Farewell, My Loves

by Jen Tirone

  I don’t know why I torture myself.

  Deep down I knew I couldn’t really go through with this.

  I did more damage knowing what it was like to be with him than to live the rest of my life always wondering. All I did was make the temptation real and unbearable.

  “You wouldn’t know what you did to me—leaving me the way you did. After what we had just shared. You wouldn’t know, Gia, because you didn’t even bother to say goodbye!” he says, letting me see all his hurt.

  “Michael, what’ll you have me do?” I throw his words back at him.

  “Drag it out. Make a scene? Like you said, we didn’t need to make this all harder than it already was. I never asked for this!” I tell him, putting my broken and conflicted heart out there for him, too. “I tried to stay away! For years. Then I tried again now, these last few weeks, but I couldn’t. I started wishing, and hoping, and praying for things I can’t have, and it’s all because of you!” I yell at him in frustration.

  “I know neither of us asked for this! But you were right, love, we can’t do this. We both know it, no matter how bad we wish it otherwise. You shouldn’t have come. I never want to be the reason you have that hurt look on your face. I would never parade this in front of you. Just the same that I don’t ever want to see you with him.

  “But while you’ll be in the comfort of his arms for the rest of your life, I needed the distraction and the comfort, too, trying to endure this ache I’ll have to live with—for the rest of my life!” he says.

  All his conflict and heartbreak was on display for me, too.

  “I’m sorry, Michael. About everything. You can never know just how much,” I tell him, wishing he could really understand.

  Could I really have left Gio?

  No.

  I wouldn’t have been able to do it.

  I couldn’t leave everything I’ve known for the unknown, and I wouldn’t disregard one man for the other—more than I already have.

  I truly felt for them both.

  “I know,” he sighs, rubbing his face in frustration. “Trust me, love, I know,” he agrees, looking distraught, always mirroring my own sentiments.

  “He’s being released in a few days. Witnesses are recounting their statements; that fucking crook family of yours pulled the right strings. Just... go home, love. It’s where you belong. I’m sorry about everything, too.”

  And with those parting words, he steps inside and shuts his door on me, having the strength for us both to shut me out.

  I had two days to get my head together.

  Forty-eight hours was all I had to hide almost a decade of feelings and a night of sin before my husband came back home.

  I didn’t know what to do, what to expect, or what to feel anymore.

  I had been making plans for us, for when he got home. I had it all mapped out to start a fresh life again. I’ve been constantly trying to get control of my life to no avail.

  And then Michael happened, and then hope happened, and then reality collided with it all.

  One thing Michael was right about was the unfairness of it all.

  It’s not that Giorgio was the consolation prize because Michael had the backbone to stop it, no.

  It’s just that everything was a mess… my heart, the biggest culprit of it all.

  Did I love one man any less than the other?

  Or did love emote equally in measure, but differently in feeling?

  This was all so confusing.

  Still, Giorgio in all his mistakes didn’t deserve this deception from me. The exact one I’ve accused him of in a fit of jealousy.

  The hypocrisy.

  How was I going to look him in the eyes?

  I had to face my childhood friend, my first love, my husband, with the biggest betrayal I could ever have done to him, and take it to the grave.

  I didn’t mean to. I really didn’t.

  Was my transgression against him, worse than the sum of all of his?

  I just hoped that I could figure out how to forgive myself and move forward.

  When I heard the door open from the kitchen, I started to tremble. God, please forgive me. Please, please, please help me through this.

  I was so sorry.

  “Gianna, bella, are you home?” Giorgio called out.

  Holding a hand to my chest to keep my heart from bursting out of it, I answered him.

  “Amore, I’m here!”

  I took a deep breath and walked toward the foyer.

  He was in the suit he had been arrested in; the two-piece he had picked out for the day in the park.

  He was holding a bouquet of white roses in his hands, just as he had when he got to Salerno. My heart broke at the memory.

  How could I have ever done this to him?

  What kind of a person falls for someone else, just because the flawed love aimed at you was from an imperfect man?

  A fucked-up person, that’s who.

  “Baby, come here,” he whispers brokenly upon seeing me, dropping down to his knees.

  “Gio,” I cried, grabbing him and holding him as hard as I could feeling terrible he looked despondent.

  He dug his forehead into my belly, not wanting to look me in the eyes. Then he pulled me down into his lap on the floor, breathing me in, feeling for me everywhere like he couldn’t believe this was real.

  “Gianna, I’m sorry.”

  “No, don’t do that, Gio,” I told him, my voice shaking.

  I couldn’t stand it.

  I was sorry.

  I needed a forgiveness I could never ask for, and here he was apologizing to me.

  He fucked up. He did.

  But I fucked up, too.

  “I can’t ever be away from you like that again. I can’t do it. I know, baby, that I’m going straight to hell when I die; I won’t waste another second here without you when you’re the only heaven I’m ever gonna get,” he said, making my heart beat in duplicity.

  My God, how could I have ever questioned for even a second, how I loved him?

  Giorgio had his tail between his legs and I hated it.

  I didn’t know how to deal with this passive side of him.

  Things were very awkward at first.

  He was apologetic. He was making promises. He was lying low, avoiding his family and not tending to even the legitimate businesses.

  When I shared with him some of the ideas and plans I had been making, he was agreeable.

  I was waiting for the other shoe to drop and I didn’t have to wait very long for it to happen, because I couldn’t have been more fucked if I tried.

  It wasn’t just literally but in the metaphorical sense, too.

  Nine goddamn years went by without so much as a single late period…

  What a consequence I earned with my impulsivity. I was already sorry for my mistake and now I was really going to have to live with it.

  It had been about three weeks since Giorgio came home. It was morning and I was cooking us breakfast. He’d been basking in all the new attention I was giving him. He loved my cooking, telling me it was comforting to eat what I made for him.

  He appreciated the curves I filled out with since he’d been gone. He shared that it reminded him of when he first saw me as a woman in Italy.

  I don’t know if that was the reason he couldn’t keep his hands off me, or because of the time we spent apart; nonetheless, it was smothering when you’re hiding something.

  He complimented my photos. He listened to me for hours talk about all aspects of it non-stop. He genuinely liked that I had found a hobby and swore I was talented with it. But I know he was saying it to encourage me and show his support. One night he remarked that it felt right to be in a home his wife kept for him. Something he should have let me done since the beginning, admitting he may have gone about everything all wrong.

  But there was nothing for him to be sorry about. I know that his intentions toward me were in the right place.

  So when I had put bacon in the pan
to cook, and the smell of swine accosted me to the point it was so repugnant I needed to expel the nothing that was in my stomach—I knew.

  I knew I was fucked.

  I ran to the bathroom and was dry heaving on my knees at the toilet when Gio came in, held my hair back for me and rubbed my back comfortingly until I was done.

  “Is this what I think it could be, bella?” he asks in a low voice.

  “Yes,” I whispered, terrified.

  “How can you be sure?”

  Because the only thing differently I’ve ever done in all our marriage was have an affair.

  “I’m not certain, Gio, but I’m pretty sure. I’ve never felt morning sickness before, but bacon has never been a foe.”

  He starts laughing.

  I wipe my mouth and look up at him, in all my guilt, and burst into tears at his disbelieving smile.

  The happiness and hope on his face...

  I could never tell him the truth.

  It’ll be the cross I’ll always burden until I’m six feet under.

  I had to thank God for small mercies.

  Actually, I had to thank him for a lot more than that. This pregnancy may have come about in one of the most precarious of circumstances, but it was a long-awaited miracle, nevertheless.

  What I had to thank the man upstairs for was that men weren’t allowed in the examination room at the gynecologist.

  I couldn’t imagine how I was going to explain myself out of it when the doctor declared I was six weeks pregnant—and not four, like it should be with the timeframe of Gio’s homecoming.

  He’s been incredibly amenable with everything I ask.

  When I told him I didn’t want us to be part of La Cosa Nostra anymore, he didn’t argue!

  He actually went as far as telling me he’d been thinking the same thing too, and now more so than ever with the baby coming along, he was going to take the steps toward making an honest life for us.

  This is what it took… prison and pregnancy.

  When I stepped out of doctor’s office and told him yet another lie, I had to swallow down the guilt and enjoy his joy at the very least.

  He didn’t hide his delight. He was never one to hold back his affection with me in the most serious of times, you can only imagine the tenderness in his most happiest.

  When he was about to phone his mother, I snatched the receiver out of his hand and hung it up, telling him with all honesty, I really didn’t want to deal with them yet.

  And I may have emphasized that it wasn’t conducive to be stressed during the pregnancy. ‘It wasn’t good for the baby.’

  I had to use anything to my advantage and that was the best excuse for marital coercion, ever.

  I may have learned a thing or two from him over the years. I know it was wrong, but what wasn’t at this point in my life?

  I had enough to deal with internally I wouldn’t know how to stomach my in-laws after our nasty argument the day of Gio’s arrest, or hear the shrew call herself nonna to this baby.

  I still had to come to terms with the deception that surrounded this pregnancy first.

  What a mess.

  He didn’t press it. “Va bene, bella,” was what I got all the time now and for once I didn’t cringe upon hearing it.

  The evening after my doctor’s visit, Giorgio wanted to make me dinner.

  He told me to kick up my feet and he’d be my chef, waiter, and dishwasher for the night.

  He was Mafioso. He was a stone cold killer who slept soundly every night without remorse for the things he did.

  And here he was burning boiling water to try and do for me, as I’d finally been able to do for him.

  It was endearing to see this side of him.

  And after everything, it was good to just laugh with him.

  Maybe somewhere along the fucked-up road we were on, we were going to make it. We’ve spent far too long letting life pass us by. It was time to live it together again, time to be in the present.

  Maybe once we got it together the guilt would stop eating at me.

  I could only hope.

  After his disaster of what should have been a simple dinner of buttered pasta and parmesan, most of what I could stomach I ate, he then ran a bath and sat in it with me this time, and did so every night after that.

  He never had the time for one before but since he’s been out of prison he’s been doing all that he could to make up for the many things he wouldn’t give the time of day for. Those things, meaning me.

  Part of me wanted to cry at the unfairness of it all.

  Because now.

  Now is when he slows down and takes a good look at life, at our marriage, and the fast track to hell we were on. After all was said and done.

  But I had to hold it together, my life wasn’t about me anymore.

  I wouldn’t be self-absorbed like I used to.

  And I would swallow down the poison of my secret and pray that it wasn’t so toxic, it could ooze out of my pores.

  Sometimes, it felt wrong making love to him; it also felt like the most right thing in the world, too.

  Why was it always such a double-edged sword in my life?

  Another evening we were enjoying each other’s quiet company in our now nightly ritual of communal baths, my back was against Giorgio’s chest and both his hands were on my stomach. Though nothing was showing at ‘seven’ weeks, he hasn’t been able to keep himself from holding it.

  He was eager for this baby and I had to count my blessings, no matter how they came packaged.

  It was almost reminiscent of our first dates where we would spend quiet moments with one another; though now it was because we were both stuck in our own heads. It was taking a little time for us to let the awkwardness go from our time apart.

  “I love seeing you lush like this, bella. I’ve always thought you were breathtaking. I know seeing you round will be magnificent. I hope you have a big, beautiful baby in there making you fat all over,” he laughed, because I pinched his thigh in the water.

  “That’s a terrible thing to say to a hormonal woman. Those are fighting words,” I tell him, not serious at all.

  “No, it’s true. I want you to be as big as a house. I want to see you grow because that means the baby is growing too. It’ll be beautiful.”

  I shake my head, not believing him.

  “We’ll see how you feel when that time comes. When you have to roll me out the door because I can’t walk from all the cannoli I ate.”

  He hugged me to him, his body shaking with silent laughter.

  “Have you decided when you want to go back to Italia, bella? I would rather wait until after the birth, stay close to the doctors...” He left hanging.

  “I’ve been debating on that. I want my mother to meet him or her. But I also want the baby to have American citizenship. It just seems like the most reasonable step to just wait for her arrival.”

  “Her?” he asks, rubbing my shoulders.

  “I don’t know, really. It’s just easier to pick a gender,” I tell him.

  “That’d be just another gift you’d be blessing me with. A little princess from my queen,” he says, kissing my temple.

  “You don’t want a son?” I ask him, turning around in the water to face him.

  “I want whatever God has decided to generously give my undeserving soul. As long as it’s healthy, I’m lucky. And as long as you’re happy, I’m satisfied.”

  “God? Don’t tell me you’re going to start going to confession now, like a good ol’ Catholic,” I teased because it was getting too heartfelt for me and I just... couldn’t.

  “Maybe it’s about time we start attending church again. It wouldn’t do us any harm, you know. It’s the least we could do to show our gratitude for this blessing.”

  I laughed.

  “Gio, that’s not how it works. A sit in during service doesn’t wipe your soul clean. That’s not real redemption. You have to genuinely be sorry for your sins to seek forgiveness.” My heart revea
ls some of the truth from the poison I had been hoping to hide.

  “When did you get so smart, baby? Where did I go wrong in all this? I feel like all I’ve done is hinder you from being more of an amazing woman than you already are,” he tells me solemnly.

  “No, Gio, I’m not perfect, and I’m nowhere near amazing,” I tell him sincerely.

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself, baby. No one is perfect,” he sighs.

  Four months have flown by since Giorgio’s been back, and it felt like we were a newlywed couple again doing so many things together, old and new. Starting over in essence, yet comfortable with the familiarity.

  We went to the cinema, held hands on walks in the park with Enzo. Home cooked dinners were the norm, and live music shows were attended again. Baby shopping was the most fun pastime for us both though.

  I knew that leaving the family occupation wasn’t going to be an overnight process. I knew it would take time so I’d been patient when he had to show his face to Domenico after the first few weeks he was out. I know they spoke on the phone frequently, but to be honest, I was shocked Domenico hadn’t summoned Gio on the day he was released.

  Instead of being gone all day and all night on most nights, he’d go out for only a few hours most weekdays, and was always home for dinner. I could almost pretend he had a nice little desk job where he was an accountant or banker.

  It’s crazy what the mind will imagine to help cope with the harsh realities, and old habits die hard.

  So be it.

  What was crazier, were the dreams I had of Michael every night I closed my eyes. I don’t remember ever being someone to dream so much in my sleep, but the hormones were enacting crazy movies in my head.

  Another small mercy was that my bladder interrupted them every few hours.

  They were too real. Too detailed. Too reminiscent.

  It was bittersweet in a heartbreaking way to be able to relive it all, and it was detrimental to my stability.

  I accepted that I was caught between loving two men in two very different ways, with two different parts of myself.

  There was my nostalgic heart and there was my soul.

  There was comfort in consistency, in history, in a shared lifetime with no doubt— absolute love.