“Say that to your mamma,” I said.
This time he didn’t shrug, but repeated, “I do not think so.”
I almost laughed but didn’t. He caught the twitch of my mouth, and his twitched too.
“Why does mamma not like them?” He looked up at me, scrunching his thick, dark brows in concentration. Specks of white stuck to his eyelashes and throughout his black hair. “She seems like a nice lady. Smells of chocolate all the time. Agnes does too.” His eyes went the color of melted chocolate at the thought.
“Fuck me,” I muttered, shaking my head. His mamma was going to kill me—no doubt cut my balls off first.
Clapping went off inside the studio, signaling that the lesson was over. Five minutes later, a few stragglers remained, but most of the women had clumped together and sang their way toward wherever they were parked, waving or whistling at me, as they did.
“Some of those women only come because of you,” Matteo said conversationally. “I hear them talk. Yousmellgood—” He sniffed at me.
I put my hand to his head and pushed. “You eavesdrop.”
“Nonnosays an intelligent man listens. Fools talk.” He laughed, raspy and low, sounding like my little brother.
I went back to watching my wife. She was trying to get the stragglers to leave.
Staring at her hard enough, I was rewarded when she finally looked up and lifted a hand in greeting. I lifted my hand, grinning at the leotard she had on. Over the nine-month bulge of her belly was the words, “we did it again.”
We still had time to go until the due date, but her stomach seemed ready enough.
How she danced with a bulge of that size?Shehad control over gravity was all I could figure out.
Yeah, she could dance again. Not as she once could, but in my opinion, even better. She had learned how to accept something new, and in return, moved like she was made of water instead of bone, and the blood in her veins was the current.
Water therapy seemed to be the biggest aide in her recovery, though she’d say that she’d never be the same.
She wasn’t meant to. Tito had once told me to love all her metamorphoses. I anticipated them.
The three stragglers stumbled out of the class, giggling as they passed us, hopping into a car idling in the street. A husband must have picked the group up. They took turns, like a carpool.
“Drinking and dancing do not mix,” Matteo said, shaking his head. “Mamma should not allow it.”
“Yeah.” I put a hand to his shoulder, about to direct him inside, but Scarlett came out, sliding to a stop when she saw us.
No jacket. A look on her face that made my heart sink. All those years ago…her brother. My best friend.
“Scarlett,” I said, taking her by the shoulders. “Tell me.”
“Nothing.” She shook her head. “Nothing. I just thought—” She waved a hand, smiling. “I’m being ridiculous.”
“Go inside,” I ordered Matteo. “Keep an eye on your sister.”
He squared his shoulders and did as he was told.
“Scarlett,” I said, my voice dipping lower. “Tell me.”
“I’m—I had a contraction.”
“What kind of contraction?” I narrowed my eyes at her.
She stared at me for a moment. Her smile faded when she noticed the look on my face. “The kind you get when you have a baby, Brando. I should know. I’ve done this four times already.”
“You’re not due until the end of the month.”
“It’s probably nothing.” She patted her stomach. “It just took me by surprise.”
