I slide my thumb over the C in her name. It’s been made smooth by time now.
“I have something I need to tell you,” I say. “You probably already know, but I need to say it.”
Only the trees answer with their leaves dancing in the light breeze.
“Her name is Elena,” I say.
It feels like I’ve dropped a plate—there’s a crash and the inevitable mess that comes with it.
“She’s a federal prosecutor,” I add and nearly laugh bitterly. “What do you say to that? Well, I know what you’d say anyway. You’d laugh. You’re probably laughing.”
The wind picks up, moving my hair, as I stare at the letters in her name and picture her laughing face.
“She uh… she drinks a lot of coffee. Can’t make pasta to save her life. Literally.” This time I do laugh, thinking of Elena trapped in her apartment and relying on her cooking skills to survive.
But the laugh fades.
“She’s… she’s having my child,” I say softly. “It was never supposed to—”
I stop.
There are a dozen endings to that sentence, and all of them have become lies.
I start over. “It’s not like I never planned on being with a woman again. But I was never… I was never supposed to stand in front of your grave and say another woman’s name.
“I didn’t plan it.” That’s true, and also the weakest excuse I’ve ever made. “But I’m not— I wouldn’t take it back.”
My throat is dry as I swallow.
“You would want to know how I feel,” I say, because she always forced me to put a name to whatever frightened me. “I hated that about you, but also loved you for it, and I guess that’s marriage.”
I trail my fingers over the edge of the stone, the way I used to trail them over her cheek when I walked past.
“I care for her,” I murmur. “More than I meant to. More than is smart for either of us. I don’t know how far that goes yet. I don’t know if I’m a man who can… do that again. I didn’t think I was. In fact, I was sure I wasn’t. I thought that part of my life was over, and I was comfortable with that because I had loved you enough for a lifetime. I didn’t need anyone else—not that way, not again.”
I look down at my shoes. A sign of weakness I’d notice in anyone else.
“You’re the love of my life, Carlotta, and that’s how it was always supposed to be.”
I look up. No. I may not be able to look her in the eyes, but I damn well won’t be looking down at my shoes like a coward.
“I have feelings for her. They’re complicated, and I can’t put a name to them yet, but it’s something.”
There, I said it. “It’s the closest I’ve ever felt to another woman since I lost you.”
I take a deep breath.
“I’m not proud of saying that here at your grave, on your stone, but I won’t hide it. Not from you.”
My mouth tilts into a bitter smile.
“I was never able to hide anything from you anyway.”
My hand presses flat to the stone until my knuckles turn white and ache. When it hurts enough, I step back.
“She’s going to have a baby,” I say, still stunned at it.
I picture Elena in her kitchen, making a mess of flour and cheese, frustration coloring her voice. I picture her in the dark of her bedroom, looking up at me with those big blue eyes.
