“You can tell,” I said to the doctor.
“Sì.” She assured me. “It is clear.”
“How about we let it be a surprise?” Scarlett had asked me, gripping my hand just as tightly. “We don’t get many of them in life—not ones as beautiful as this.”
The baby lifted a hand and seemed to wave. Then he or she started sucking his or her thumb. Scarlett wiped my eyes, drying the tears I didn’t even feel slip down my cheeks.
For once in my life, I had agreed to a surprise.
Though it was a double-edged sword some nights, the faith that Scarlett had in the baby being a girl soothed the worry, but it was still there, despite all of the assurances. I wondered if this was what it was going to be like. Being a parent. Constantly worrying.
The worry was one of the reasons why we decided that Pastini Fausti (one of Scarlett’s nicknames for the baby) was going to be born in Rome.
We had had a fight weeks before over where she would have the baby. If she didn’t want pain medication, that was her choice. But I refused to allow her to deliver at the villa in Tuscany. As stressful as this situation was already, I wanted her in a controlled environment.
“But yournonnadelivered two of her children here!”was her argument.
She didn’t like my response to that. In fact, she stuck up her chin, hauled her mountain around, and stormed off into the bathroom. But the end of that conversation was punctuated with a solid period. No more negotiations. She would deliver in a hospital in Rome, all natural, but still in a hospital.
Since we had a little time, though, we decided to stay in Tuscany until it was time to go.
Romeo doing a flip into the pool brought me out of my mind and into reality when cold droplets of water landed on my chest.
For my wife’s birthday, we had family over to relax around the pool. With so many pregnant women, it was the one activity they all enjoyed. Floating in the cool water, their bodies were weightless, the pull of gravity suspended for the time being.
I had been staring at Scarlett while hundreds of thoughts assaulted me. She and Lou were laughing. They bumped each other before they turned to the side to pass, their stomachs too big to skim by. Both women were going for fruit. That was another food obsession that popped up with Scarlett’s pregnancy. Grapes.
The dream she had of them before she left me should have tipped me off. Grapes. Fertility. Wealth. I was no dreamer, like Eva, but it made complete sense to me.
I sat up from the lounger, reaching for my beer, still watching Scarlett. She was in deep contemplation about what color grape to select.
Both.Pick both at once. You can have both, my baby.
That was why she blamed her pasta cravings on the baby. Being the trained athlete that she was, she still hesitated to eat the “wrong things,” or take what she felt was too much, and then take responsibility for wanting it when she indulged.
Growing up, her food was monitored. The thought of her ever wanting for anything cut me deep—it made me feel rage so intense that the color red blinded me. Even pregnant, I could see the struggle on her face when she wanted to go back for seconds. So I ate with her, a bite for me, a bite for her, and to make her smile, a bite for the baby.
As if she could hear my thoughts, her eyes turned up to meet mine. I nodded once and then sighed. She only took the green ones, as if selecting both was too much of a good thing.
Rosaria walked up to her then, a look of strain on her face. She was about to complain.
Turning, I faced the sun, absorbing the rays like lifeblood. Scarlett called me a lizard, a dragon, and sometimes I agreed. I could lie in the sun until it no longer shone in the sky, periodically going in and out of the water. My second home.
Just as a dark cloud hovers over the sun, dimming it, the atmosphere changed at once, a shift that could only be described as instinctual. Violet had emerged from the house, Eunice behind her, helping with the twins. Peter had Mary in the pool while Paul tossed a football with Romeo.
The atmosphere didn’t quiet enough that she would notice; it adjusted itself to accommodate her sadness. None of us had gotten over Mick. The little brother that I lost stayed in my thoughts on constant replay.
Violet had lost a lover, though, someone who had touched her soul and gave her children. The war that raged within her—to be happy for the sake of the children, or to give in and let it consume her—was a constant on her face. A reminder of the emptiness his death had brought.
I admired Violet for the choice she had made. She was honest with Mick before he died. She told him about Mitch (who happened to arrive at the house right after she did). He was honest with her. He told her that he loved her, but it was never enough, and he also told her about the baby. The hardest conversation had been had. From there, they had decided to separate for good. But she hadn’t chosen Mitch over Mick. Mick chose the truth over her. Something she respected.
She hadn’t planned to run to Mitch afterward either. Instead, she was going to live the hand life had dealt her and then move forward from there. If Mitch happened to be part of the deal, then so be it. Mitch had been known to make promises he couldn’t keep, though. He wanted to, desperately, but something in him refused to allow him happiness.
I recognized it right away. Him. He stopped his happiness. He felt he didn’t deserve it.
He was still gone. Had disappeared. Dissipated like smoke. Once in a while a text would come through.I’m fine.That was it. And I stopped asking where and when. Radio silence always followed afterward. Occasionally, I’d respond withI’m here.Your kids, too.
I hadn’t wanted to be a father. I’d wanted no part of it. But I was going to be despite my wants, and the baby was my responsibility. And she was half of my wife.
