Dario

 

Per the family tradition, I was headed to my parent’s house to celebrate my latest bout. Usually, I was there the day after I got back, but this time my parents had chosen to take a mini vacation to Coronado Island at the same time, so our schedules had been clashing.

When I got inside, I trekked down the long corridor in the direction of all the voices. As I neared the threshold, I peeked inside and spotted my mother across the large room, but she wasn’t facing me. A friend of hers smiled in my direction and I put my finger to my lips, motioning for her to not announce anything. My goal was to try sneaking up on my mother while she was mid-conversation, but I wasn’t quick enough.

“Hey, my superstar son!” she exclaimed as she came rushing toward me. “You kicked somebody else’s ass, I see,” she noted. A filter was not something that this petite woman was equipped with. She was a little package of a person, standing an even five feet; she packed a big mouth—a mouth that totally contradicted her form. “I used to be so afraid for him to fight,” she continued in her address to the room, “for fear of seeing somebody beat up my child. But, it seems I never had anything to worry about. I think it might even be a nice gesture for me to send that poor man’s mother a sympathy card and some flowers.”

I shook my head as laughter escaped from my belly and my mother high-fived me.

“No, that wouldn’t be cool at all because they might see that as taunting and it might very well end up causing a street fight.”

As I watched a shadow cast over my mother’s blue eyes, and as her entire mood shifted from happy to sad, I immediately regretted my choice of words.

She looked at me with a pleading stare. “Yeah, and we don’t want any of . . . those,” she said.

Even though it had been years, the burn of losing Lucas was always with us, and my mother being both his aunt, and his Godmother, was deeply affected whenever any instance of the tragedy came up.

“I’m sorry, Mamma,” I said to her. But even after I’d apologized, I knew it was too late and it hurt because I had to see her hurt. The only thing I could do right then was to wrap my arms around her and pull her into a protective embrace. When I did, she snaked her arms around my waist and held on tight for a few long minutes, while the room remained still.

“It’s okay, son,” she said, pulling back slightly and looking up at me. She reached up and rubbed her hand against the side of my face. “I’m fine now.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” she said, with a forced smile. “Now, go and grab a plate and get it piled up with some of this food made just for you.”

 

“Hey champ!” my father exclaimed in his baritone voice upon entering the room just in time for the dark cloud to pass. I met him halfway to greet him with our regular hug and kiss to each cheek.

“Hey Papà, how’s it going?”

“It’s going. Good to see you after all this time,” he joked.

“You guys were the ones living it up in Southern California. That wasn’t my fault. I would’ve been by yesterday. But I got to hear you guys’ voices, so that counts.”

“Hmm, I’d be more understanding if us not seeing you, involved a woman, right Antonina?”

“Yes, my love; a woman who’s in the running to bring us an heir into the world,” my mother replied from across the room. “In a world full of men, it might even be good if it was an heiress! I’ll take either . . . even a pair!”

“Mamma!” I exclaimed, shaking my head. She would never give up on her quest to make me a father. In a perfect world, she would love for me to trade the gloves in for fatherhood, but I just didn’t see that happening anytime soon. Boxing was still going to be a presence even after retirement. My life was as it was because I’d chosen it that way. As far as a woman coming in to change that, I didn’t see that immediately happening.

“How’s your dating life, son?” my father asked me when everyone had finally taken their attention off of me and my mother’s back and forth banter.

Looking at Giuseppe Caivano, it was clear where I got my features from. My dad towered over my mother’s five-foot frame with his six-foot-four stature. He stood a firm two inches taller than me. His skin tone was the same fair-olive tone that mine was, his eyes were the same blue-green that mine were and our square jawlines were identical. The only thing that I could see inherited from my mother was her dark blonde hair. My father’s hair, with the exception of a few silver strands, was almost jet black.

“I’m only asking because I’m still expecting you to show up here one day with a woman on your arm,” he continued. “I already know you got good taste because you take after your Papà,” he boasted. “I mean, look at your Mamma. That woman is as fine as Tuscany wine!”

“Dad . . .” I laughed. “Yeah, no. Too much.”

“What?” he teased. “My woman is the most beautiful girl breathing air. So, I’m just sayin’ that I know your taste in women—”

“Capisco, Papà. And to answer your question, I can’t complain. The dating life is fine—when I get the time to do it.”

My dad grabbed me around the back of my neck and yanked me close. “But even when you’re not dating, I know you’re taking a few beauties to bed, right?”

“For sure. I’m pretty busy, Papà. You have no worries there.”

My father and I had always talked sex since I was a young boy. It was one of the many things we bonded over. When Lucas was alive, he gave us both “the talk” and we ran with it. Not only did he give us “the talk”, he schooled us on the seduction of women and all of that. Lucas’ dad, my uncle Christoph, is a cool guy, but more on the conservative side, where my dad just isn’t.

“That’s my boy! Now, let’s go eat, drink, and be merry before your Mamma throws a fit.”