“It’s a joke,” she said.
I tried to laugh along with it, but I was dying from embarrassment, and I thought I’d faint if I stayed there any longer. My legs felt like rubber, and I wasn’t sure how much longer they’d hold me up.
“I should get back upstairs, speaking of,” I said. “I accidentallydropped my phone out the window and I came down to find it. It was nice to meet you, though. It was nice to meet both of you.”
Pulling my T-shirt down until I could hear threads popping, I climbed the stairs with all the dignity I could muster, knowing that both of them were looking at me. I could hear voices from one of the apartments: children and a woman chewing them out. Overwhelmed, I reached the third floor and found the door locked.
Brilliant, I thought to myself.
I rang the bell, and soon the door opened and Lucas appeared with a towel wrapped around his waist and water dripping from his hair. I wondered which of us looked more ridiculous. I guessed it was me. He stepped aside, not bothering to conceal his amusement.
“I dropped my phone out the window,” I said, trying to pretend that was something normal, and walked toward my room.
“It happens to me all the time,” he replied blithely. “You in the mood for breakfast? I don’t have any doughnuts, but I do have some crumb cake. Maybe if you stick your fork in it hard enough, it’ll say ‘I’m so sweet,’ too.”
“Just a second,” I said.
I blushed like a teenager and let go of the hem of my T-shirt, which jumped back up above my waist. Whatever. He’d already seen everything anyway.
This whole thing was crazy, and I had no idea what I should do. Not even two days had passed since I’d seen those photos, and here I was in a building shared by a man who might be my father, and the first thing he’d ever seen of me was my ass.
My father…
Just thinking those words filled me with fear, because I’d never considered the possibility that I might meet him. I felt the need for him, of course, but I’d always stuffed that longing away. I had grownup surrounded by people who looked different from me, I’d known I was different, I’d even asked questions.
Questions that were never answered.
And I just accepted that.
And I forgot him.
And I grew up without even missing him.
Or maybe I did miss him, and that’s why I was there, obsessed with the fact that he had a mole over his eyebrow, or had made a similar gesture, or seemed to have some trait I’d inherited.
And the most ridiculous thing of all was, scared and uncertain as I was, I wanted to stay there. I wanted to be brave, to find the moment when I could show Giulio those photos and learn the truth hidden behind them. If there was any truth.
To learn if he was that part of myself my mother had stolen away from me.
16
At seven years old
“Promise me you won’t tell Grandma.”
I wondered why my grandfather was saying that, and I asked.
“Why?”
“Because what we’re going to do today is a secret.”
“But Grandma says secrets are bad.”
“Not all of them. This is a good one. I promise.”
I agreed, not entirely convinced, and looked at the people rowing in the pond at El Retiro Park. But then I got impatient and asked, “How good?”
Squeezing my hand, he replied, “Very good, Maya. And if you like it and you want to ever do it again, then Grandma can’t know. She’ll get mad and she won’t let us come back.”
