joey,” Nina says, one foot over the threshold.
“Nina . . .”
She turns to look at him.
He pulls her into his arms and squeezes her tightly. “It’s okay. Really. And thanks. At least we tried.”
“Yeah. At least we tried.” She feels as though she’s going to cry.
Trying hard to swallow the painful lump in her throat and the knowledge that she’ll never be that serene, glowing Madonna ripe with child, she pulls away and hurries toward home.
A FEW NIGHTS LATER, Joe finds himself playing pool at the Adonis, a neighborhood pub with great gyros, decent beer on tap, and a jukebox with a selection of songs that hasn’t been changed since the ’80s. Which is a good thing, as far as Joe is concerned. He might be getting old, but he can’t seem to get into the kind of music he usually hears spilling from Ralphie’s room next door.
“Okay, rack ’em up, Danny Boy,” Paulie Caviros says, rubbing more chalk on his cue stick as he checks out a couple of women on their way to the ladies’ room.
“Geez, Paulie, they look like jailbait,” Joe says, shaking his head.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Grinning and shaking his head, Joe takes a sip of his second beer and glances at Danny, who doesn’t seem to be listening.
Paulie nudges him. “Yo! Danny! You alive?”
“Huh? Yeah. Yeah, I’m alive.”
“Then rack ’em up.”
Danny plucks a couple of balls from the nearest net pocket and halfheartedly deposits them on the table.
Paulie drifts over to the jukebox beside the ladies’ room door.
“There he goes, lying in wait,” Joe says, shaking his head. He looks at Danny, who’s racking up the balls, but still looks preoccupied. “Hey, Dan . . . is everything all right?”
“Yeah, it’s just . . . Barb’s late.”
Joe looks across the room, past the crowded bar, at the door. “She’s coming tonight? I thought you said she was home watching Survivor.”
“She is. I don’t mean she’s late coming here, I mean . . . she’s late.”
“Oh!”
“Which means she might be hitting menopause early, or . . .”
“She might be pregnant,” Joe says, and claps Danny on the back. “That would be great news, Dan.”
“Yeah. Yeah, it would be. I’m scared to even hope for it, because we thought we could never conceive, but if there’s the slightest chance . . .”
The throbbing opening guitar strains of AC-DC’s “Back in Black” drowns him out.
Joe looks over at the jukebox to see Paulie pressing yet another selection.
“He gets three for a buck,” Danny says with a groan. “What do you want to bet the next one’s ZZ Top?”
“Nah, Lynyrd Skynyrd. ‘Freebird.’ ”
“That always makes me think of you and Minnie.”
“Really? Why? It doesn’t make me think of me and Minnie. It makes me think of . . .” He trails off, the song’s opening line running through his head.
If I leave here tomorrow . . . would you still remember me?
“What?” Danny prods.
“Never mind.”
“Yeah, well, you and Minnie used to slow-dance to it back in high school. Remember? It was the last song at every CYO dance, and the two of you would be all wrapped up in each other, even when it got fast. It was like you didn’t know anybody else was around.”
“Huh.” He shrugs, watching Paulie punch in another song on the jukebox, and then pounce on the two attractive women the moment they step out of the ladies’ room.
“What does ‘Freebird’ remind you of, Joey?” Danny asks.
The classic song’s restless lyrics remind him of Nina, of course. Nina, longing to fly away from here.
And the truth is, when he and Minnie danced to “Freebird” at the Catholic Youth Organization’s dances back in high school, he always found himself watching Nina out of the corner of his eye. She was usually in somebody else’s arms—Nina never lacked a partner at CYO dances—but she always looked far more enchanted by the song than by her date.
She used to close her eyes and sing the words, and Joe would smile to himself, watching her, thinking that the song might as well have been written about her.
Back then, he thought the time when she would fly away was right around the corner.
Little did he know that it was Minnie who would fly away first . . .
Or that now, years later, when Nina’s turn is approaching at last, he’d find himself so wistful at the thought of her leaving.
You should be happy for her, he scolds himself.
And he is.
Happy for Nina.
Sorry for himself.
“What the hell is on your mind, Joey?” Dan asks, gazing intently at him.
“Huh? Nothing. Go on, Danny. Rack ’em up.”
“I’m racking, I’m racking . . .”
Joe watches absently, still haunted by the old song’s lyrics.
So many places I’ve got to see. . .
If only she were pregnant with his child. Maybe that would keep her here a little longer . . .
Or forever. That’s what you want, isn’t it? You don’t want her to leave at all.
He shakes his head at the ridiculous thought. Of course that isn’t what he wants. Nina is his friend . . . not his life.
“Hey, Paulie,” he says, when Paulie shows up at the pool table once again, looking spurned by the jailbait girls, “I’m taking someone on a blind date next week. You got any suggestions on where to go?”
“Yeah. Make her dinner at your place. Rent a movie with some good steamy scenes—”
“What, porn?” Danny injects, lifting the triangle away from the cluster of pool balls.
“No, not porn. Something classy. Like . . . like Nine 1/2 Weeks.”
Joe bursts out laughing. So does Danny.
“What? That’s a good movie!” Paulie protests. “Did you ever see it?”
“Yeah . . . like, in high school,” Danny says.
“Well, so what if it’s old? Angie loved that movie. It always got her in the mood. I’m telling you, Joey, a home-cooked dinner and a movie.
That’s the way to go if you want to—”
“I didn’t say I wanted to get her into bed,” Joe says. “I just said I’m taking her on a date.”
“Yeah, well, whatever,” Paulie mutters, looking bewildered.
“Who is she?” Danny asks.
“Her name is Susannah. Nina’s setting me up with her.”
“Hey, speaking of Nina . . . where’s she been? I haven’t seen her lately.”
“She’s been working a lot,” Joe says. He hasn’t seen her in a few days himself. Not since she dropped by Sunday afternoon to give him Susannah’s phone number and a plateful of homemade pizzelle, the anise-flavored Italian waffle-style cookies his mother always made for him.
“I’m practicing making them for Rosalee’s wedding,” Nina told him. “I’m sure they’re not as good as your mom’s.”
They weren’t . . . but he told her they were anyway.
He invited her in to watch the Giants game, but she said she had to get going. Still, she seemed to be hesitating.
“Everything all right, Nina?” he asked, impatient to get back to the television. He could hear the crowded stadium going crazy.
“Yeah, everything’s fine. It’s just . . . I got my period. I wanted you to know.”
“Oh.” So that was it. It was final. “I guess we both knew you would, after the test.”
“Yeah, I guess we did. So . . . are you going to call her?” Nina asked, motioning at the phone number in Joe’s hand.
“Oh . . . yeah. Sure.”
“When?”
“Later,” Joe decided, thinking that was what Nina wanted to hear. Or was it? She didn’t look thrilled. “What? You want me to call her now? I’m watching the game, here.”
“No, take your time, Joey. Don’t call her at all, if you don’t want to. It doesn’t matter to me. Rosalee’s the one who wants you to go out with her.”
Yeah, well, Joe wants to go out with her, too. Which is why he called right away—okay, during halftime—and asked her out. He liked the sound of her voice, and they had a nice conversation.
“You know, I’m really looking forward to going out with her,” Joe tells Paulie and Danny.
“With Nina?”
“Nina!” Joe frowns. “Who says I’m going out with Nina?”
“Wasn’t that who we were just talking about?”
“I was talking about my date with Susannah. Which Nina set up. Sort of.”
“Speaking of Nina, I was thinking of going out with her myself,” Paulie says, leaning over the table and lining up his shot. “She’s been looking hotter than usual lately.”
Joe gapes at him. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Why would I be kidding? Don’t get me wrong, she’s always been very hot, but lately—”
“I don’t mean you’re kidding about that. I meant about going out with her, Paulie.”
“Why would I be kidding about that? We’re both consenting adults.”
“No offense, Paulie, but I don’t think Nina’s consenting to anything that involves you,” Danny informs him.
“What’s wrong with me?”
Joe looks at his friend. Paulie’s handsome, no doubt about that. He’s got wavy dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and the muscular body of a regular weightlifter. But he’s too arrogant for Nina, too conservative, too macho.
Not to mention the fact that she can’t stand him.
“Listen, Paulie, nothing’s wrong with you. It’s just that you don’t want to get involved with Nina now. She’s outta here next summer, for good.”
“Yeah? She still talking about leaving?” Paulie asks. “Maybe I can try and change her mind.”
“I don’t think anything can change Nina’s mind about leaving,” Joe says, trying not to sound as bleak as he feels. “She’s been planning this her whole life.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes life throws you a curve,” Danny tells him. “Barb and me had a lot of plans, too. Sometimes things don’t work out the way you think they will. Sometimes plans turn out to be nothing more than wishes.”
Joe thinks about Danny and Barb, and how badly they’ve always wanted children.
Now Barb is late.
And Nina . . .
Well, Nina is not.
Joe sighs. “Yeah,” he agrees with Danny. “Sometimes plans turn out to be wishes. Wishes that don’t come true.”
Chapter Eight
“SUSANNAH?”
The slim blonde in the fitted red suit looks up from the hardcover novel she’s reading at a corner table. “Yes. Joe?”
“That’s me.” He strides past the handful of other tables in the small Greek pastry shop. “Nice to meet you,” he says, feeling stiff and too formal—that familiar, awkward first date feeling.
“Nice to meet you, too. At last. I’m sorry I had to cancel last week, but like I said, Maddie had strep throat.”
“Is she better now?”
“Much, thank you.”
He slides into the chair opposite hers. “Well anyway, sorry I’m so late tonight. I got hung up at the office.”
“It’s okay. I’ve been trying to finish this all day,” she says, slipping a bookmark between the pages. “It’s due back at the library tomorrow.”
“I finished that one last week,” Joe says, deciding that she’s even more attractive than Rosalee made her sound. She has high cheekbones, a quick smile, and beautiful light green eyes fringed by dark lashes. Her hair looks as though she’s just brushed it, falling in a perfect pageboy to her shoulders.
“Did you like the ending?” Susannah asks.
“I think his last one was better.”
“So do I, at least, so far.” She sets the book aside. “I’ve read everything he’s ever written.”
“So have I. Rosalee didn’t tell me you were into horror fiction.”
Susannah raises a neatly arched eyebrow. “She didn’t? You mean she didn’t tell you every last detail about me?”
Joe grins. “Not every detail. But she did mention that you once had an allergic reaction to shellfish, that you won a local Junior Miss pageant when you were seventeen, and that you think Starbucks coffee is overrated, which is why I suggested meeting at this place instead.”
“And here I thought that was because she told you about my baklava fetish.”
“No, but she did tell me about your other fetishes,” he teases.
Her eyes twinkle at him. “Really? Uh-oh.”
“Joey Materi! Haven’t seen you in awhile.” George Vardalos, the cafe owner, materializes at their table, rubbing his hands on the white apron at his waist. “You been traveling again?”
“A little bit. I was in Tokyo the last week in September. But mostly I’ve just been busy at the office, George.”
“That’s what your friend Nina says. She says you work too much.”
“Nina? Uh-oh. Has she been in here spreading rumors about me again?”
“The things she says! You don’t want to know.” George winks at Susannah.
“Nina is Rosalee’s sister,” Joe explains to Susannah, who nods politely.
“That Nina,” George says. “What a doll. She was in here last weekend.”
“Yeah?” Joe worked through last weekend. The weekend before that, he was in Tokyo. Come to think of it, he hasn’t seen much of Nina in the past few weeks, ever since the stick failed to turn pink or sprout a pacifier or whatever it is that sticks do when they bring glad tidings.
“She was in here with a date, after a movie, for coffee and baklava. Burly fella. Tall.”
“Taller than you?” Joe asks George, who’s at least six-foot-three.
“Nah. A lot taller than you, though.”
“Oh.” For some reason, Joe is irked by that.
Not that Nina doesn’t have every right t
o date some tall, burly guy.
But she didn’t mention the date when he saw her at the Columbus Day buffet at Most Precious Mother after mass on Sunday.
Nor did she mention it on Monday when he stopped into the pizza place for the Columbus Day special: a veal parmesan hero and pasta fagoul.
“What can I get for you and the pretty lady?” George asks.
Joe and Susannah order espresso and the cafe’s special sample dessert platter.
George nods. “With extra chocolate pastries, right?”
Joe looks at Susannah. “I don’t know. Do you like chocolate?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“Not as much as my friend Nina,” he says, and George grins.
“Nina, she takes all the chocolate pastries every time. So now I give Joey extra when they come in together.”
“I promise I’ll go easy on them,” Susannah says.
Joe nods. “No extra chocolate then, George. We’ll be fine.”
“You and Nina hang around together a lot?” Susannah asks when George disappears into the kitchen.
“Pretty much. She lives next door. I’ve known her my whole life.”
“Rosalee says she’s moving away.”
“She is. In July.”
“Where’s she moving to?”
“She’s going to travel around the world for a while.” Joe finds himself telling Susannah about Nina’s mother dying, and how she raised her younger siblings, and how she’s been waiting for years to strike out on her own.
The coffee and pastries arrive.
“I’ll have to squeeze in a trip to the gym after this,” Susannah says, nibbling delicately on a Napoleon.
Joe tries not to notice that she takes only a few small bites and sets it aside.
Their conversation turns to talk of workouts—she’s into Pilates and Tae-Bo—and then of his recent trip to Tokyo and his upcoming trip to Chicago, and then to her daughter. And her husband. Susannah’s smile fades when she mentions him.
“I’m so sorry,” Joe says gently, touched by the haunted expression in her pretty green eyes. “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through.”
“It’s been rough.” She runs a hand through her hair. Every strand falls back into place with precision. “It’s like I’ve only been going through the motions every day. But lately, I’m finally starting to feel as though I can focus on living again without feeling guilty every single time I catch myself laughing.”
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