Hmm... Were hippos and meerkats even on the same continent? When the meerkats jumped to their deaths, did they go one at a time or was it a group, let’s-drink-the-Kool-Aid kind of thing. WAIT! Those weren’t cliff-jumping meerkats, those were lemmings! “Lemming!”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
I started to dance. Because it felt like maybe that’s what my body had already started doing, just without me knowing it. The way it swayed side to side rhythmically was kind of like being pushed out onto the dance floor at a wedding. You know, when everyone spreads out and then one brave soul steps into the ring to shake what their mamma gave them. My body was giving me that encouraging nudge. You got this, Julie. You’ve got the moves like Jagger. Leo really needs to see this. Ready, steady... groove!
I was totally right! Look at me all hot up in here in my sweats and non-running shirt and my purple wine-stained teeth. I rocked this makeshift dance floor. I didn’t just rock it, I owned it.
“Julie.” Leo sounded concerned. Maybe that was jealously. Maybe he was jealous over the fact that I was currently owning his old room.
“Leo, you have to share.” He had another room down the hall. This was my territory for the time being. I rolled my hips to the music playing only in my head and started dropping it like it was hot, because it actually was hot. A thousand frickin’ degrees. Like wearing a parka in a sauna in Hades. That type of hot. The one that also makes you want to sing: It’s getting hot in here, so take off all your clothes. “I am... getting so hot... I’m gonna take my clothes off!”
“No, Julie! Keep your clothes on.” Leo charged forward and shook me almost violently. His strong hands gripped me hard, like he was doing a reading with one of those blood pressure cuffs, fingers curled and squeezing out a pulse.
“I wasn’t actually going to take my clothes off, silly,” I giggled. A lot. So much so that I think I peed a little. “I was singing, and dancing. Maybe peeing.”
“And groping a statue.”
“He has a nice ass,” I retaliated quickly, waving a hand toward Renaldo.
“You’re seeing things, Julie. He has no ass.”
If I was seeing things, I was feeling things too, because my stomach started to roll and I was certain I couldn’t be hungry. With over three glasses of wine in it, there couldn’t possibly be any more room for food.
“Here.” He finally let go and walked back toward a dresser where a glass of water and two aspirin sat on the wooden top, a gesture of concern. He must have placed them there earlier when I was too busy manhandling Gramps.
“And?”
“And what?” Turning back toward me, he held out his hands for me to take the pills. I popped them into my mouth, and then grabbed the water to swish them down, not sure any of it would even fit.
“And? What’s my reading?” My blood pressure had to be through the roof.
“Your reading?” Oh dear. I think he forgot the English language. Maybe that’s what happened when you were in the land of your native tongue—you reverted back to your native language. I liked Leo’s old tongue. “You know what? Reading is a good idea, actually. Let’s get you settled back into bed and see if we can find you something to read until you get tired. At this point, you really need to just sleep this off.”
Pushing against the low slope of my back, Leo nudged me toward the bed, rotating me around once I got to its edge. My knees buckled against it, and I plopped down onto the mattress that could’ve honestly fooled me into believing it was a cloud and I was a Care Bear at this point. But I didn’t figure there was a Belligerent Bear, so maybe it wouldn’t fool me completely. I was smarter than that mattress.
“Don’t let me drown.” I slurred against the fluffy covers. Drool pooled onto the fabric and moistened my skin. Slick, clammy.
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Julie.”
He sure said my name a lot. Like way more than I said his name. I should probably catch up.
“Leo, Leo, Leo, Leo.”
I sensed his body pushing into the mattress as he lowered down next to me, but I didn’t open my eyes to see him. My eyelids were unbelievably heavy with sleep and drunkenness and jet lag, so even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t be able to force them open, let alone keep them held that way.
“Yes, Julie?”
“Leo, Leo, Leo.” There, that should do it. Twisting onto my stomach, I all but buried my face in the overstuffed pillow. “Do you happen to be a Leo, Leo?”
“No, Julie.” There it was again! He must really like my name. “My birthday is on Sunday, which makes me an Aries.”
“Man! There’s so much to get to know about you! Exciting!” I’d made out with him twice and didn’t even know his astrological sign. That was probably a first for me. Even the random drink buyers that I’d hooked up with in those questionable clubs usually told me their sign before we got physical. But that was more in a sleazy, ‘Hey baby, what’s your sign?’ kind of way, so maybe it was good that Leo hadn’t tested out that overused pickup line on me. Those words would never croon out of his mouth—their insincerity had no place upon his lips.
I stopped talking, mostly because my tongue felt so thick in my mouth that I might actually choke on it. Instead, I zeroed in on the peaceful cadence of Leo’s breathing next to me. Rise and fall. It sounded like he’d drifted into sleep, the way he slowly pulled in air and let it back out again in a steady flow.
Should I sing him a lullaby? That was a good idea. Sleepy people liked lullabies. Well, mostly babies liked lullabies, and since I had these crazy dreams of making babies with him someday, I should let him know I could totally handle the whole lullaby thing. I’d be an incredible mom.
I started humming, though it probably sounded more like moaning because the humming did awful things to my brain and made me grit my teeth really hard. It shouldn’t hurt to hum, but at this point, everything was starting to hurt, like bruising from the inside out. I stopped.
“Julie?” Leo rolled toward me and swept his hand through my hair. Fingers combed out every strand, and in that moment, even the hairs on my head had their own sensitive nerve endings. His voice hung in the air, a low, dreamlike tone. “You asleep?”
So I know this was totally wrong to do, but I didn’t answer. Like a six-year-old girl fake-sleeping in the car just so her daddy would scoop her up and carry her to her bedroom, I pinched my eyes together tightly and slowed my own breathing to convince him of this lie. I even added a cute little snore for dramatic effect—not a loud one because I didn’t want to scare him off completely, but one that hinted that I’d reached the REM cycle of my sleep.
“You awake, Julie?”
Silence.
Man, I was good.
Leo scooted closer to me and with gentle movements, and he lowered his head onto the pillow and slunk his arm across my body, tugging me closer to him so we were practically spooning. Ha! What a funny thing to think about. There were a few other utensils that came to mind, but I was happy with the spooning for the moment. Leo was a good spoon.
“So you’re not going to remember any of this, but maybe that’s a good thing.” His breath fell against my ear as he spoke. “And maybe we can have this talk again when you’re sober, but I have some things I really want to say to you.”
Instead of falling further into slumber, that last statement completely jolted me awake. My faking became much harder to pull off, and I could tell that my closed eyelids were fluttering with nerves. Leo would be able to see that if we were actually face to face.
“Have you ever met someone that you just know will be your last ‘I love you’?” He paused. My breathing was shallow and shaky and I gulped back a forced swallow. It felt like I was trembling in his arms, but he held me so tightly he didn’t appear to notice. “I saw you so many times at that coffee shop over the last year. I watched you interact with the customers and witnessed your relationships with many of them. Honestly, for a while I was jealous, and even tried to pinpoint what
kind of person it was that you were drawn to. Because I wanted to be that person to draw you in.”
I clenched my breath so tightly my insides quivered with the effort. Shaking within myself, I waited for him to continue.
“But there was Harry the professor and your art students and other random customers that would come through and you were the same with all of them. You were just you. So it wasn’t like any one person brought that joy out in you, it was just like it was something already there. It’s who you are.”
Hearing him mention the coffeehouse triggered a small jolt of sadness, because that place had honestly been home to me for the past few years. But the funny thing with home was that sometimes we moved. Sometimes we relocated. Sometimes we started over.
“Julie,” he breathed, a faint echo of real noise. I felt the small divot of his chin pressed into my hair. “You make me laugh, and I honestly haven’t had much laughter in my life. You know who you are. You’re confident and quirky and unassumingly beautiful. You’re so real. You’re pretty much everything any man should ever look for in a woman, and if he’s not looking for it, he’s a complete fool.”
Oh goodness, he was giving my crazy too much credit.
“I look forward to falling in love with you.” Leo’s lips pushed onto my crown of hair and he sighed quietly. “Because you’re real. So I know that when it happens, that it will be the real thing, too.”
There was no way I was going to be able to sleep for the next week with those words tinkering around in my brain. Who said things like that? And seriously, who thought things like that? About me?
I couldn’t leave him hanging. Not after he bore his wide-awake, thoughtful soul to my intoxicated, sleepy one. Digging my shoulder into the mattress for momentum, I twisted at the waist and flung around toward him.
I didn’t say anything with words—I didn’t even open my eyes—but I just pushed my mouth onto his, surrendering to his statement and to his hopes with lips on lips. His surprise was evident at first as his mouth froze suddenly—all rigid and unyielding—but that hesitation quickly receded and he offered me the most assuring, most tender reciprocation possible as our lips came together. It was a quick kiss, but sometimes the fleeting things were the most intense. Pulling back, I slipped my head down to his chest, letting Leo finally lull me to sleep with more soft strokes of his fingers through my hair and that steady, metronomic heartbeat.
I wasn’t sure if it was a dream or if the wine was still toying with my senses, but the last thing I remembered was his mouth against my forehead, and the words, “You’re going to be my last ‘I love you,’ Julie,” slipping through them, a promise made on a breath. Then, after an exhale that felt more like a release than a necessity, he whispered, “Quite honestly, you’ll actually be the first.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Leo was gone when I woke up.
There was no rustling of life down the hall, no clanging of plates in the kitchen, indicative of a house beginning to wake. I took my time getting ready, throwing on a pair of worn jeans and my oversized navy sweater before sweeping my hair back into a low ponytail at the base of my head. That’s all I had the effort, or talent, for.
For as bad as I felt during the night, the morning proved much kinder. No headache, no stab of nausea. Just the feeling that I might end up operating a little more sluggishly than usual, but hey, we were “on holiday,” so that sort of relaxation was acceptable.
Not quite sure when to head down the hall to see if anyone else was up, I decided to stall for a bit longer in my room. Leo had suggested reading. That was always a good time killer.
There weren’t any bookshelves lining the walls, so I walked back to the bed and pulled on the handle to the nightstand drawer. Maybe they had one of those Gideon bibles like in the hotel rooms back home. Not that I would even know where to start with one, but “In the beginning” seemed pretty appropriate.
Unfortunately, there was no bible.
Not even a book.
Nor a notepad.
Just an envelope with “For my Leo,” scrawled in perfect cursive, tied up in a neat little raffia bow like a ribbon hug around the parchment.
Defeated, I closed the drawer and shrugged my shoulders. Oh well.
Wait! What? A love letter to Leo?
I yanked on the handle again and ripped out the envelope in one fast swoop.
It had to be from Sofia. At least I hoped it was, because it wouldn’t be very fun to think not only of Sofia as an ex-girlfriend, but to also uncover another hidden relationship that lurked in his past. I figured I probably had enough to compete with already with Miss July. I didn’t need August and September in the mix as well. Enough with the calendar girls.
In some countries it was probably considered illegal, but I slipped out the envelope and held it in between two shaky fingers. The back flap was unsealed and the paper was crinkled and yellowed with age from the repetition of opening and closing it so many times.
This really wasn’t any of my business, but if I was going to attempt to justify for the sake of making myself feel better for doing something so inherently wrong, I could probably rationalize it away with the assertion that Leo said it ‘certainty was’ my business whom he was kissing. Though I figured this was the past tense version of that, I could make it work. Really it just came down to word choice.
I withdrew the lined paper from the envelope. It was folded into four precise sections, and I could see the ink that seeped through the parchment and onto the backside, bleeding blue lines veining across the page. It didn’t smell like perfume and I couldn’t see any lipstick kisses pressed on it, so that offered me a little relief.
Curiosity getting the best of me and probably killing a cat somewhere, I flipped it open and started to read.
March 8, 2004
My Dear Leo,
I’m really tempted to start this off dramatically with “If you’re reading this, then...” but let’s face it, if you are reading this, then your life has been dramatic enough. Well, look what I did there. Sorry about that. I guess there really is no other way to start.
I love you. I know I’ve said it a million times, and if I could say it a million more, it would never be enough. What you have endured these past three months is beyond what any young man your age should ever have to face. You should be playing football (or as they call it here, ‘soccer.’ Not the American kind of football because you have a good neck and it shouldn’t be broken). You should be hanging out with your friends (but not Joe because he smokes pot and I know you’ve smoked it with him before, too. If you’re going to smoke pot, then you should do your own laundry, my dear). You should be going to dances (and then coming straight home. When someone says, “Want to get a hotel room after the dance?” you tell them that you have a nice, comfy bed at home and you’ll pass on their offer. But don’t let them think that’s an invitation into your bed. We bought you a twin for a reason. Two people do not fit in a twin bed. Do you hear me? Two people do not fit in a twin!).
You should be fifteen.
And today you are. And I’m not here to see it. I’m not here to take you to your favorite gelateria since you don’t like cake. I’m not here to give you gifts where you already know what’s inside since you hate surprises. For Pete’s sake, you even arrived on your due date, Leo. There are no surprises when it comes to you.
So I wasn’t surprised at all when you put your life on hold for our family these past months. I wish I could say I was disappointed that you did, but you know there is never any way I could be disappointed with you. Instead, I was disappointed with life and how it chose to play itself out for us. Moms are meant to take care of their children when they are sick—it’s not supposed to be the other way around. I know you tried to force me to see the fairness in it, but you shouldn’t have to reciprocate something like that. It’s just not how things are meant to be.
I’m not going to tell you to take care of Gio. I’m not going to tell you to look out for Dad. I’m n
ot even going to tell you to watch over Buster, because honestly, I hate that dog. He’s on his own. I’m not going to tell you to do all of those things, because I know it doesn’t need to be said. You’ll just inherently do them, because that’s who you are. You’re a caretaker, and having been on the receiving end of that, you’re the best damn one around.
There is one person I am going to tell you to take care of though. You. Because I know you, Leo. I know how you put others before yourself. It’s your default. I can honestly say I’ve never met any adults, let alone fifteen-year-old kids, that have that quality. And I know the older you get, that’s only going to grow in you.
So be sure to take care of yourself. Because for a while, that’s all you’ll have. You won’t have me anymore to take care of you, and let’s face it, Dad and Gio aren’t going to fill that role. I pray someday you’ll meet someone that can be there for you—someone that you can care for and she can care for you.
But for now, just look out for yourself. I know that sounds like selfish advice and it could be the morphine talking like it was last night when I told your dad that he should grow a handlebar mustache and get a tattoo that says, “I love bunnies,” but I do know deep down that it’s my true hope for you. Don’t lose yourself without me, Leo. I won’t be there to help you find you again. That’s the hardest part in all of this.
So happy birthday, my Leonardo.
When you blow out your candles tonight, please remember my wish for you and include it with yours. You’re a good egg, son. Don’t let anyone, or anything, crack you.
Love,
Mom
P.S. I could never admit it to you before when you did it to support me during my treatments, but please grow your hair back. You don’t look good with a shaved head. I blame Dad for dropping you on the coffee table as a baby, but to go along with being a good egg, your head is kinda shaped like one. Grow it back out. The ladies will thank me.
Draw Me In Page 15