Chapter 29

TWENTY-NINE

I t’s shocking how quickly you can get from one place to another when you have legitimate cash to do it. Especially when you have the wicked witch of Northwest England paying your way.

Georgina might not have been quite as rich as Xavier, but she certainly had the money and connections to whisk Sofia and me back to New York within the span of relatively few hours. It was a bit odd to realize that the woman hated me enough to spend tens of thousands of dollars to make sure I left the country, but at that point, it served my needs.

Sofia and I were shuttled via helicopter to an airfield in Liverpool, and from there onto a private plane that took us straight to Teterboro, all with promises that the rest of our things would be shipped to us at the earliest convenience.

I didn’t even care. I had my essentials—the rest could hang.

And so, after sleeping on the bed in the back of the plane, we were in New York by sunrise, blissfully unaware of Xavier’s reaction to our sudden absence, or any of the other ramifications of leaving. I looked down at Sofia, who was snuggled into my side on the 144 bus to Port Authority, quietly singing a song about starfish to Tyrone.

She’d asked me only once where we were going as we got on the helicopter, then why as we boarded the plane to New York. I’d told her that Daddy was dealing with a lot with his uncle so sick, so he sent us home ahead of him. That he loved her more than anything and would meet us here when he could.

And like the innocent she was, she believed me.

I hated myself for that.

I spotted the New York City skyline just before our bus dipped into the Lincoln Tunnel and breathed a sigh of relief.

We were back to normal. Back to crappy public transit, dirty sidewalks, and cheap hot dogs. Georgian buildings and green lawns had been replaced by no-nonsense tenement housing and endless subway tunnels.

But we were home. I had never been so happy to see it in my life.

“Frankie, you can’t hide from the guy forever. For one, Sofia’s his kid too, and he deserves to see her. He deserves to know where she is. Not to mention, you don’t want to be charged with kidnapping, you get me?”

It wasn’t until nearly seven o’clock that evening, after Matthew had come home from being out with Nina and I’d finally allowed Sofia to fall asleep (the poor kid was exhausted, being on London time) that my brother and I finally talked about what happened and what had suddenly brought me home.

I sat at our faded Formica counter while Matthew opened a bottle of wine, poured us a couple of glasses, and proceeded to dispense advice threaded with legal action the way only a former prosecutor could.

I took a sip. “This is good. What is it?”

“Barolo. Nina’s favorite.”

“Ah.” I put the wine down.

“Don’t be like that. She bought some for the house, but it’s to share with everyone. Go ahead and enjoy it.”

I took another sip, but it didn’t taste the same, knowing it was another gift from another rich person that we couldn’t have possibly afforded on our own. “You know, if I learned anything this summer, it’s handouts from rich people just don’t work for me. I’m not fancy like you, Matthew. I’m not caviar and designer clothes and opening night at the opera. I’m grilled cheese and sweatpants and my favorite book on a rainy night. Simple.”

Matthew didn’t respond, just watched me with that particular look I imagined he implemented a lot when he was in court, cross-examining criminals. It said, clear as day, “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter.”

Whatever.

I sighed and reached for the wine again. I supposed I could deal with it. “Don’t worry. I texted him when we landed. He knows where we are and knows we’re safe. I told him I’d be willing to talk tomorrow.” I checked my watch. “Well, tomorrow for him, since right now it’s about one in the morning over there.”

“Good. Because you know if he didn’t hear from you at all, he’d be breaking down your front door.”

I looked up. “You mean our front door? Or have you vacated too without telling me? So long, sweetheart, is that right? Hello, Boston.”

Matthew heaved a long sigh.

“I wish you could be happy for us,” he said while he turned his glass in circles, the only sign that he was the slightest bit nervous. “I don’t have a job in New York anymore, and Nina wants to finish her degree up there. It’s a fresh start for both of us. And we really need it, Frankie.”

I couldn’t deny him that, though the idea of living in a world without Matthew made my stomach tie into a series of ship-worthy knots. Sure, Sofia and I hadn’t noticed his absence in our lives this summer, but what about now? I knew that once I got up the nerve to talk to Xavier, he would provide at least a modicum of child support, probably enough to pay whatever rent I ended up needing. But what would happen if things didn’t pan out? Where would we live? How would we survive without Sofia’s zio to keep us afloat?

What would I do without my big brother’s sage advice on nights like these?

It was time for me to figure things out on my own. I just wasn’t sure I could do it.

“Anyway, I did mean yours.” Matthew gave me a knowing look, then rounded the counter and sat down on the other stool next to me. “The front door, that is. It can’t have escaped your notice that the only things I packed are in suitcases.”

I shrugged. I had noticed several bags already stacked near the front door and had chosen to believe they were empty.

“I thought that was just because Nina doesn’t like your secondhand crap. She’s pretty fancy.” I held up the wine as if to demonstrate.

Matthew chuckled. “She doesn’t. But also, I thought it should stay here.”

I nodded. “I’m sure someone will buy the place furnished.”

“Only if you want to sell it,” he said. “Since now, the house belongs to you.”

I jerked my head up. “What?”

He slid a nondescript piece of white paper across the counter bearing the title “Quitclaim Deed” in bold letters across the top. I turned it and scanned the legal language, picking up my name, then Matthew’s, then the address of a local law firm.

“Nina paid off the mortgage,” Matthew told me. “Not to mention, well, setting me up with enough funds that I could buy the house ten times over if I wanted. I know you just said you don’t want handouts from rich people, but do me a favor and take this one, all right? For my peace of mind, if nothing else.”

It was obvious by the way his shoulders lifted that he wasn’t altogether comfortable with the arrangement. I personally thought it reasonable that Nina support Matthew, at least for a while, anyway. She was rich as high heaven, and his involvement with her had cost him his job and livelihood in the city he loved. The very least she could do was make sure his bank account didn’t suffer.

This, though…

“But the Red Hook house belongs to you , Mattie,” I blurted out. “You bought it. You fixed it up. You poured your heart and soul into this place, and?—”

“And it’s your home,” he cut in. “Way more than it was ever mine, Frankie. Yours and Sofia’s. You’ve been here all the time while I was either at the office or spending half my nights in beds I had no business sleeping in. You know it’s the truth.”

I swallowed. My brother was selling himself short. That was also nothing new. Just like I knew he wouldn’t let me argue with it either.

“I don’t need it anymore,” he continued with a pat on my hand. “I got something better coming for me. Nina already owns a house in Boston—a real nice one too, in a good neighborhood, close to her daughter’s school. I got a family now too, Frankie. And you deserve better than the upstairs landing. Just sign the fuckin’ paper.”

I stared at the deed, which might as well have been made of porcelain, for how precious it seemed. “I?—”

“Sign it, Frankie. I don’t want to leave without knowing you and Sofia are taken care of.”

“Pete,” I said instead.

Matthew frowned at the paper, then at me. “Pete? Something about the basement tenant got your interest?”

I just shook my head. “No, I—what does he pay again in rent? I forget.”

Matthew frowned. “Ah, it’s up to fifteen hundred a month right now, with a ten percent yearly hike to match taxes. You’ll get that money if you want to keep him, but I figured you and Sof might want the extra space?—”

But I found myself shaking my head vigorously. “No, I just wanted to know so we could match it. I could afford that. I could pay you and Nina rent. Or maybe a mortgage, if you insist.”

Matthew’s frown deepened. “Frankie, honestly. We don’t need it.”

“I told you, I’m done with handouts,” I said more viciously than I intended. “Mattie, this is so generous. More than I could ever express. But I think…I think it’s time for me to do something on my own. So if you want to sell me the house, fifteen hundred at a time, I’ll agree to that. But that’s all.”

His mouth opened like he wanted to argue, and I prepared myself for a cross-examination.

But instead, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

“All right,” he said, withdrawing the paper. “I’ll draw up the new agreement. Rent to buy. But the whole thing is always on the table if you need it. Don’t forget.”

“I won’t,” I said. “I love you, big brother.”

His green eyes, which matched my own, shone across the yellow counter. “Right back at you, kid.”

Late that night, I crept into bed on the landing for what would be one of the final times, gazing around this tiny patch of my house. Down the hall, I could hear Matthew murmuring on the phone to Nina, whispering sweet nothings that made my whole body hum with envy and sorrow.

For a few brief seconds, I’d had that. Or at least I thought I had.

I pulled out my phone and turned it on. And, of course, there was a train of messages from the man I had fled just a day earlier, which I had absolutely refused to read other than to send him the one I’d told Matthew about.

Xavier: Georgina told us you went back to London. Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to go?

Xavier: Did you make it back all right? The train should have arrived ages ago.

Xavier: Jagger stopped by the house. Said there was no sign of you or Sof. Where the fuck are you???

Xavier: Georgina just mentioned a pap saw you at Liverpool. What the fuck is going on????

Francesca: Hey, we just got off a flight to New York. I know it was sudden, but it was really time to leave. We are safe at home in Brooklyn. I will call when I can.

Xavier: You’re in New York?!!

Xavier: What the FUCK

Xavier: Call me now, Francesca. I mean it.

Xavier: Ces, please. We need to talk.

Xavier: Ces, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all of it. But you can’t just run off like this. I thought you were done running.

They didn’t end there. There were at least ten other messages sent throughout the night, alternating between spewing profanity-laced frustrations and shocked questions. But by the end, somewhere around two in the morning London time, he had apparently given up the fight. Just an hour ago, there was one final text, neither an admonishment nor a question.

Xavier: Ces, please. I’m dying here.

I wiped my eyes. Fuck (and I almost never say that). But really, fuck . What was I supposed to do now?

Face the music, I supposed.

I pulled up Xavier’s number and pressed the dial button. It was probably four in the morning in London, but the last text was sent at two. I had a feeling he would pick up anyway. And if we didn’t have this conversation now, I probably wouldn’t sleep either.

He answered on the first ring.

“Ces?”

He wasn’t angry. There was no shouting. Just his deep voice, groggy, but not asleep. Sad. And desperate.

“Hey,” I peeped. “I—yeah, it’s me.”

“Ces…I…” There was a long sigh. “I’m glad you called. I’m glad you’re safe.”

I twisted my blanket over my knees, then pushed it off, suddenly hot. “So, you’re not…you’re not mad?”

Xavier paused for a long time. “I was. I don’t know, maybe I still am. But honestly, I understand why you left. Took me about twenty-four hours to get here, but I understand.”

I tied a corner of the blanket into a knot. “You do?”

Did he realize I had seen him? Did he know I was perfectly aware of what was going on between him and Imogene?

“Yeah,” Xavier said. “I do.”

“Oh.”

Lord, I was exhausted, but suddenly, all the anger and betrayal I’d felt upon seeing them together came flooding back. I wanted to yell. I wanted to scream, jump, punch a hole in the wall next to me. Suddenly, the entire trip seemed for naught, since I wanted to rush right back across the ocean and slap him across the face for humiliating me the way he did.

“I’m sorry for it,” he said. “But it’s the way it had to be. I’m sorry if I ruined things in the end.”

My mouth opened and closed so many times I might’ve thought my teeth were chattering. In the end, though, I didn’t know what to say. He had done what he’d done. And I had already made my choice to leave. It didn’t really matter how either of us felt anymore, did it?

“I miss you, Ces. You and Sof. I’ll always miss you.”

I was silent for a long time. What the hell was the point of saying something like that now ? “Well, maybe you should have thought of that before…”

I couldn’t quite say it. Before you kissed Imogene. Before you made out with that stupid blonde Amazon. Before you crushed my heart in half.

No, it didn’t matter.

Xavier just huffed on the other side of the phone. “I have more regrets than I can count. I promise you that.”

“Okay,” I said stiffly.

“But it was time for you to go back,” he continued. “I can accept reality. I can accept that I’m not good for you anymore. Maybe I never was.”

“Xavi—”

“No,” he cut me off gently. “It’s the truth. Look, I know we had something special once. And for what it’s worth, I want you to know that I did love you all those years ago. Just like I love you now. But we aren’t those people anymore. I’m not the man I was at twenty-seven, and you’re not the girl I met in that bar. You don’t fit into this life. Not because you’re not good enough for it, but because it’s not good enough for you. Or Sofia.”

I could practically see him shaking his head as he talked. I was glad he couldn’t see me. See the way tears were already running down my cheeks in currents. See the way my lip was trembling, my pulse quickening, face reddened with fury and frustration and sorrow all at once.

“I’m only going to break your heart, Ces. I break my own fucking heart every day, and I don’t even try. I don’t want to hurt you and Sofia more than I already have. So it’s best you’re gone.”

I covered the receiver and hiccupped back a chest-deep sob. My throat ached, both with the need to scream and wail. I couldn’t do either. Not with my brother and Sofia around to hear. This was my life, and always had been, and that, if anything, was the real difference between Xavier and me. I didn’t have the luxury of flying into rages and screaming when things didn’t go my way. I couldn’t act on impulse whenever I wanted, whether that meant sleeping with random men or kissing women in my office.

I had to just sit with it. Feel it all deep in my bones. Let it all rattle and rage until eventually, like the current in a river, it too would pass.

If it didn’t break me first.

“Can I ask one thing?” Xavier wondered.

I drove my nails into my knee. “What’s that?”

“I have to stay here until Henry passes. Take care of the estate and keep things in line. But once that’s gone, I’d like to come back to New York and see Sofia. Would that be all right?”

I softened. I was angry at Xavier. So, so angry. But he was Sofia’s father—that too would never change.

“You’re still her dad, Xavi,” I said quietly. “Of course you can see her. Whenever you want.”

“Good.” His voice was soft too. “Thanks.”

We sat on the phone together for a long time, not hanging up, but also not sure of what else to say. I had a world of questions and thoughts inside my mind, but none would come out. And yet, I didn’t quite want to say goodbye either.

I had a feeling that would be goodbye to more than just a call. It would be goodbye for us. For good.

“All right?” Xavier asked sometime later.

I swallowed, tears starting to well again. “I—yeah.”

“What is it?” he wondered. “It’s all right. You can tell me.”

I sucked in a breath. I had a thousand things I wanted to say. I wanted to tell him this was wrong. That I still loved him and always would, even if he cheated on me, even if he smashed my heart every day for a year. I also wanted to tell him he really was a bastard for letting us go so easily. That we were worth fighting for, Sofia and me, that fighting for the future was what families did, no matter how hard it got.

In the end, I decided to just say the final thought that entered my mind and seemed to linger. “I don’t want this to end.”

It was the most honest thing I could think of.

Xavier was quiet for a bit more, breathing heavily, to the point where I wondered if he was crying too.

But eventually, he answered. “Me too, Ces. Me too.”

I swallowed, and it felt like my chest threatened to split in half. “I—Xavi?”

“Yeah?”

He sounded almost hopeful. Like I might take everything back. Like I might ask for another plane ticket, beg him to let me stay, plead for him to love me all over again.

He would say yes if I did. I really believed that.

But those were all just fantasies. This was our reality. This heartbreak. This goodbye.

And Sofia and I deserved someone who would fight for us of his own accord, not just because we begged for it.

“Take care of yourself,” I murmured.

“Yeah, Ces. You too.”

“Let me know when you want to see Sofia. I’ll make sure we’re around.”

“All right. Thanks. And we can talk later this week. Figure out money for Sof, all that. I owe you a lot from years past.”

I nodded, though he couldn’t see me. “Right, yeah. Okay.”

“Good night, Francesca.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. God, this hurt so badly. “Good night, Xavier.”

After the call ended, I stared at my phone for a long time.

In the end, I got up and did something I hadn’t done in years.

One night, when Sofia was maybe six months, and we were still living in Nonna’s attic, my little girl wouldn’t stop crying. Nonna was on a trip somewhere with her friends, and my siblings all had work, thus leaving me alone at the house in Belmont with no one but a sick baby for several days. In addition to that, I was having a hard time breastfeeding and hadn’t slept in days. I had never felt lonelier—or angrier—in my entire life.

People think postpartum depression is just sadness, but sometimes, especially when you’re alone and trapped, it comes out as rage, plain and simple.

Sometime around two in the morning, I realized that if I didn’t give myself space to break something , I was liable to do much worse.

So after Sofia nodded off at last, I took the baby monitor and marched out to the garage, mostly intending to scream my lungs out until my throat was sore. Instead, I spotted an open box of dishes—ugly flowered ones that I recognized as belonging to my parents when Daddy was alive and Mom was still halfway a mother.

Without thinking, I grabbed one off the top and hurled it onto the garage floor as hard as I could.

At the sound of ceramic splintering on the concrete slab, something inside me was set free. I grabbed another and did the same thing. And another. And another.

I worked through seven plates total until the warring ocean of feelings inside me had calmed to a mere pond. And then I took a deep breath and cleaned up the mess, then went back inside and curled up beside my baby to sleep until morning.

After hanging up with Xavier, a similarly vast ocean rocked inside me with a brewing storm.

I crept out of my bed and tiptoed down the stairs, careful not to wake Matthew or Sofia. This house’s garage was mostly packed with things Matthew was taking with him to Boston, but when I got down there, I found the same box I had brought with me when Sofia and I had moved in, piled in the back on a few other things I’d never had the space to unpack from Nonna’s.

There they were, the rest of the Mami’s flowered plates.

Just the sight of them reminded me of her horrible article. Which reminded me of every other horrible thing anyone had said to me over the course of the summer.

The crying started immediately, emerging in choked, painful sobs that clogged the back of my throat. Memories of the rest of the summer flooded through my mind. Xavier’s blue eyes blinking at me at the airport. His tender kisses that turned fiercely passionate in a second. Every touch. Every argument. Every betrayal.

Tears streamed down my face as I smashed plate after plate onto the ground.

Smash! That was one for kissing Imogene.

Smash! Another for my mother’s betrayal.

Smash! Smash! Two for Xavier’s temper tantrums.

Smash! Another for making me still miss him.

By the time I was finished, the box was empty. And now, so was my heart.

But I was back to being one thing again—Frankie Zola.

Third grade teacher and friendly neighbor.

Reasonably kind sister and beloved granddaughter.

And above all, one thing that would never change, no matter how many horrible words, thoughts, or deeds were thrown at me.

Sofia’s mama. A really damn good mother.