by Malena Lott
“I don't know. I think you're closet dating. How many affairs go on that never make it out into the public? Are they not dating?”
“No. That's why it's called ‘having an affair.‘ Two different things. See, if you'd have asked if Michael and I are having a sexual affair, I would've said yes.”
“Thanks for setting the record straight. We'll see how long it takes before you slip up and wind up in public like da Vinci and I did.”
“Not gonna happen. Besides, I'm still holding out for Cortland. He dumped your sister yet?”
“So not gonna happen. If anything, she'll dump him. She brags about how often she gets hit on every day. I just want to shake her and scream, 'I get it! You're hot! But you're still not good enough for Cortland!”
“I may not be the only one with a little crush on Cortland.”
“You mean me? Don't be ridiculous. But he did call me earlier to see if I needed any help dog shopping. I'm going to surprise the boys.”
“Maybe he's a little hot for sister.”
I waved my hand as if to swat away the absurdity of her idea, though I secretly thought she could be on to something. “More like feeling sorry for his girlfriend's widowed sister. But I may take him up on it. I'm terrified of picking out the wrong dog. And he's done all the research on the best dog for kids. He knows a breeder who has pups for sale.”
“I don't know,” Anh said, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “Sounds like a date to me.”
“I don't see you as the yappy dog type,” Cortland said the following day as we sipped coffee at Starbucks. He thought it would be easier to meet up and drive out into the country together, as it was twenty minutes into the middle of nowhere.
“What? You can't see me dressing a little Chihuahua in a cute striped sweater and carrying it around in my purse?”
Cortland's face broke into a smile and I wondered if it was the caffeine that made my heart begin to race or that smile. Now here was a man who knew how to dress sexy for his age. He wore a black mock turtleneck with pressed dark denim jeans and black boots.
“You need a dog like my Leibe. Good dog for growing boys. And a great jogging companion, too. Of course, you already have a jogging companion.”
“I do? Oh, you mean da Vinci? I guess so.”
“You two serious?”
I shook my head. I vaguely remembered how this happens. You start dating someone, people ask you if you're serious, will you get married, do you want more kids? I couldn't believe people assumed that romantic evolution for da Vinci and me. Either I was delusional or I didn't like da Vinci as much as he liked me. “I can't see getting into a serious relationship right now,” I said. “Maybe it's the timing. Or maybe it's just him. I don't know.”
Cortland's smile turned down, though the twinkle in his eye showed the opposite. “Well, that's too bad. You deserve to be happy, Ramona.”
I wrapped my fingers around the hot ceramic mug. “I am happy. Okay, happier, anyway. But I'm not sure I need a man to feel that. The way I see it, it either happens or it doesn't. I've done some research on those pesky love hormones. I'd like your professional opinion, actually.”
“A professional opinion about love? Didn't know there was such a thing, but I'll give it my best shot.”
“Vasopressin.”
“The monogamy drug.”
“So you've heard of it?”
“I happen to believe humans can very much be monogamous.”
“By choice or biology?”
“Everything in life is a choice, whether inspired by biology or not.”
“But you agree love is a chemical attraction? That the endorphins cause us to fall in love and stay in love?”
He crossed his arms in front of him and I found myself staring at his large hands, and longed to reach out and touch them. Anh had to be wrong. I couldn't have feelings for him. It would not only be crazy, but wrong.
“I think chemistry is a huge part of it,” he said, leaning in to the table. “But in the end, our brains have to tell us if it's the right thing or not. Otherwise, who knows who we might end up with?”
He may not have meant it as a put down, but that's how I took it. That he thought my loving da Vinci was a colossally bad idea. “You're right,” I said, holding my head high. “We might end up with someone like a fame-obsessed TV star with fake boobs. For instance.”
I could feel my cheeks flame and Cortland stared at me for a long moment before he spoke. “Or an immigrant preying on a lonely widow.”
If he hadn't meant it as a put-down before… “Oh, is that what you think?”
“If it's not love, it's at least convenient. A backyard beefcake at your beck and call.”
He hadn't sounded snappish-it's the women who come off that way-and I couldn't control the shrill of my tone. “Who do you think you are?” I grabbed my jacket to get up and leave, but he grabbed my hand.
“I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that. It was rude and completely out of line.”
I stood and fought back the tears, releasing his hand. “I started it. I'm sorry. I shouldn't speak that way about my own sister. I don't know what got into me.”
“No, I'm sorry. Now that I've acted like a complete dog, perhaps it's time we go look for one. If you'll still get in a car with me?”
His apology sounded sincere, and I really did want to surprise the boys with a dog. They'd been getting along so much better lately, and while their rooms still weren't immaculate, I didn't exactly set the best example in the good housekeeping department. We drove in silence most of the way to the breeder's house, my head pressed against the cool window as I watched the sunflower fields sway in the wind. The temperature had dropped considerably, and by the time we played with the litter of German Shepherd puppies in the breeder's backyard, it began to drizzle.
“Which one?” the breeder asked, tugging at his rain slicker, clearly ready to take cover.
A wooly gray furball pounced over and playfully bit my hand. Love at first bite. “I think he picked me,” I said, looking up at Cortland.
“You three will be very happy together,” the breeder said dryly, as he led us into the house to do the paperwork. Obviously, he thought Cortland and I were a couple, but I didn't correct him. Neither did Cortland.
“They can be tough to house-train,” the breeder said, handing the puppy over to me.
“I've done it before,” Cortland said assuredly, and I grinned at the prospect of his help. Presumptuous, but kind. I was probably his future sister-in-law and my sons, his future nephews. He was helping out family, was all.
“Could be fun,” he said as he peered over the backseat at the little pup whimpering in the crate, and then looked back to me again.
I don't know who needed more help at the moment-me or the dog-but I looked forward to it all the same.
Chapter 15
I LAY IN THE early light and swept my arms over Joel's side of the bed, sunken in where his body had lain. Joel used to joke he was climbing into his cocoon every night. I wondered if it would be weird just to move it to the garage to keep for old time's sake? Weird for a Normal, but perfectly normal for a Griever.
I'd progressed in leaps and bounds by adding a dog into our lives, but I couldn't get rid of Lumpy, even when I woke up with a backache because the mattress had given up support long ago. I'd had emotional attachments to objects before-my first designer bag in college, my grandmother's diamond earrings-but an ugly, worn-out, king-sized bed? I decided a marriage is a triangle made up of a man, a woman, and their bed. It was one of the last physical remnants of our union, and yet my back knew it was time to say goodbye; finally, so did I. If only I could gather the courage.
Da Vinci would've preferred Lumpy to the pull-out couch that became our regular venue for late-night romps. On Halloween night, after the boys had finally come down from their sugar high and gone to bed, I had slipped out to the studio, where more than two dozen candy wrappers littered his floor.
A few things began
to bother me about da Vinci, high among them his trail of clutter wherever he went-this coming from the Clutter Queen. How could I tolerate it in myself, but despise it in others? Talk about a hypocrite. Used paper towels and wadded-up homework and wrappers of every size, shape, and color. Didn't they have wastebaskets in the Italian countryside, too? He was worse than my boys, and I already had to pick up after them. I forgot when you get a boyfriend, you get more than a late-night body warmer. It wasn't just his mess, either.
His work ethic was questionable. While he was good at a lot of things, he didn't like to finish anything he started. After a few days on a temp job, he was ready to move on. If they kept him on too long, he just didn't show up, which caused reprimands all the way up the ladder, and ended up being reported to Panchal, who had high expectations of his immigrants: on time, best effort, no excuses.
I dismissed it as his age, not knowing what he wanted to do with his life yet, or not yet feeling like he fit in, but the more time that passed, the more I thought it could just be da Vinci's personality. I wondered if he would wake up one day and see that I wasn't so interesting after all-just a regular woman with two boys and a mortgage she could barely pay.
And what was with that notebook? He carried it with him everywhere, but when I tried to find it, it was nowhere to be found. What could be inside? Sketches of me and the boys? Love poems? A journal of his new life in America? Da Vinci was still a mystery to me. On any given day, he went from incredibly simple to preposterously complex. He was both or neither or I was just overthinking him. Well, I had a right to, hadn't I? Wasn't he my boyfriend now?
Halloween night, after a quickie on top of the sheets, we lay naked on our bellies and ate more bite-sized candies. He threw his wrappers on the floor and I tossed mine on the side table.
“There are three trashcans in here,” I said, motioning to the one just a foot from where he was tossing the trash.
Da Vinci stuck a Tootsie Roll in his mouth. “You sound like my mother.”
Ouch. “I was just pointing out an obvious fact. Fine. Whatever. You're a grown man. If stepping on candy wrappers and getting chocolate goo on your bare feet doesn't bother you, then why should I care?”
“You shouldn't.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
I tried to lighten the mood. “I guess you enjoyed trick or treating? From the looks of it, you really cleaned up.”
“Stop with clean house. Got lots of candy.”
“Sorry. That's an expression: ‘Cleaned up‘ can mean you really did well. As it, got lots of candy.”
“Yes, lots of candy. Candy bars very big in America.”
“Chocolate releases endorphins in the brain,” I said. “Mimics the feelings of love.”
“I don't need chocolate,” he said, playfully hitting my foot with his. “You are one big chocolate factory.”
I kissed him, one chocolatey kiss that had the power to pull me on top of him. “So I saw you writing in your notebook when you and the boys got back. What do you put in there?”
“I already told you. Things.”
“So it's like a diary, then? Anh thinks you write down observations about life, like your namesake did. Is that what it is? Borrowing an old trick from the old man da Vinci?”
In fact, Anh believed he could be da Vinci reincarnated, finally getting to visit America. I would not share this with him, or anyone else, for that matter. I liked to keep my friend's loopy ideas under cover. Besides, it wasn't reincarnation that gave him so many similarities with the genius da Vinci, but his name. Perhaps his parents, even in their small Italian village, fostered creativity and curiosity in their little da Vinci, hoping he might grow up one day to master any of the many things in which the genius da Vinci was gifted. Many people didn't know the old da Vinci had done everything from party planning to war strategy and everything in between: scientist, horseman, astrologer, artist. I had never seen my da Vinci draw or paint anything, though I'd tempted him a few times when the boys were doing crafts, but he never did. Perhaps that's what I was hoping I would find in his notebooks: proof that he was or wasn't da Vinci reincarnate. Besides my da Vinci's skill at landscaping, horseback riding, and taking care of his body, the most obvious shared trait was his proclivity to leave projects half-finished. Hardly a way for him to make his own name for himself, let alone the old guy's.
Da Vinci shook his head and ran a finger down from my neck down to my belly button. “My notebook is personal. Now let's get it on so I can do my sit-ups before bed.”
He was nearly as fitness obsessed as my sister. The only difference was he ate whatever he wanted, but he made up for it with marathon workout sessions: jogging, biking, lifting weights, Pilates. Rachel had asked him to come on her show for the next taping, so he'd been even more obsessive than usual. His hundred sit-ups turned into a thousand. Not that I let his one-armed push-ups make me feel bad about my still soft body. Well, maybe a little.
“I thought you said America cared too much about TV? That we should get out and enjoy nature more?”
“This true,” da Vinci said. “But TV makes you star, no? And maybe I could be star.”
I picked up a pillow and threw it at him, hitting him in the head. “I already have one star too many in my family, thank you very much.”
The puppy whimpered from inside the house, his bark becoming more persistent, needy. Bellezza. Da Vinci had named him for beauty, but I was beginning to think we should've named him Cane Terribile for “holy terror.”
I grabbed my sweatshirt and sweatpants, thinking I must be an old, uninteresting girlfriend to not even wear sexy lingerie for da Vinci after only four weeks together. I made a mental note to pick up some when I went to the department store to look for a bed. Oh, God. I was going shopping for a bed? I'd have to pop a Xanax just to get through it. For some reason, it felt like more of a betrayal than being with da Vinci.
“Don't go,” da Vinci said, tugging at my arm. “Puppy can wait.”
Another annoying trait: da Vinci could be selfish. Maybe a younger, more interesting girlfriend would've stayed with him, but I was a regular woman with two boys and a puppy, which was a lot like having a newborn. “Da Vinci, I've got to take care of Bellezza. I'll see you tomorrow.”
He sat up in bed, pulling the sheets over him. “Is that man coming tomorrow?”
I slipped on my house shoes. “Cortland? I have no idea. Why do you ask?”
“He's been over too lot.”
I rolled my eyes. “He's been over a lot. He's just helping with the puppy. He's being nice. I haven't had a dog since I was a kid.”
“I had six sheepdogs back home.”
“Well, Bellezza isn't a sheepdog, is she? She's a German shepherd, and if Cortland wants to help, I appreciate it.”
“Something not right about him. How you say, fishy? He's not welcome in house.”
“I can't believe this,” I said, grabbing the door, the sound of Bellezza's barks growing louder. “You're jealous of my sister's boyfriend? Do you know how crazy that sounds? And since when is it your house?”
He clicked off his lamp and turned away from me in a huff. What a baby, I thought, unsure of whether I should be flattered or turned off by his behavior. I decided to blame it on too much sugar and retreated to take care of my other baby.
She caught me off guard. Again.
I was walking Bellezza around the park when I got The Call. It felt out of the blue, though my heart had skipped a beat every time my cell phone rang the last week and a half. This time, I was too preoccupied with waiting for my puppy to pee to think that it could be Her.
“Ramona? Hey, sorry it's taken me so long to get back to you.”
Her voice was unmistakable, like an angel's, though not a sweet cherub, but a powerful angel like Raphael or Gabriel.
“God, I did it again. Sorry. It's Monica. Blevins. I was going to call you when I returned from Japan?”
“Yes, of course. How are you?” I looked down
to find Bellezza urinating on my sneaker. A half-acre to roam, and he picks my Nike. “Dammit.”
“Excuse me?”
“No. Not you. My puppy just peed on my shoe.”
Monica laughed. “I don't hear that every day. Shall I call you back?”
“No, no. Don't hang up. It'll dry, right?”
“Well, if you need to, call me back when you have your calendar in front of you.”
I imagined Monica was the type of person who couldn't live without her planner directing her every move, but my schedule was in my brain: Monday, Wednesday, Friday at the Panchal Center, Tuesdays and Thursdays volunteering at the school, and every day from 3:30 to 8 p.m. was booked with boys' activities, and then dinner, homework and bed. “Not at all. What works for you?”
Monica made exasperated noises on the other end: moans, sighs, ticks, as she moved through her frenzied days. She must be important to be so booked up. “Okay. Got it! I was nervous for a minute there, but I have thirty minutes two weeks from Monday.”
“Two weeks?” I'd already been a nervous wreck waiting for her to return and call me back. Now I had to wait two more weeks for her confession? For those huge Unanswered Questions she was going to hit me with?
“You're right. That's too long, isn't it? Let's see what I can move around.”
“Oh, you don't have to do that for me.”
“It's no big deal. Besides, Joel was special to me. It's the least I can do.”
I nearly dropped the phone. I wanted to say, “Forget it. Let's just get this over with on the phone. What do you mean by special? What precisely is your definition?”
“What about tomorrow then? Coffee at 8 a.m.? That Starbucks on 89th?”
The one where Cortland and I had our spat. “I might be a few minutes late. I drop the boys off at 8.”
“That's fine. I'll see you then.” And she was gone. I was left standing in the park, staring at Joel's bench, with warm dog piss on my shoe.
The next morning, I woke up with a racing heart as though I had anxiety even in sleep. It was 6:30 a.m., just enough time to look half as good as Monica. It would have to do. I would exfoliate my entire body in the shower and use the expensive lotion my sister got me last Christmas. I would even wear eye shadow and attempt to curl my hair.