“Maybe you need to go out for an evening and unwind. All this stress isn’t good for you.” She takes a sip, eyeing me over the rim.
“You’re probably right.”
“I know Angelo could use a night out too.”
I love this woman. She doesn’t leave much to the imagination. She doesn’t just drop hints, she hurls bombs.
“I’m sure it’s not easy for him with the kids.”
I know she wants me to take the bait, but I don’t. An evening out with Angelo would in no way be a hardship. The man is handsome, sweet, and just one look at him and my body’s about to do the horizontal mambo.
She waves me off. “I’ll watch the kids. They’ll only be little for a short time. I spoil them while I can. You two should go out and get to know each other better.” She smirks.
I lean forward and set my mug on the gray and white marble table. “Can I be frank, Betty?”
She nods.
“I don’t think Angelo’s ready, and I’m not sure I’m the right one for him.”
She stares at me for a moment and doesn’t speak. I’m truly flattered she wants us to spend time together. What girl wouldn’t be when a hot guy’s mom thinks you should get to know her son better?
“The one thing I know is my children. Angelo feels things deeper than most people. Losing Marissa almost broke him. But I also know he’s not meant to be alone.”
“I…”
“I think you two would be perfect for each other.”
“Betty,” I say, thinking about how to put into words what I feel. “I understand his grief probably better than most people in the world. There’s a helplessness and infiniteness to the pain and darkness. It took me a long time before I felt human again. I’ve never experienced such crushing grief. I know your family wants what’s best for him and for him to move on, but until he’s ready, there’s nothing that will open his heart, not even if he finds the perfect person.”
“He’s lonely. Even with the kids, he’s lonely. I don’t think he can escape the darkness until he finds someone with light. Someone who will remind him what it means to be loved and to be a man,” she tells me and reaches across the table, touching my hand. “I’m not asking you to love him, dear, but maybe be his friend. As you said, no one else understands what he’s going through like you do. Maybe he’ll feel comfortable and open up to you. If nothing else, maybe you can help him see there’s still more life to live.”
I get what she’s saying. For years, I avoided going to support groups. I didn’t think they’d help. Talking to strangers about something so personal wasn’t easy either. But opening up to people, knowing I wasn’t alone in how I felt did bring peace, even if only for a little while.
“We could always use more friends. I just don’t want you to think that he and I will be anything more.”
It almost pains me to say those words. Angelo’s a man I could easily fall head over heels for. He’s a little intense, but Mitchell wasn’t a walk in the park either. Strong men are always a little over the top, and I’ve never been one to go for the hipster type who wears skinny jeans and spouts sweet words. I need a man with a little bite to him.
Betty nods as she takes another sip of her cocoa. She’s stunningly beautiful with her bright red hair and pale skin. “Sure, dear. Of course. If there’s no spark, there’s no spark.”
“Betty.” She’s goading me, and I’m falling right into her trap. “I never said there wasn’t a spark. At least, for me. I just can’t rush his heart’s ability to move on.”
She beams with excitement. “Sure. Sure. I completely understand. Friendship is a great place to start.” She dabs the corners of her mouth with her fingertips. “You said you were having some problems getting work done?”
I nod and push away the mug of cocoa. “I am. I have a few things that need doing, and I don’t have the skill set to do them.” I shrug. “I’ll have to look on Craigslist and see who I can find in a pinch.”
“Absolutely not.” She shakes her head. “I have two men next door who can handle the work. Three, if you include Vinnie who should be home any day now for a few days before his spring break ends.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Doll, let my boys help. They love feeling needed, and right now, you’re in need. That’s what we do in this neighborhood. We’re a small little family, bound not by blood but by location.”
I have a feeling that isn’t always the case. If I were some crotchety old man with a problem, I wouldn’t have three strapping men helping after their momma sent them over to come to my rescue.
“How are your boys going to feel about you offering their services?”
“They’ll do whatever I tell them,” she says with a smirk.
I have no doubt Betty rules that household. It’s the Italian way. I don’t think I know any Italian man who isn’t wrapped around his mother’s finger. There’re worse things to be. A man who will adore his mother most likely knows how to treat a woman and has learned respect. That’s a way of life I could get behind.
