“Smooch you,” she says.
“Smooch you back.” I hit End and toss the phone back in my purse. Back when we were in college, Luci and I were at a party, both a little buzzed, and instead of saying “love you,” she said “smooch you.” It stuck.
Once inside our apartment, I stop and take in the view of the place. We live in an amazing two-bedroom apartment on beautiful Marlborough Street in the Back Bay. Its exposed brick and open space are what I fell in love with the minute I saw it. As a young girl, I always wanted to live in one of these buildings. Now here I am, living in my dream apartment with the man I love, and I am walking away. I am gonna miss it. Miss him.
After removing my boots, I stride across the room and sit on the couch, giving myself a few minutes to take in the magnitude of what I’m about to do. I’m overwhelmed by sadness, yet I know it has to be done. I’m leaving behind everything and everyone, and it causes the tears to flow. Deep sobs fall from me as I lay my head back on the couch, my feelings inundating me.
When I wake up, it’s dark. I lift my head and rub my eyes. The grogginess of my unexpected nap is heavy, and it takes me a couple of minutes to snap out of it. I rise from the couch and shuffle across the room to turn the light on, the sudden light too bright for my still sleepy eyes. It’s almost 8:00 p.m. I haven’t heard from Massimo yet, which means he’ll probably call me soon.
After I finish eating the sandwich I prepared, I grab my suitcases out of the second bedroom closet, rolling them into our bedroom to lay them open on the floor. I spend the next few hours filling them with my clothes, shoes, jackets, and my favorite blanket and pillow—my life in three suitcases full of stuff—what a sad sight. I lose my balance and need to steady myself with the wall, taking a deep breath to calm my nerves. This is all way harder than I’d imagined when concocting the plan.
I’m in the bathroom brushing my teeth when my phone rings. Not wanting to miss the call, I scurry into the bedroom to grab the phone off my nightstand. Massimo’s name flashes across the screen. “Hello, hang on,” I say, slightly muffled because I’m brushing my teeth. I rush back to the bathroom to avoid toothpaste falling from my mouth. Once at the sink, I put the phone down to rinse quickly.
“Sorry, was brushing my teeth. How was the drive?” I ask as I turn the bathroom light off and pad over to our bed.
As I pull back the sheets and climb into bed, Massimo tells me about the drive and their plans for the weekend. I lie on my left side, moving the phone to my right ear, and hug Massimo’s pillow, inhaling his scent as I listen to his voice. “I miss you,” I interrupt him mid-sentence.
“Me too,” he responds.
We chat for a little while when I hear one of his buddies say, “Hey, let’s go. The casino is waiting for us.”
“Hey, babe, we’re going down to the casino. Get some sleep, okay?”
“Okay, be safe. Good night,” I say, tears sliding down my cheeks. “Love you,” I mutter, squeezing my eyes shut.
“Love you more,” he responds, and the line goes quiet.
That’s the last time I would hear his voice for nine years.
CHAPTER 2
Still Interested?
MARIALENA
October 2000
THE OLD-FASHIONED GLASS SITS on the rubber mat as I pour a double shot of Jack into it. Once finished, I lift it and place it onto a cocktail napkin just as Massimo slides into the stool at the other side of it.
“I almost thought you weren’t gonna make it today,” I say, biting my bottom lip.
Massimo has been coming here every Thursday since the first night he came in late last year, but he’s usually early, before the dinner rush. It’s nearly 11:00 p.m., so I’m surprised to see him here this late but really happy he chose to still come by.
I’ve been bartending at the Florentine Cafe for a year and a half. I started working here during my last year of undergrad because the place where I used to wait tables had closed. Tracy, the manager from that restaurant, started working here, and she knew I always wanted to bartend. When there was an opening, she offered it to me.
The Florentine is an Italian restaurant in Boston’s North End, Boston’s oldest neighborhood that’s a thriving community of locally owned shops, restaurants, bakeries, churches, and schools. It’s often referred to as the Little Italy of Boston because of its long and storied connection to Italy and its culture. Although it’s a restaurant, the bar scene here is formidable, especially since we’re one of the few places that stay open late every night.
“You miss me?” he asks before sipping his whiskey.
“Maybe,” I tease.
“I haven’t missed a week yet. Wasn’t about to start now.” His stare is intense, and my heart thunders in my chest at his words.
“Good to know I can count on you.”
He’s smirking, his tongue running along his teeth, before sipping his whiskey again.
“You can always count on me.” His words make me blush.
“Is that right?”
He nods yes, our gazes lingering on one another.
“It’s quiet in here tonight,” he says, looking around the restaurant.
“It’s quiet now. It was busy earlier since we had nice weather. Probably not many warm nights left, so Tracy opened up the windows. Why you here so late tonight?”
“Tomorrow is our grand opening. We were putting the finishing touches on everything.”
“Well, that’s exciting. You’ve been talking about it for months; I’ll have to go check it out soon.”
“I’d like that.” Happiness spreads across his face.
“Lena,” Marcus, my friend who’s working the bar with me tonight, calls for me. Marcus was here when I joined the team, and we instantly hit it off. We’re on the bar together four nights a week, which means he’s basically my work husband. Almost every Friday and Saturday night we hang out after work, whether it’s grabbing food at one of the late-night spots or having drinks somewhere. We like to wind down after a busy night and scope out cute guys together.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Massimo.
I stride toward Marcus, who’s at the computer. He’s slightly taller than me, with a short buzz cut and light brown skin. I look up at him and ask, “What’s up?”
“I see your delicious man is here tonight,” he whispers, wiggling his eyebrows.
“No suh! He isn’t my man, not yet at least.” I wink.
“Oh yeah? You finally gonna go out with him?”
“Yeah, I think I’m ready to say yes. But he doesn’t know that yet,” I add, leaning into the shelf to my left. “It’s been two months since Stefano left me; I think it’s time I move on.”
“Girl, Stefano was an asshole. The best thing that ever happened to you was him leaving. Good riddance! Besides, that fine piece of ass—” he points to Massimo, who’s behind me “—is feening for you.”
Once Marcus and I became closer, it was no secret that Marcus hated Stefano. They tolerated each other because of me. Marcus and Luci hit it off right away over their mutual hate of Stefano.