“Yeah.” He shuffles about again. “Here it is.”
I recite the number in my head several times, say goodbye to my brother after wishing him luck, then punch in the new number.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Russo? This is Alec Marchesani. How are you this evening?”
“Is this about your brother?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“Can I get Matilda’s number from you?”
“Matilda? Why on earth do you need her telephone number?”
Jesus. Nosey. “Uh, to, um, thank her for helping me with the dances.”
“You’re just doing that now?”
“Yes, ma’am. I forgot.”
“You Marchesani men need to learn some things about women.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I’d love to tell her to bite me, but that won’t get me what I need, and besides, she’s not wrong. She quickly states Matilda’s digits, and I do as I did before, I repeat them in my head. “Thank you, Mrs. Russo.”
“You’re welcome.” She pauses. “Be nice to her, Alec. She’s a sweet girl.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Matildaisa sweet girl. And funny, kind, giving, and all the rest. She’s too good to be true, in every sense of that expression. “Goodbye, Mrs. Russo.”
“Goodbye, Alec.”
By the time I’m done with those two calls, I’m exhausted. Plus, I’m starting to question my decisions about calling Matilda in the first place, except now I have to go through with it because her aunt will absolutely tell her I called. My brother, well, if he gets to speak to his wife, I’m sure he’ll tell Vicky, who will also—what did Matilda call it?—blab.
I stare at the phone as I press each one of the numbers into the phone. My heart is beating faster than normal, and I swear a bead of sweat has gathered at my hairline.
What. The. Fuck? Why is this making me nervous?
“Hello?”
Shit. What do I do? Why do I feel like a pubescent boy calling a girl for the first time?
“Hello? I know someone is there. I can hear you breathing.”
A laugh escapes at her words. “Matilda? It’s me.”
“Me, who?”
Shit. “Alec.”
“Alec? Alec Marchesani?”
“You know a lot of Alecs?”
“As a matter of fact….” She snorts, and I smile. “Nah, just the one.”
“That’s good.”
