“IT'S THE THIRD NIGHT in a row,” I whined into the phone, then quickly added, “not that I'm keeping track.”
Bellezza licked my feet. I'd been baking and basting and cleaning since sunrise, getting ready for Thanksgiving the following day. In addition to my family, I invited Zoya and Donald and, yes, da Vinci. Then there was the matter of Cortland, possibly arriving for pie, but my first three attempts at the pecan recipe my mom-in-law raved about were disastrous. I couldn't seem to get it together this year.
Da Vinci promised he'd be home before bedtime, and when I'd hung up, William was standing behind me, his arms crossed in front of his chest. “Is that what you're wearing tonight?”
I smoothed my outfit: sweatpants and a fitted T-shirt, a slight improvement over my pre-da Vinci attire. At least my sweatpants didn't have holes in them and the Birks had been donated to Goodwill. “Honey, we're not having company until tomorrow.”
His face corked into a scowl. “What did da Vinci say? Is he coming home or not?”
I ruffled his hair. “You like him, huh?”
William pushed up his glasses on his nose. “He promised we could play Scrabble later. Can I stay up late?”
I glanced over at the kitchen table with the Scrabble board already neatly arranged. And it wasn't even Friday. I felt the anger rise up to my temples. He could disappoint me all day long, but not my boys. “Yes, he'll be here later, sweetie. But if you want Mommy to play…”
William shook his head. “No can do, Mommy-o. We're playing Italian-English Scrabble tonight. He can only spell words in English and I can only spell them in Italian. That way, he can win, because I don't know much Italian.”
“That's awfully nice of you. Just don't be disappointed if you can't play until tomorrow. He may be home late.”
“So don't you think you should change clothes, then?”
“For da Vinci?” I considered my undergarments, the funderwear I purposely wore in case of his return. It was the undressing that mattered most.
William shrugged his tiny shoulders. “Suit yourself, Mom. But it wouldn't hurt to wear a little makeup.”
I touched my hand to my cheek. Why did William care so much? Was he worried about me losing da Vinci, too? I had dyed my hair, bleached my teeth, microdermed my face, and lost fifteen pounds, but it was much more for me than da Vinci. “Is that so? I guess I could put on a little blush.”
He wiggled his loose front tooth with his tongue, obviously proud of himself. “Good plan, Mom.”
Every once in a while he slipped up and called me Mommy, but for the most part I was simply referred to as the less endearing “mom.” A milestone in the toddler-to-gradeschooler transition. I shrugged it off, remembering I hadn't gotten the mail that day and walked to the mailbox in my bunny slippers when I saw Cortland pull up in the duck house driveway across the street. I tried to duck behind the mailbox (no pun intended) and thought I'd scurry in before he spotted me. Thanks to William, I felt self-conscious about my looks. Perhaps I actually cared a little.
“Hey!” Cortland yelled, and I turned around, rolling my shoulders back, as if that would make me suddenly put together.
“Hey, yourself.” Another car pulled up next to his.
“Inspection,” he yelled back.
I waved my bills at him. “Good for you.” I turned around again, simultaneously hoping that they'd find massive termite damage to keep him from moving in and hoping the place's only sin was its tackiness. Cortland sprinted across the street and stopped by my side, so close he could see the lack of rouge on my cheeks.
“Hey, are you still making that pecan pie?”
“I don't know why Judith said that. She compliments me when she shouldn't. It's just an ordinary pie-nothing special.”
“They say it's not the food that counts, but the company you keep.”
I shrugged. “Suit yourself. I'm sure Rachel will want you to come over.”
Cortland put his hands on his hips. “I'm talking to her tomorrow.”
I slapped the mail against my thigh. “Please tell me you're not going to be the heartless asshole that breaks up with my sister on Thanksgiving Day.”
“She suggested we move in together until I told her I was moving across the street from you.”
“I told you she wouldn't like it.”
“You called it. But I couldn't stand being in my wife's house one more minute. It was time to start a new chapter of my life. A fresh start.”
“That's not easy to do.”
“I like a good challenge. Like getting you to give me a chance.”
“You don't know anything about me.”
“Well, I know enough to know I'd like to know more.”
I kicked a rock with my bunny slipper's nose. “I suppose it would be a safe and wise choice to get to know my new neighbor.”
“Like favorite food? 35 Across.”
I grinned, remembering that morning's crossword. “Twoeg-gsovereasy.”
“I think I speak your language, Rames.”
I eyed him suspiciously. “Maybe so, but it just wouldn't be a good idea to date you after my sister. She would never forgive me.”
Cortland's smile left his face. “Come on. You really think she'd care?”
“She'd at least pretend to. She's a drama queen.”
“This much I know.” Cortland glanced back at his duck house. “Well, can I at least get your neighborly opinion on a few things in the house?”
“You need a woman's perspective?”
“Always.”
I followed him across the street. The inspector was up on the roof, and we entered the house, the smell of vanilla Plug-Ins washing over us. “Very ducky,” I said, noting the feathered creatures everywhere- stenciled, painted, wallpapered.
Cortland shook his head. “Sometimes you have to look beyond how things are now and think about what they could be. You know?”
“Potential? Of course. You should've seen my house before we bought it. The former owner loved pink. Every room, wall and carpet was some shade of pink.”
“I knew you could help. C'mere.” He took my hand and led me into the kitchen, to the thirty-year-old olive-green appliances, stained linoleum floor, and stark, white-tiled countertops. “I'm going to rip out the kitchen. Install granite instead. Black, you think?”
I shook my head. “Too stark. Go with a beige blend.”
“Stainless steel appliances?”
“Why not?”
“And what do you think about stained concrete flooring?”
“Sounds cold.”
Cortland inched closer to me and looked down at my feet. “That's what bunny slippers are for.”
I cleared my throat, noticing the outdated lighting. “There's a great lighting store, locally owned, just a couple blocks over.”
“Maybe you could go with me?”
I stared at my feet, knocking my heels together like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz. “ Look, Cortland.”
“You won't be able to get rid of me that easily. Especially since I'm right across the street. Here, let me show you something. It's the reason I wanted this house.”
I followed him down the narrow hallway to a large bedroom, which I quickly gathered was the master with a large bay window that offered a lovely view into the backyard.
“It's beautiful, isn't it?”
The koi pond was surrounded by stones with a bench and a walking path that winded to another sitting area and fall flowers everywhere in golds, reds, purple and whites. “Perfect for entertaining, being the mover and shaker you are.”
“Or just unwinding after a long day. Come on.” We walked out the patio door to the pond where two dozen koi swam around, their bright orange scales glistening in the fading sunlight. He led me down the stone path to the seating area with a swing facing a bed of mums, in which stood a statue of a duck and a row of her ducklings. We sat on the swing, me on one end and Cortland on the other. He rocked us gently, his foot tapping on the earthen floor.
“Nice ducks.”
“I'm thinking of naming them. Besides, I don't want Mrs. Thompson to haunt me if I remove all of her beloved ducks.”
“Oh, yeah?”
He pointed. “That one on the left? He's totally Mr. Quackers. And the one on the end? Yellowbelly. That's all I've got.”
I laughed. “So this is why you wanted the house?”
“Think you might slip over at night after you tuck the boys in? We can come back here and rock, and you can tell me all of your troubles.”
“Troubles?”
“As in problems, trials, tribulations, woe, grief, heartache.”
“I know what it means, thankyouverymuch. What makes you think I have any of those things?”
“Because you're human. And I'm a good listener. And I always have a good bottle of wine to wash it down.”
He placed his hand on the back of the swing, his fingers brushing the skin underneath my T-shirt. I wanted to wriggle away, but couldn't. I wondered if he touched me long enough if I could figure out why his touch felt so different than da Vinci's. “I suppose a late-night visit every once in awhile wouldn't be a bad thing.”
“And you'll let my daughter play on your cul-de-sac?”
“Well, as long as she can keep up with my boys.”
“Deal?” Cortland held out his hand for me to shake.
“Deal.” When I stuck out my hand, he turned it and kissed my knuckle. “Okay. I should get back to the boys.”
“Does that include da Vinci?”
“He's moved some things in.”
Cortland nodded. “I guess I'll be seeing you both tomorrow, then.”
I left, feeling lighter and heavier at the same time. I wanted to turn around and tell him I'd like to make him 35 Across and shop at the lighting store and walk on his concrete floor with my bare feet. But I kept it tucked inside, like a secret daydream.
I wiped the drool from my mouth and then my dissertation notes when I awoke to the sounds of a man singing, before it registered it wasn't a man singing at all, but many men singing. Joel's wall clock read 10:30 p.m. Da Vinci was late. Again.
Groggily, I roamed through the house, listening for the source of the singing and my heart sank when I saw the Scrabble board was still on the kitchen table, untouched. Damn da Vinci.
The singing continued. Whatever it was, they were at least in unison if not on key, but I couldn't make out the words. It sounded old-fashioned and muffled, nothing like you heard on the radio in this day and age. TV in the living room? Off. Clock radio by the bedside table? Silent. The singing got louder as I stepped into the foyer when the sight of candles flickering outside caught my attention. The singing was right outside my front door. My heart sped up. What in the world? Isn't it a little early for caroling?
Cautiously, I opened the door to find nearly fifty young men on my lawn surrounding da Vinci. I noticed they'd brought out the whole cul-de-sac: Gabriella and Jesús and Zoya and Donald all watched the scene. Even in the light of their front porches, I could tell they were amused. I waved to them, shrugging my shoulders in embarrassment. Was this some kind of pledge hazing?
In an instant, my boys were down by my side in their pajamas staring out at the serenading frat crowd.
Most girls I've met I'll soon forget,
They could never be true
'Cause for me there is only one
Who could stand for the Gold and Blue.
In my heart is a girl with a smile on her lips
Lovely to see, precious to me
With her eyes like the stars
And our rose in her hair
No one can quite compare.
When shadows try to hide us
Dreams will see us through
Tho' the years come and go,
She'll be loyal, I know,
She's the sweetheart of ATO.
Da Vinci towered above his brothers, handsome and proud, and I wanted to whisk him away from these boys who had taken up all of his time, yet who had welcomed him so openly to America and the mainstream. This wasn't about them, but about me. This wasn't a pledging haze at all, but a sweetheart serenade-something that was only supposed to happen to other girls: cute, young sorority girls, not middle-aged widows. Da Vinci stepped forward and handed me a red rose, kissing me on the lips while his frat brothers cheered him on and chanted, “ATO! ATO! ATO!”
William hugged my leg while da Vinci placed his fraternity pin over my poodle's rear of my flannel PJs. He kissed me again, while I began to cry-not because I was filled with joy, but because I wondered what planet I was on and how I ever landed here. Making love in the frat house had been one thing-a fantasy come true for a part-time linguist and full-time housewife-but this?
Da Vinci waved goodbye to his frat brothers as he lifted me into his arms and carried me into the house.
“Neat, huh?” William said. “Was that, like, the coolest thing in the world or what?”
“Put me down,” I said, but da Vinci only held me tighter.
“Boys, back to bed,” da Vinci said to them, and amazingly, they obeyed.
As they walked down the hall to their room, they high-fived, which was even stranger. “Da Vinci?” I asked as he threw me on the bed he had begun to refer to as “our bed” and began unbuttoning my poodle PJs. “What's going on here?”
He took off his shirt, revealing Adonis abs, and knelt over me as he trailed my abdomen with his tongue. “What does it look like? I'm going to ravage my American bride-to-be.”
“Oh, my God.” I grabbed for my pajama top, but he had already pulled off my pajama bottoms and began kissing my hips. “Da Vinci, we're not getting married. Can you stop that? It's very distracting.”
“I know,” he said, looking up at me. “That's the whole point.”
“Yes, but about the marriage? You know we aren't ready for that.”
“We've got time. We're young.”
“Well, you're young, but that's not the point. Why are you doing this?”
Da Vinci lay his strong body over mine. “Because you're my Mona Lisa. I've been a terrible boyfriend. Spending so much time away for my studies and my fraternity brothers. And I realized something the other day when another woman kissed me.”
“What?” I rolled him off of me.
“It was TLC night of pledge week.”
My heart began to combust. “What do they do, bring in whores?”
Da Vinci was nonchalant. No big deal, kissing. “Just college girls. I don't want there to be secrets between us, so I must confess. Three girls kissed me and I kissed them back.”
“Da Vinci! Was it some kind of orgy?”
“Orgy?”
“Group sex! How could you?”
“Just kissing, tesoro.”
“Don't call me darling. I'm very angry with you. Mad. Upset. Hurt.”
He held my hand. “I admit the pleasure of the body can take over, but I realized they were nothing compared to you. So I wanted to do something to show you how much you mean to me. You're the real thing, Mona Lisa.”
We sat side by side in silence until we lay back, his head on my chest. Pleasure versus the real thing. Could it be possible to have both? I knew without a doubt that da Vinci was not the real thing. He was my romance-novel cover model, my sexual fantasy, my key to liberation from loneliness, but he wasn't even close to the real thing. “Leonardo, I don't think we want the same things.”
“But I thought this would make you happy.”
“I don't think you really love me. And it's not like you need citizenship just yet. You have a student visa.”
Da Vinci raised his voice. “It's not about that. I feel safe with you.”
“Safe isn't the same thing as love. Love is what you had with Chiara.”
He rolled over onto his stomach, his brows furrowed. “Don't speak of Chiara. She is gone.”
“She sent you a letter.” I resisted adding, a love letter.
“I don't care.”
“You don't want to read it? It sure smells nice.”
“She broke my heart. When I told her I wanted to come to America and I wanted her to come with me, she refused. She is marrying my cousin.”
“Why didn't you tell me about her? I would've understood.”
“I didn't think the past mattered.”
“You're talking to someone who's been living in the past. But you can't stay there, and you can't pretend it didn't happen, either. You learn from it and cherish it and build on it and try again. You're the one that showed me that it's okay to live again. To love again.”
“But not love me? I can hope you'll change your mind.”
“I love you, but not in the way you want me to. You are a magical, wonderful, beautiful man. You've shown me how to let joy in and be happy. I'll never forget what we've had. And I don't want to lose our friendship, either. And neither will the boys. They love you, too.”
He squeezed my hand. “This is classic American break-up, no? The ‘let's be friends‘ speech?”
“I'm sorry. I guess it is. I'm not very good at this. I really don't want to hurt you.”
“But I'll miss you and Scrabble and footballing with Bradley. This is American dream.”
The American dream. I'd thought you only get one of those, and that mine had died along with Joel. I hadn't thought I'd get a second chance or that I even deserved one, but maybe I did. Maybe I could dream a new dream. “Oh, da Vinci. You've always been a dreamer. Don't lose that, okay?”
Defeated, he got up from the bed, put his T-shirt back on and left to sleep in the studio, his head hung low.
As I watched him leave I thought to myself, what kind of a heartless asshole breaks up with her lover on a holiday?