Farewell, My Loves

by Jen Tirone

  I hated to point out the irony in her wish come true. Where did it matter where the baby came from, right?

  I don’t know how I have been living with myself.

  I go with the motions and hug these bastards like everything is dandy.

  Like we’re one big happy family.

  “Giorgio, is your brother on the way?” Chiara asks.

  My heart stops.

  “I spoke to him earlier. Told him what time to be here. He’s probably running late,” he answers without a hitch.

  We all take our seats and Chiara insists on sitting next to me now so she can stroke my belly.

  It takes everything in me not to recoil from her.

  Domenico has yet to speak. He just keeps watching me.

  Chiara is non-stop yammering, which in this moment I actually thank God for. It is filling up the awkward silence. She’s asking me questions, I don’t know how I’ve answered, I’m honestly not present in mind. This is all surreal.

  “What happened to your mouth,” Domenico straight out asks.

  I look to Giorgio in a panic.

  Smoothly, he answers, “ If you must know, pregnancy isn’t an excuse to behave any worse than she tries to sometimes, and a good old fashioned backhand serves to remind her who’s boss, right, bella?” he finishes off his remark by giving me a pointed look, playing the part of an abusive husband.

  The silence surrounding us was deafening.

  For once Chiara had nothing to say.

  If they knew Gio at all, they’d see this is not in his character.

  At least not with me.

  We keep staring at each other.

  Me, too afraid to see their faces, Domenico’s especially.

  Him, offering me strength to keep up this farce.

  He reaches out a hand to cup my face, and I flinch, not because I’m afraid of Gio, but because my nerves are shot, period. It must’ve made an impact because Domenico who is a sick bastard who enjoys the misery of others, seemed to brighten up with the thought of Gio hitting me.

  “It’s about time, figlio. It’s good to know she didn’t hang up your balls as earrings, after all,” Domenico remarks, and then turns to snap at a waitress, asking for champagne.

  Now it’s time to celebrate in his eyes.

  I loathe that motherfucker. He’s what’s wrong in this world.

  But, Giorgio, damn, he’s smooth.

  I had to be grateful he was, but it worried me, making me wonder how many times and how exactly has he smoothed his way through problems between us in the past?

  But in the scope of everything it really doesn’t matter anymore, does it?

  Moving my food around with my fork not really eating, not really listening to the conversations going on around me, I felt him.

  A small tremor of fear passes through me, knowing that if I look up, I’ll see Michael walking through the door of this restaurant.

  I was out of breath, genuinely laboring to obtain oxygen, I got up suddenly and excused myself to the restroom blaming it on the food.

  What the hell am I going to do?

  Oh God, oh God, oh God.

  I’m on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

  He doesn’t know I am pregnant!

  And all the goddamn Morettis are here. Not all of them, I think, my stomach turning upside down.

  Was I cursed or something?

  Did I have il malocchio, the evil eye, that everything just keeps getting worse around me?

  Maybe he’s ordering takeout.

  I should be so lucky.

  Maybe if I feign sickness long enough, he’ll be seated or have left already.

  God! Please! I needed a break!

  I look at myself in the mirror and I straighten up my hair. I smooth my hand over my loose tunic and retouch the makeup hiding the bruises on my face just to do something to stall for time.

  Okay, I am married to Giorgio, so of course being pregnant isn’t out of the ordinary. I’m sure by now, wherever Michael’s seated, he is engaged in the menu or has hopefully left with his takeout.

  When Gio asks, I’m just feeling very nauseous. With everything on our plate, I know he won’t make a show of it.

  I can do this. I can.

  If I can keep a straight face still, after everything this morning, I can maintain face and pretend Michael’s not here.

  I step out of the bathroom and my stomach drops.

  Fuck.

  He’s waiting right outside the ladies room.

  For me.

  He looks up and sighs my name like a long lost lover, “Gia.”

  God, how does he do this to me? I just want to walk right into his arms and never leave them. He makes me want to beg him to make everything better again.

  But he’s making it worse.

  “Detective,” I try for nonchalance.

  He looks at me for a moment more and reaches out a hand to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear.

  “Are you crazy?” I ask slapping his hands away.

  Anyone can see us.

  “It’s so good to see you, love. I needed to lay my eyes on you again to be able to keep going on,” he says, unaffected by my less than enthusiastic reception of him, and then turns his head sideways, observing me.

  I had to turn my injured side of my face away from his scrutiny and there were just so many things to say, but too many things to keep to myself.

  “Michael,” I unintentionally whisper, because I needed to feel his name on my lips, but I also needed to distract him.

  His watchfulness was unnerving, and without even trying, he instantly tore down my walls. If I utter another word than this sweet man’s name, I’ll break down right here in this damn restaurant.

  “Gia, I’ve been torn since the last time we saw each other,” he whispers as he looks at me with such yearning, such passion, it was suffocating. ”A part of me is missing; lacerated from me and I can’t fill it without you.”

  I need him to stop.

  Our moment was over.

  I couldn’t do this now. And not ever.

  This is dangerous.

  I shake my head and start to make my way back to Gio before he notices I’ve been gone too long, when Michael reaches out to stop me by placing a hand on my waist and dammit, if that didn’t just spell out the predicament I’m in right now.

  His eyes widen in shock. “Gia, are you...?”

  With no shame at all, he immediately puts both his hands on my belly.

  My heart is pounding so hard.

  It feels miraculous to have Michael touch me again.

  To feel this baby’s father feeling her.

  I fucked up.

  I love Giorgio, despite his dark side.

  And I love Michael, despite that he’ll never be mine.

  None of it matters.

  “Michael, please stop,” I reluctantly put my hands over his to cease his touching when I look in his eyes and see them swimming in tears.

  “Love,” he whispers. “Is it mine?” he asks with a world of hope in his eyes.

  I close mine from the barrage of sorrow and the regret I’m plagued with for doing this to him.

  To all of us.

  “Michael, no. And we can’t talk to each other. Not ever again,” I tell him weakly, opening my eyes again.

  “What do you mean not ever?” he asks me incredulously.

  Not ever. Not in this lifetime, and not the next because I’m spending eternity in hell.

  “Michael, if you don’t stop now you’re going to cause irreparable trouble, do you hear me?” I say as I look him straight in the face. I try to convey every worry and fear in those words, hoping he understands that regardless of whoever the father of this baby is—Giorgio Moretti will be the father on the birth certificate and what everyone will know.

  “Love,” he says in a hoarse voice, “please, please tell me this little angel inside of you belongs to me.” He won’t stop.

  “Please,” he begs, “I need to know. We’ll fig
ure it out, I promise. You don’t have to hide from anyone. You know I’ll take care of you,” he says as he grabs to hold my hand.

  “No! It’s not yours. You’re wrong,” I whisper, my eyes filling with tears.

  I deserve to go to hell, to the deepest, darkest bowels of it.

  “I remember you said children weren’t in the cards for you. You couldn’t have any. Now look at you, Gia. Look at you!” He whisper shouts, looking around to make sure we were still alone. “After us!” he tells me urgently.

  I know.

  I know, I know, I know, goddamn it!

  After us.

  But he’s going to get himself killed if he keeps this up. My heart ceases to beat at the thought, and I can’t let him think he has any chance of being... any chance of anything.

  “What’s the matter with your face?” He narrows his eyes.

  Always, always, the fucking astute detective.

  “Nothing, Michael. Just no, okay?” I take a step back until my back is pressing against the wall opposite him in the hallway.

  I needed some space.

  I needed a new life.

  “Just no, what? What aren’t you telling me? Your doorman called the police today,” he presses in a hurry.

  My resolve to be strong was faltering and I just wanted to disappear.

  Looking at this breathtaking man stare back at me with so much concern and confusion is killing me.

  I don’t know how I haven’t died from all the heartbreak in this life already.

  “Michael, no. Leave. You need to go. It’s not yours, forget everything, forget me! You’re going to cause a scene!” I warn him.

  “I need to know, Gia. You’re hiding something from me,” he says, grabbing my hands again to keep me from walking away.

  “Michael, if it was ever yours, I would take a coat hanger to it before I had your bastard! Now get the fuck away!” I tell him through tears and gritted teeth.

  Watching the despair mar his beautiful face with the vilest words I could ever say to him was soul shattering.

  But I had to.

  I’ll do whatever it takes to keep him alive no matter how much I die inside.

  I snatch my hands away from him and turn right back into the ladies’ room without another glance back before I fall to my knees and beg him to forgive me.

  I locked myself in a stall, sat on the toilet and silently shook with the heart-wrenching sobs I silently let out.

  It did nothing to purge the agony I was in.

  Chiara came in asking for me; I feigned an upset stomach.

  It was convenient that throwing up came with the territory of being pregnant, and it didn’t necessarily conform to only morning sickness.

  “Oh, you poor thing. Come on, let’s clean you up,” she offered.

  I let her fuss over me because it kept her from talking about anything else than the baby, and it kept her from stirring more trouble.

  But I haven’t for a second stopped wishing she’d choke on her wine.

  When we made it back to the table, she took it upon herself to announce I wasn’t feeling well and that Giorgio should take me home.

  I was surprised…I again had to thank God for another small mercy.

  Something had to give.

  Every time I closed my eyes I was haunted by the events from the container a few days ago, and the devastation on Michael’s face kept replaying in my mind.

  I was disturbed, and there was no comfort to be had anywhere, from anyone.

  I was experiencing trauma from it all, unable to eat or sleep, but there was nothing that could be done about it either. No one I could go to. No one I could speak to.

  I had to find the strength not to swallow a bottle of pills with a glass of chianti in a warm, cozy bath. God, it was such a welcoming thought.

  But I couldn’t do that to my baby. She deserved better than that, but then again, I didn’t know if a life with us was any better...

  I felt sick and so sad for saying what I had to say to Michael.

  I felt sick and despondent with Giorgio.

  Where did it all go wrong?

  God, something had to give because I couldn’t do this anymore.

  Gio, though he won’t ever admit it, isn’t doing well with any of this either. He hasn’t slept much these past few days. And he’s growing paranoid with each day that Chiara and Domenico call, asking where Matteo is.

  “I haven’t heard from him since I invited him to dinner at Pistacchio’s... he must’ve found a broad he’s getting lost in. He’ll show up when he wants to.”

  “I don’t know, Ma, he’s a big boy. Yes, I already went to his house, but he wasn’t there. I know. Yes. Okay, I’ll go again. No, Ma, don’t trouble yourself, I’ll go alone.”

  “Nico, between me and you, do you think something happened to Matti? You think one of the families crossed a line?”

  “Gianna is good, Ma. No, I haven’t heard from Matti. Sure, we can do lunch. Let me speak to my father real quick. Ciao, Ma.... Padre, I think we need to host a meeting. Matti still hasn’t called or been home... I don’t want to think it, but I’m afraid we need to acknowledge something has happened to him... yeah, okay. I’ll see you later.”

  “Giorgio, what are we going to do? How long do you think it will take for your father to connect the dots, if he hasn’t already?” I asked, fretting over the inevitable.

  We were in our bedroom.

  He’d been pacing on the telephone, holding the whole unit in his hand and the cable connected to the wall jack was tangling around his body with the non-stop circles he made as he spoke.

  It reminded me vaguely of the time he rode his new bike around me over and over again, causing me to become impatient with wanting to ride the bike he had just gifted me.

  And that’s what was going on right now, when I finally sat at my chaise for a moment, I watched his body language as he took the call. He was making me impatient with his restlessness.

  “I don’t know, bella. I’m just trying to buy us some time. Honestly, I would kill my fucking father myself already, if it wouldn’t create tension with the rest of the members in La Cosa Nostra. I can’t let it cause a backlash on us.” Finally, he stops his pacing and sits on the bed.

  “That’s all the ammunition the other families need… someone to go rogue within our own and detonate a bigger war opening up new territory for everyone,” he says, holding his head in his hands.

  “I’m beyond incensed with him, baby, but I just can’t put you at risk. I need a level head to think this through and all I can see is their betrayal. There is a code of conduct, so to speak, with La Cosa Nostra. Things you just know you don’t do... like going after the women and children. You don’t just cut the head off of the snake and expect the body not to continue moving. Families need to be in agreement. I have to see how this won’t rain more trouble than I’ve put us in... fuck!”

  I was afraid.

  Giorgio didn’t fluster.

  He didn’t fret.

  I could feel it; things were going to get ugly. I was holding my belly wishing I could enjoy the baby’s movements. I should have been in awe of these flutters—I had thought I was never going to experience this remarkable feeling in my life.

  But all it did was remind me she was coming soon, and coming into a dark existence.

  I needed to do something. I couldn’t take this helplessness anymore.

  I had dreamed a very different life for this baby since I was a little girl.

  “Gio, I want to go to church. I need to. Can we go tomorrow?” I ask him.

  He looks up at me and for a moment was confused by my question, having been lost in his own head while I was in mine.

  Nodding, he gets up to come kneel by me, resting his head on my thighs and wraps his arms around my hips.

  “Yeah, baby. We’ll go tomorrow,” he kisses my belly. “Just don’t be surprised if I catch fire when I pass the threshold.”

  Bile rose in my throat and expelled
all over the floor on the passenger side of the car.

  It was surreal.

  It felt like an outer body experience, watching him swing a crowbar relentlessly into the man’s body.

  He looked like he was hacking away at a tree to collect firewood.

  Chop, chop, chop, until he had enough of it.

  His momentum stumbles a bit, seeing something stuck at the end of his crowbar, so he starts to brush it off the tool with his shoe, and then has to scrape it off his shoe into the ground, just as one does when they step on chewing gum.

  With closer inspection, I realize it was the man’s ear that had been hanging off the curved end of the crowbar.

  His fucking ear.

  Gio was trying to scrape it off like errant bubble gum from his Ferragamos.

  I cannot believe what I’m looking at.

  This can’t be real.

  This cannot be my life.

  The saliva pooling in my mouth made me want to throw up again, alerting me to that fact that my body’s visceral reaction to this horrific scene before me is actually happening.

  The fantasy world he tried to foster that he could fix this mess, has wholly crumbled all around us.

  I couldn’t see my husband, or any trait of Giorgio, in that man anymore.

  Because that man—was an animal.

  A savage.

  Giorgio became rabid in his paranoia, making him the kind of animal that needed to be put down.

  I’m done.

  I called my mother that morning to tell her we would be going to Italy soon, but broke into sobs upon hearing her voice. I desperately wanted to get away from it all. I wanted her to make me feel better somehow, tell me what to do.

  Mostly I yearned for her to just hold me in the comfort of her arms as I purged all that was poisoning me.

  But I couldn’t utter a single thing other than I missed her terribly, and blamed my tears on my hormones.

  It’s not that my mother couldn’t be trusted, it’s just that I wouldn’t do that to her. She was waiting to become a nonna, I didn’t have it in me to ruin the image of us in her heart she has been dreaming of. I couldn’t tell her that it was all really a nightmare.

  We had gone to church together after my call home for the first time since, well, since we got married. I was compelled to go. I needed to repent the mistakes I made and I needed to feel a semblance of comfort, even if it was all in my head. Most of all, I needed to pray for our damned souls.