“Of course I did. After a dozen times, she blocked me. And then I tried her sister, who asked me not to call again until Belle gave her permission.” Gabby looked up at me with pleading eyes. “Please don’t be mad at me, too. And I am sorry about not having a scene. Ugh, fuck! I’ve made a mess of everything today.”
“You kinda did.” I sat next to her on the sofa and pulled her into my side. “May I make a suggestion?”
Gabby whimpered. “Yes.”
“Give her the rest of today to calm down. And think about what you want, Gabby. Be really clear to yourself because you need to be honest with her. She might leave you if you decide you don’t want a baby, but she’ll wind up leaving you anyway if you try to fake it again.”
“I get it,” Gabby moaned. “It’s just that I love her.”
“Yeah, I know. Hopefully, she’ll agree to see you tomorrow. But you have to keep your cool.”
Gabby groaned. “I’ll try my best.”
I looked around, then asked, “Are you okay if I go? I want to get to the gym and work off all the calories I ate last night. Mamma madebraciole e polenta. And cannoli for dessert.”
Gabby chuckled, which I was glad to see. “She loves feeding you because you swoon over her food as if you’re starry-eyed over a person instead of a plate of pasta.”
“That’s because I appreciate your mother’s cooking so much. She cooks with love, like the mothers and grandmothers do in Italy. And it makes a difference in the taste of the food. That might sound weird but it’s the truth. You and Teddy never lived there so you think her ways in the kitchen aren’t normal for everyone. In Italy—for those like your mother who were brought up there—women learned at a young age to pour their souls into their cooking.” I tapped two fingers over my heart. “I can’t explain why because it’s in here…”
“Would you want to live in Italy again?”
“Not permanently. But I’d love the opportunity to work at the Maserati headquarters on a one- or two-year contract. I apprenticed there for a year and being located in the north, the landscape and culture in Modena were radically different than what I was familiar with in Sicily.” I sighed on a half-smile. “I’ve already told your dad that if an opportunity becomes available, I’d like the chance to interview.” I leaned over and kissed Gabby’s cheek. “If you need anything, reach out. I’ll hit the gym, take a dip in the ocean if it’s not freezing, then head back to my apartment.”
“Thanks, but I’ll be fine,” she assured me. “I’ll mope and write myeat crowspeech.”
I gave her leg a pat and let myself out, turning the lock on the door before I closed it behind me. I didn’t dwell on my disappointment about not having a scene. How could I considering her circumstances? But that didn’t take away my need to find emotional release that I would’ve gotten from the pain she’s have inflicted.
Thus, I told her a half-truth. I wasn’t heading to The Ring only to burn calories. More importantly, I’d put in a solid two-hour workout and then shoot the shit with whoever might be around. Hopefully, one or two bouncers who sparred there. They always had the funniest stories to share from their experiences at whatever bar they worked for. Then I’d go home tired, and try not reach for the flogger.
I had no intention of parking anywhere near the church or rectory. However, after circling the blocks behind The Ring, I found nothing. At five thirty on an early Sunday evening, people were having pre-dinner drinks or bustling to slip into their favorite shops before they closed, most of them at six. I considered abandoning my plan. But I knew if I did, I’d go home and beat himself. So, I started looking as soon as I turned off the main drag.
I drove at a crawl, not wanting to miss a space. Nothing on the first block. Nor the second. On the third block, I slowed to a stop and my gaze locked on Father Jude sitting on the stoop of the rectory, his head in his hands. He raked them through his hair, shook his head, and returned to the position hiding his face.
I was on a one-way street. Thus, turning around wasn’t an option. I could attempt to speed past the rectory, but the sound of the oncoming vehicle might cause him to look up out of curiosity. If he did, I was fairly certain he’d recognize the truck. I had only one option; pull into the space opposite the rectory.
I parallel parked with ease, hopped out of the truck, and grabbed my gym bag from the bed. I was only going to acknowledge the priest with a wave and walk away. But when Father Jude greeted me with a tip of his head, I saw how wrecked he looked.Fuck! I didn’t have it in me to bypass the man without speaking to him.
I crossed the street but only went up the path halfway, not sure whether he wanted the company of a relative stranger. “Hi.”
Father Jude wiped his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. Up close, I saw that he’d been crying. He nodded but didn’t say anything
Now what? I took another few steps and indicated the bottom set of stairs. “May I?”
Nodding slowly, he said, “Please.”
I put my bag down and sat sidewards, looking up at him. “I was going to The Ring but there weren’t any parking spots. This was the closest.” I didn’t know why I felt the need to explain. Maybe a hint of guilt at being glad there hadn’t been spaces closer.
I saw a range of unreadable emotions pass over the priest’s beautiful face, one of them maybe being a struggle between dismissing me or engaging in conversation.
Apparently, the latter won because Father Jude asked, “When did you join? I’ve never seen you in there.”
“Only a few months ago,” I said. “I train with Hawk on Fridays after work.”
Something caused his eyes to well up, which he tried to hide behind his arm. He failed miserably when he sniffled loudly, a sound that made him let out a derisive laugh. An instant later and his face reverted to being sad and solemn.
I wriggled on the step, not sure what to do next. “Um…maybe I should go,” I said, pointing in the direction of the gym. I considered asking him what was wrong, but shit, we were strangers. Instead, I started to get up and when the priest didn’t stop me, I figured I’d done the right thing.
I picked up my bag and when I was at the bottom of the stairs, I turned around. “Sorry, Father, for whatever it is.”
