Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
A moment of silence stretches between us before Giovanni says, “My mother passed a little over a year ago.”
Mom twists her hand in her blanket. “Oh… Giovanni, I’m so sorry.” Her brows furrow with genuine affection. “She was a good woman.”
“She was,” Giovanni agrees.
Mom smiles as her eyes glisten with curiosity. “And your father? How is he?”
Giovanni runs his hand along his jaw, tracing the tremor there, before he answers. “He’s been unwell lately.” His eyes shift to me, and their hoodedness makes it impossible not to squirm. “But he’s improved in leaps and bounds over the past thirty-six hours. He’s like a new man.” Then, in a gentler tone, almost like a vow, he adds, “If you knew my mother, I’m confident he’d love to meet you.”
If Mom’s lips didn’t part, I would have missed what she replied. That’s how softly she speaks. “We’ve already met.” Her gaze darts away as if tugged by a memory she isn’t ready to share before her tiny frame shivers. “The air-conditioning is a little cold. Could I get a blanket?”
“I’ll grab one.”
I leap up from the bed and charge for the door, but Giovanni beats me to it.
“I’ll get it,” he says, already in the corridor that reeks of medical equipment.
His shoulders are bunched, and he looks like he needs a minute to get his head straight, so instead of protesting that I generally use these requests for a quick breather, I nod.
The instant the door clicks shut with Giovanni on the other side, my mother pats the empty space beside her with her frail hand. “Hop back in,” she whispers, her eyes bright with urgency. “And tell me everything.”
Everything? I wouldn’t even know where to start.
Many hours later, I stand and stretch. My legs are now stiff from sitting so long instead of being curled around Giovanni’s shoulders when he took me to the brink in my aunt’s cramped shower. Although I usually stay until Mom is asleep, I switch tactics today. Giovanni hasn’t left Mom’s room since he returned with a blanket, and as much as my mother is putting on a brave face, I can tell she is exhausted. Her eyelids are heavy and her complexion is pale, but I’ll admit, there’s a softness in her smile that makes my chest ache with joy instead of fear.
Leaning down, I kiss her cheek. Her skin is cool and smells freshly cleaned. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, already mapping out the route in my head. This hospital is further east than Ospedale San Giorgio’s, so it will take longer to get here, but I need to switch buses only twice instead of the usual three.
Mom’s decisive headshake shocks me. “No, you won’t.”
I blink, thrown off guard by her suggestion. “What do you mean?”
“I’ll be doing nothing but resting and sleeping for the next few days.” Her mischievous eyes dance between Giovanni and me. “Perhaps you should try to do the same.”
Even though I love her playfulness, her suggestion lands harshly in my gut. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”
Her IV line sways with the wave of her frail hand. “Your aunt will visit every evening. And…” She retrieves a fancy phone from her bedside table. It isn’t outdated like mine. It’s the latest-model iPhone, which gleams under the harsh fluorescent lights as brightly as my cheeks when I realize only one person in this room can afford such extravagance. “This hospital’s services include internet connectivity. We can keep in touch using FaceTime. I already downloaded the app.”
My stomach flip-flops. Once again, don’t ask me if it’s in despair or excitement. I hate lying.
“See?” Mom twists the phone screen to me. “You’re at the top of the list, ready to be bombarded every evening at six.”
“Every evening?” I can’t believe I’m already folding. I usually fight until I’m out of breath.
Exhaustion truly is a brutal beast.
“Every evening,” she confirms, nodding.
“Okay.” I force my voice to stay steady even as emotions constrict my throat. “Every evening at six.” I collect my stuff before turning to face Mom. “Please keep me informed. If anything happens before or after our call, contact me immediately.”
“I promise,” she says, squeezing my hand.
Even though I feel like I’m surrendering, I say, “I’ll see you on the weekend. Love you.”
She mimics my declaration of love before watching us walk to the door.
As we enter the corridor, she murmurs, “Have fun, you two.”
I glance back at her and shoot daggers. There’s no heat in my scorn. It’s so weak it doubles the size of her smile. Her goofy grin is the same one she wore when she and Giovanni played Scopa. Unfamiliar with the rules, I chose to sit out and watch them play.
Their banter between games was more entertaining than being a participant. They laughed for hours, and on multiple occasions, I forgot today was Giovanni’s first time meeting my mother. It’s as if he’s always belonged in our family.