“Can I live with my father?” I asked.
I was seven years old, and I knew by then that all mammals had a mother and a father. My teacher had told us that at school. That meant I must have a father somewhere. Maybe he didn’t get along with my grandmother, either, and that’s why he didn’t come to see me.
My mother grabbed my hand and squeezed it.
“You don’t have a father, Maya.”
“But all mammals…”
“I don’t know who your father is. I don’t know his name, I don’tknow where he lives. Nothing. So forget about him, because you’ll never meet him. All right?”
I was surprised by her severity, but I nodded. “OK.”
“There is no dad somewhere thinking of you, all right? He doesn’t know you exist.”
“OK,” I repeated.
“This is how life is sometimes. You’ll understand one day when you’re older.”
“OK.”
“So promise me you won’t think about it again.”
“I promise,” I said.
And so that longing remained buried deep down inside me, and I forced myself to forget it was there.
“And promise me you’ll be a good little girl so I can keep coming to see you.”
“I promise,” I told her.
And I did. I was a good little girl. I always did everything right. And a year later, she came back and spent a day with me. And the same thing happened a year after that. But at some point, I guess I stopped being good, even if I didn’t realize it, because she quit coming to see me.
17
I looked through my suitcase and nearly freaked out. Where were my clothes? I was sure I had kept more than those few dresses, those three pairs of shorts, that half-dozen T-shirts, some of which were so old I couldn’t even wear them outside.
I dug through it all again, as if the garments might multiply just because I was moaning like a baby. Then I sat on the floor, resigned and embittered, and tried to see the bright side of it: I wouldn’t have to fret over what to wear.
I chose the least wrinkly of my dresses, put on a shorter pair of socks, and slipped on my sneakers. I was nervous as I walked out of the bedroom, still thinking about my encounter with Giulio. Was it a coincidence, or something more? Or did I just want to think it was something more?
They say your decisions mark out your destiny, but what if my destiny had chosen me? What if all this was part of its plans for me? Was it sending me more signs?
The scent of fresh coffee distracted me from these ridiculous ideas, and I followed that aroma into the kitchen, where I found Lucas with his back to the door, leaning over the counter, busy withsomething or other. He was dressed in beige linen pants and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
“Good morning,” I said as if we hadn’t seen each other half-naked a moment before.
He turned and smiled. “Good morning. You hungry?”
“Very,” I confessed.
He motioned for me to sit down. His shirt front was open, and I tried to look no longer than necessary as he took the Moka pot off the stove and set it on a cloth in the center of the table before retrieving cups from the cabinet and two spoons from a drawer. He set out a few slices of cake as well, then sat across from me, poured two cups of coffee, and offered me one.
“Thanks,” I murmured. The coffee was thick and strong. I took a sip and grabbed a piece of the cake, which I started nibbling. “This is amazing,” I said.
“And sweet,” Lucas replied while chewing.
Idiot!I wanted to say, realizing he was making a joke about my underwear. “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a girl in a pair of dumb panties before…”
