Livia
Aedan orders pizza and I order what Aedan calls “some obscure princess dish I’ve never heard of.” We sit in the corner booth of a high-class Italian restaurant, chandeliers and candles and paintings, but the surroundings turn to smoke as I look at Aedan; he’s the only thing that exists for me. This past month...thinking of him, dwelling on him, dreaming of him. Now he’s here, I can hardly contain my excitement. It bubbles up within me, urged on by the champagne. I’d never lose my head to a man—or so I tell myself—but being with Aedan now after such a long absence is a heady experience indeed.
“We need to get business out of the way,” I say, hefting the ledger I took from Michael before we left.
He nods. “Alright.”
As we eat our main course, drink our champagne and whisky, and order dessert, we sort out the specifics of business, the nitty-gritty which is going to be a large part of our life now that we’re leading our respective families. All the time, we steal glances at each other, secret moments interjected into the business proceedings. When all the numbers and records are done with, I can tell Aedan’s as glad as me.
I place the ledger in my handbag, lay my chin on my hands, and smile softly at him. “I hated you, Aedan,” I say.
“I know,” he says. “And I feel like the damn dog you’re always calling me. Over this past month, I’ve had a lot of time to think, about Patty, about Mom, about the whole twisted mess. Mona was what did it in the end—got me to really see Patty as the man he was, not the man I created in my mind. He was never a good man. Never, but I thought... I guess I thought it didn’t matter if he was a good man ’cause I’d let Mom down and I couldn’t let him down, too. Parents, they fuck you up, that’s the truth. Your parents can be the nastiest bastards who ever lived but a smile from them still means the goddamn world. Well—not anymore. I choose you, Livia, just like a chose you in the bar.” He grins at me, that cheeky-as-hell grin, that grin which hooked me in the first place. “So, have you been dreaming about me again?”
“No,” I lie. “I’ve barely thought about you.”
Except for every second of every day since we parted.
“Is that right?” He chuckles. “’Cause I’ve thought about you a lot, a damn lot, maybe more than is healthy for a man. I even...” He trails off. “Now I’m about to sound obsessed. I even came to your apartment once.”
“That was you!” I squeal, and then place my hand over my mouth as a dozen heads snap to me.
“Yeah.”
“Why didn’t you come and see me?” I ask.
“I thought you hated me,” Aedan says. “After the car...the alley...when you just left like that, I thought that was it.”
“I did, too,” I say, honestly. “I thought I could just forget about you. I was wrong.” I take a long sip of my champagne. “Dad’s missed you.”
“He has?”
“I think so, yes.”
“He’s a good man, better than Patty ever was.”
We stop talking for a while, just sipping our drinks and watching each other. I look within myself, search for any sign of that tortured uncertainty which follows me wherever I go. When I search—and search and search, looking into the deep corners of my subconscious—and don’t find it, I gasp. There’s nothing there but the glow of the champagne and the hot flush of seeing Aedan again, a hot flush which turns my cheeks red, which makes my body feel hot and alive. I realize that for the past month I have been a zombie, barely feeling anything, and now that Aedan is here I can finally live again.
I’m about to say something to Aedan, something nice, something flirty, something which tells him I could never hold a grudge, when a drunken woman stumbles onto the scene. She’s glamorous despite her age and wobbles on pearl-white high heels as she braces her hands on the table. Her lips pull back over her teeth, and her fingernails bite into the wood of the table. I study her rings, look up her arm to her face.
“Mom!” I cry, pushing my seat back in shock, which makes a loud scrrrrrreeeeeecchhhh noise.
“Isn’t this nice?” Mom says, her words heavy with alcohol.
Just behind her, one of the Hummingbirds stand, hands clasped to her chest as though afraid Mom is about to start a fight.
“What are you doing here?”
“Your sweet father told me what was happening tonight and I just couldn’t believe it—couldn’t—and so I came here, and had a few drinks, and now—and now—” She turns to Aedan with a look of twisted hate. “This is him, then.”
Aedan glances at me. I shrug, caught off guard, and then Aedan faces Mom.
He stands up slowly, walks around the table, and offers Mom his hand. For a moment, he doesn’t look like the rugged Aedan I know, but a respectful businessman. The change is disconcerting until I look at his beard, wild and tangled, and remind myself that no matter how respectful Aedan might sometimes seem, he’s always going to be my wild man, my hitman, my killer.
“Mrs. Russo,” he says. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”
Mom stares down at his hand, her mouth falling open. “Um...”
If there’s one thing Mom has always been a sucker for, it’s what she and her friends call a polite young man. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve heard Mom or one of the Hummingbirds say: “Oh, he was such a polite young man!”
When Mom doesn’t take his hand, Aedan goes on. I sit with my hands in my lap, wringing them together, sitting on the edge of my seat, ready to leap up and catch Mom’s wrist if she makes as though to slap Aedan.
“I know you’re not a big fun of me, ma’am,” Aedan says. “And I know it’s because of my Irish blood. I’m afraid I can’t help that. My hair is red, my skin is white; I don’t tan too good. I don’t speak your language, I’m afraid, and I don’t wear too much flashy jewelry. But I care for your daughter very much, Mrs. Russo, and I think your husband is about the finest man I’ve ever met. Maybe this isn’t enough. I’ll understand if that’s the case. But, I’m just asking for a chance, a chance to prove that I care about your daughter more than I’ve cared about anyone in my entire life.” He stops, looking down at his hand, which Mom looks at with something between a bemused smile and a sneer. He looks back to Mom, now with his confident smile on his face. “And, Mrs. Russo, I hope I’m not out of line when I say you’re about the most attractive mother I’ve had the pleasure of meeting in my life.”
I bring my hand to my mouth, stifling a giggle. When Mom turns to the Hummingbird, Aedan tosses me a wink. I clamp my hand down hard on my mouth. This is the man I want to be with, I think. I’ve forgiven him, I go on, the certainty of it refreshing. I’ve forgiven him. I know what I want. For the first time since we met, I’m not confused. My belly feels light, as if where the knot of butterflies and nerves should be there’s now nothing but champagne and affection. I’m so proud of Aedan right now, that’s the truth, proud in a way only a woman can be when she sees her man—my man!—make nice with her mother.
“You’re a charmer, then,” Mom says, her words coming clearer. She stands up straight. Is this real? I ask myself, hardly believing my eyes. Mom stands away from the table and twists her heeled toe into the carpet. She looks like a high school girl who’s just been asked to the dance. “Livia didn’t tell me you were a charming young man.”
You never gave me the chance. But I’m too stunned by the scene for bitterness.
“I only want the best for your daughter, ma’am,” Aedan says, hand still extended. “That’s all. I would never let anything happen to her.”
“You’re not Italian,” Mom says, her voice strained. Hearing Mom’s voice, I can’t help but think how similar we are. The conflict which has only recently left my body is now thick in her tone, pulled between her Italian pride and her instant liking of Aedan. If there’s one skill Aedan has, I reflect, it’s that he can make women like him just by being himself.
“No, ma’am,” Aedan says, “but I love your daughter.”
Love!
I gaze up at him. He flinches, as though as surprised as me, and then his face sets into a steady expression as he accepts the knowledge. He glances at me.
“I love your daughter,” he repeats.
I love you, I mouth, feeling as though an invisible rope has just been looped around us, binding us.
Slowly, Mom reaches down and takes Aedan’s hand.
“I suppose,” Mom says, “if you’re a charming, polite young man, that will be enough.”
I breathe a pent-up sigh of relief as they shake hands. Then Aedan steps back and gestures at the table. “Please, Mrs. Russo, join us.”
Mom shakes her head. “I wouldn’t get in the way of young lovers,” she says.
She’s about to leave when she stops, leans down next to me, and places a kiss on my forehead. “Friends?” she says, which is the closest Mom will ever get to apologizing.
I kiss her on the cheek. “Friends,” I say.
It’s only once she’s left and Aedan and I are alone again that I realize tears are sliding down my cheeks. I dab them with a napkin.
“I meant that,” Aedan says. “I love you, Livia.”
“I love you,” I say. “But if you ever even think about betraying me again, I’ll take my Mont Blanc pent and bury it in your balls. Is that understood?”
Aedan snaps off a salute. “Yes, ma’am!”
I giggle, and laughing with Aedan, knowing that later we’ll be in the throes of passion, is the sweetest feeling there is.