A Little Too Far

by Lisa Desrochers

  Just as I’m stuffing the phone back in my pocket, it vibrates.

  I smile at the caller ID. “Hey, you,” I say when I connect.

  “Hey. Happy birthday.”

  It’s so good to hear Trent’s voice. “Thanks. How was the tournament?”

  He blows a sigh into my ear. “I won.”

  “Oh my God! That’s amazing! Dad must be in heaven.”

  There’s a long pause. “Not so much.”

  “Why?” I say, feeling my brows pinch.

  “Because I quit the next day.”

  I can’t even speak for a second, my mind reeling. “Wow.”

  “Yeah.” He gives me a second to absorb, then says, “So tell me what’s going on there? Any big birthday plans?”

  I want to push him, to make him tell me everything that’s going on with him, but we’re still healing. Maybe we’re not ready to tackle everything quite yet. “Um … well, you know Alessandro?”

  “Alessandro?”

  “The almost-priest I’ve been doing all that work at the museum with?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “He’s cooking for me tonight. He should be here in about an hour.”

  “A cooking priest, huh?”

  I hear the smile in his voice. “First, he’s not a priest yet, and second, he’s pretty damn amazing in the kitchen.”

  “Yeah, well, just make sure he’s not expecting you for dessert.”

  “Jesus, Trent! He’s a priest!”

  “Not yet,” he says, laughing.

  I roll my eyes right out loud.

  “Seriously, though. It sounds like you guys are pretty close.”

  “We are.” I think of all the things I’ve told him—things I never would have dreamed I could tell anyone other than Trent. “He’s a really good listener.”

  There’s a long pause, and I can almost hear Trent wondering if I’ve talked to Alessandro about him. “Good,” he finally says. “I’m really glad you’ve had someone to talk to.”

  “Yeah. He’s amazing. I really feel like I’ve gotten to know Rome because of him.”

  “That’s great, Lex,” he says, and there’s something resigned in his voice.

  In the silence of the pause, I can hear him breathing. I close my eyes and imagine the warmth of his breath in my hair.

  “Well,” he says after a minute, “I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday and tell you I miss you, so …”

  “Thanks.”

  “I love you,” he says in a voice that makes something deep in my chest twists a little.

  I close my eyes again and breathe. “Talk soon.”

  “Talk soon,” he repeats, then the line goes dead.

  I hold the phone to my ear a minute longer, hearing those words over and over. “I love you too,” I whisper before lowering it.

  I fan myself, then move around the apartment, opening all the windows. The cool air from outside makes it feel less sauna in here, but it’s still warm.

  I head to the shower and decide to shave again, but the whole time I’m getting ready for my “date” with Alessandro, I can’t stop thinking about Trent. When I come out of the bathroom, I look through my armoire and slip the black silk tank Sam picked out for me off the hanger. It’s my birthday, and I feel like dressing up. Alessandro always looks so put together. No reason for me to always be a slob.

  I strap on my black lace bra and the matching thong, and slide the tank over my head. Sam’s right, the beads do draw attention to my boobs, and I think for a second about changing. I rifle through the hangers for the black skirt we bought to go with the top and shimmy it up my silky legs. Midthigh, so not indecent, but will he think I’m sending him signals? Am I sending him signals?

  I look at myself in the mirror, and my cheeks are flushed. Jesus it’s hot in here. I fan my face as I move to my bedroom window to open it wider, and there’s Horny Boy, on the street in front of my apartment. He must live on this street or something.

  He looks up and sees me and his hand moves to the zipper of his jeans. “Vieni a letto con me, dolcezza.”

  “No!” I say, holding up my hand.

  A grin spreads across his face as he inches the zipper down.

  I run to my nightstand and pull out Sam’s box of condoms, then sprint to the bathroom. I rip one open and fill it with water, then tie the end and run back to my window.

  He’s got his junk out, and he’s just starting to aim for my doorway.

  “No!” I say again, and throw my water balloon.

  He jumps back and laughs as it explodes at his feet.

  “Conosco un modo migliore per usarlo,” he says, grinning up at me.

  I run to the bathroom and fill two more, bringing them back with me. I throw them, and they explode on the pavement nowhere near him. I’ve got horrible aim.

  He gives himself a stroke and smiles up at me. “Vuoi assaggiare?”

  But then a man steps between us. He puts his hand on the boy’s shoulder and says something to him low enough I can’t hear it. The boy puts his junk away and scurries back into the bar. When the man turns and smiles up at me, I’m relieved to see Alessandro’s face. He arches an eyebrow. “Pest problems?”

  “Yeah, thanks! I’ll be right down!”

  When I throw open the door at the bottom of the stairs, Alessandro is standing there with two grocery bags. He smiles, and it strikes me that there’s something different about him. I can’t put my finger on it, exactly, except to say there’s a little bit of swagger to him that I’ve never noticed before. “Your personal chef has arrived.” His eyes drift over me. “You look lovely.”

  I’m barefoot, in a short skirt and a tank top in the middle of winter. “Thanks, but not quite season appropriate,” I say with a shiver. “The heat won’t turn off in my apartment, so it’s hot up there. The landlord isn’t picking up.”

  Horny Boy staggers out of the bar door just a few feet away. It seems to take his eyes a second to focus, but when they zero in on Alessandro, he grins. “Perdonami Padre, perchè ho peccato.” He cackles and staggers back into the bar.

  Alessandro clears his throat and looks back at me. “Can I come in? Maybe I could take a look.”

  “Yeah,” I say, standing aside. “Sorry about that.”

  We move up the stairs into my apartment, and he heads directly to the kitchen and sets his bags down. “It is warm in here. Where is your thermostat?”

  “In my bedroom,” I say, pointing back past the front door and the dining-room table.

  He hesitates for just an instant, but then peels off his jacket and hangs it on the back of a dining-room chair on his way to my room. I follow him through the door.

  “Here,” I say, pointing to the wall next to my bed. I watch his eyes briefly scan the room, catching on the bed for just an instant, before landing on the box of condoms on the nightstand.

  Shit.

  I feel my cheeks flame as I sweep them into the drawer and shut it, and I can’t look at him. “The, um …” throat clear, “… the stupid wheel is stuck. I can’t turn it down.”

  He moves to the wall and pulls the cover off. “This is old,” he says, looking it over. “Sometimes the mechanism just gives out.” He fiddles with the wheel, but can’t get it to move. “Hmm …” he says, looking around the room again. Finally, he lifts a foot and bends to slide off his shoe.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, something in my stomach kicking at the thought that he’s undressing.

  “When all else fails …” he says, then bangs the heel of his shoe into the thermostat twice.

  I step back, and my eyes widen. “I could have done that.”

  He smirks a little as he spins the wheel, and the old radiators hiss off in unison. “But you didn’t.”

  “Thanks … I guess.”

  He puts his shoe back on and makes his way to the kitchen. I prop myself in the kitchen door. “Can I help?”

  “No. This is my gift to you.” He washes his hands, then pulls a bottle of wine ou
t of one of the bags and digs in my drawer for the corkscrew. “Your only job is to relax and enjoy,” he says, coming out with it. He opens the bottle, pulls down two tumblers, and pours the wine.

  “Is this another one of your favorites?” I ask, taking the glass from his hand and sniffing at the top.

  “It is.”

  “You still haven’t taken me wine shopping.”

  He looks up from where he’s pulling a pan from my cupboard. “That’s right. I forgot. We’ll have to do that soon.”

  “So, how was your Christmas?”

  He glances my way as he peels a clove of garlic. “It’s our busy season, so …” I widen my eyes at him, and he cracks a smile. “It was lovely. Yours?”

  I take a long sip of wine before answering. “Stressful. Trent was home.”

  He stops peeling and turns toward me. “Did you … were you together?” His face is a shade pinker than it was a minute ago and a little pinched around the eyes.

  “No, we didn’t sleep together if that’s what you’re asking. Well … actually we did.” I add when I remember Trent’s last night home. “I fell asleep in his room one night while he was out, and when I woke up, he was curled around me in bed. That’s when I realized how much I needed my best friend back.”

  Alessandro nods. “So you talked?”

  “We did. I think we worked everything out. I mean … my romantic feelings aren’t totally gone, but I have to ignore them. We agreed that we were going to try to get back what we had.”

  He pulls my cutting board and a knife down and starts chopping garlic. “And you feel good about your decision?”

  I nod. “The second we talked, I felt lighter. It had been weighing so heavily on my conscience, you know? I struggled with it every day, and it was wearing me out. But now, I have my brother and my best friend back. We’re moving past what happened. So, yeah. I feel really good about the decision.”

  He smiles at me. “I’m glad you were able to work things out with him. Love of family is the one of the most important things.”

  I watch him move around my kitchen for the next half hour, no less graceful here than in anything he does, and when he finally has everything simmering in the pot on my stove, we sit together on the love seat.

  “Do you ever see your family?” I ask, swirling my second glass of wine.

  He nods slowly. “My grandfather isn’t well, so I go back to Corsica whenever I get the chance.”

  “Did you see them at all over Christmas?”

  “No, I’m afraid not.” He quirks the hint of a smile. “As I mentioned, it’s our busy season.”

  I smile back.

  “But I have a trip planned for my holiday next month.”

  “How long will you go?”

  “Three days. That’s all the time I have. But it’s enough to check up on them and be sure Mémé has everything she needs to care for Mom and Pépé.”

  “Your mother is still living with them?” I sip my wine and watch his face.

  He settles deeper into the cushions. “She’s never been right after her breakdown. She needs someone to care for her.”

  “What will happen if she outlives your grandparents? I mean, you couldn’t … you know, go back and take care of her, could you?”

  He sips his wine. “I’ve requested my home parish, and Father Costa has also put in the request, but the bishop holds sway over my placement. He’ll send me where he believes I can best serve the needs of the parish.”

  “So, if you can’t go home, what will happen to your mother?”

  “Father Costa will see that she’s cared for.”

  “What about your brother? Could he take care of her?”

  He lifts his gaze to mine. “Lorenzo’s been dead for almost two years.”

  I feel myself flinch. “I’m so sorry, Alessandro. I didn’t know.”

  “It was the path he chose. Sooner or later, his sins were bound to catch up with him.” He sounds so reasonable about it, but there’s a shake in his hand that wasn’t there a minute ago.

  I reach for it and fold it into mine. “Things haven’t been easy for you.”

  “The Lord tests us all in different ways.” His fingers curl into mine, and he sips his wine again.

  “I’m just sorry that all that has happened to you.” I settle into his side, and his thumb rubs circles on the back of my hand.

  “It’s all led me to right here.” We sit and listen to the lid of the pot clank as the contents gently boil. “Would you like to come?” he asks suddenly.

  I lift my head off his shoulder. “Where?”

  He looks down into my eyes. “To Corsica. Would you come with me?”

  “I …” Would I? I shift in my seat so I’m facing him and tuck a leg under me. “Your grandparents wouldn’t mind?”

  “I’m sure they’d be thrilled to meet you.”

  I roll it over in my mind, trying to find the downside. “You said it’s for three days?”

  He nods. “You’ll miss some school.”

  “I’m sure I could get notes,” I say to myself, then to him, “I’d love to go.”

  A smile blooms on his face, and he squeezes my hand before standing. “Dinner will be on soon.”

  Once dinner is on the table, we sit and eat and talk about everything under the sun. He tells me about Corsica, obviously excited for our trip, and we talk about how to keep the tours going after we’re both gone.

  “When will they assign you?” I ask as I drain my fourth glass of wine.

  “As soon as I’m ordained. I’ll most likely leave the week after Easter.”

  “That’s soon,” I say, surprised to feel a sudden pang at the thought of being here in Rome without him.

  “Easter is April 5 this year, so two and a half months.”

  I lift the bottle. Alessandro holds up a hand when I try to pour the last of it into his glass, so I pour it in mine instead.

  “You might want to slow down,” he warns.

  I smile. “I’m legal everywhere now. I’m celebrating.” But as soon as we’re done eating, and I stand up to clear the dishes, I realize five glasses of wine was probably three too many. I stagger into the wall next to the door when I lose my balance, and the silverware clatters off the plate in my hand onto the tile floor. “Shit,” I say, then burst out giggling and look at Alessandro. “Pardon my French.”

  “I assure you, that is not French.” He takes the plate from my hand and loops an arm around my waist, guiding me to the love seat. “Sit. It’s your birthday, so I’m cleaning.”

  I sink into the cushions and roll my head back. “I’m drunk.”

  “Yes you are,” he says from the kitchen, and I hear the smile in his voice.

  “It’s your fault, nursing one glass of wine all night. Someone had to drink the rest.”

  He laughs. I close my eyes. The room spins, then fades, and my mind goes totally blank.

  All I know is my bladder is about to burst. I flop an elbow over my eyes, but it doesn’t stop the rock hammer pounding into my left temple. I roll and bury my face in the pillow, and everything goes dark. That helps a little.

  Wait—the pillow?

  My eyes fly open and I sit up, but that causes the rock hammer to turn into an ice pick. “Shit!” I say, grabbing my head in both hands to keep it from exploding. “Shit,” I say again, softer when I see where I am. “How did I get into bed?” I ask out loud, but the sound of my voice hurts my head, so I stop talking.

  The last thing I remember, I was on the love seat after dinner, and Alessandro was cleaning the kitchen. What happened after that?

  I rack my brain, but that hurts too, so I lie back and bury my face in the pillow again. I’m in the same tank top and skirt I was wearing last night.

  Did Alessandro put me to bed?

  Forget it. I’m not going to worry about it now. Sleep. I just need to sleep for another day or two, and I’ll be fine.

  My thoughts swirl into random images, and I’m not really paying atten
tion until one of those random images turns into Alessandro, leaning over me. His hand sweeps my hair off my face and he leans closer. His lips brush against mine. “Good night, Lexie. Sleep well.”

  “Oh, God,” I mumble into the pillow. Alessandro did put me to bed. “Oh, God,” I mutter again. Please tell me I didn’t throw myself at him or anything stupid. Last time I was on the rebound, I slept with my stepbrother, so anything’s possible.

  I want so much just to go back to sleep and forget the whole thing ever happened, but my bladder has other plans and drives me out of bed. I hold the furniture for balance as I weave my way to the bathroom. As I sit here peeing, I think about showering because, let’s face it, I stink, but I don’t have the energy, and I definitely don’t plan on going anywhere today, so instead, I splash some water on my face, gag myself with the toothbrush, and stagger back to bed. But as I pass the dining-room table, I see the note. I snatch it up and read Alessandro’s surprisingly messy scrawl.

  I hope you slept well. Call me when you’re up.

  When I get back to my room, I check my phone, and there’s a text from Trent.

  Happy day after your birthday. Hope your dinner was great. Love you.

  Thanks. I text back. Hungover. Going back to bed. Love you too.

  I settle into the pillows, and the change of position makes my head throb. After a minute it stops, and I dial Alessandro. When he picks up, there’s a lot of noise in the background. “Hello, Lexie,” he says. “I trust you survived the night.”

  “Barely,” I mutter into the phone. “Where are you? I can hardly hear you.”

  “In the ring at the youth center,” he answers. “It’s Saturday afternoon.”

  “Afternoon? Really?”

  He laughs, then says, “Rapida, Franco!”

  “What?” I ask before it registers he’s not talking to me.

  “Sorry for the distraction. How are you feeling?”

  “Like shit.”

  “Ah. Next time I’ll have to ration you.”

  I pull the pillow over my head. “You’re a bad influence on me.”

  The background noise lessens, and a moment later, he says, “Am I?”

  “Yes. I’ve never been that drunk before in my life.”