Sofia sits down next to me and puts her arm around me. We sit in silence for a few minutes until I’ve regained control. Now thatthe panic has passed, I feel ridiculous. Here I am with a blanket and a glass of water, looking like a prizefighter who has just stepped out of the ring. Only, instead of an actual opponent, I’ve just been fighting myself.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“Are you feeling better?” she asks.
“A little bit,” I admit.
“Sit back,” she says.
I’m too vulnerable at this point to care what she thinks of me. Of course, I want her to see me as someone strong and attractive, but my heightened nervous system has made that impossible. There’s no fighting it. I’m obviously a mess. I follow her instructions, leaning back and relaxing my hold on the glass. The cup comes to rest on my knee, and I’m just keeping it balanced, not really holding it up.
I open my eyes to see her television and a wall that has no artwork on it. The dimensions of the apartment are a little restrictive, but I try not to become overwhelmed. The last thing I want to do is point out how poor she is by comparison. Not everyone has a billionaire father to pay for their lodging.
“Let me turn on the TV,” Sofia says.
She reaches for the remote and switches it on. After punching a few buttons, she lands on a comedy show that I’ve never seen before. It doesn’t take me long to figure out that it’s a really dumb show. The laugh track alone identifies it as a late 1990s sitcom, with a typical family thrown into ridiculous situations.
It’s about the right speed for me now. I don’t have to concentrate to follow the plot. They’re just trading insults back and forth,and I enjoy it. As the seconds tick by, I’m able to relax increasingly until I finally decide to put the glass of water on the table in front of me.
Sofia lifts the blanket and my arm, leaning against me. I stretch my arm across her shoulders, welcoming her head onto my chest. We’re curled up like an older couple, watching daytime television alone in her apartment. It feels good.
“I’m sorry,” I begin, wanting to clarify that I’m not always such a train wreck. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“You’re human,” she says simply.
And there it is. She’s given me permission to let my guard down. I don’t need to be a picture of masculine health for her to like me. In fact, I’m getting the feeling that she’s impressed by my lack of self-control. Maybe she’s one of those women who likes taking care of people. I promise myself this is the last of the panic attacks. I have to get this under control if I’m going to work for my father.
The tension rises again, so I have to block those thoughts out. I’ll deal with the whole ride-along with Uncle Gio thing later. For now, I just need to collect myself. I focus on the television show, laughing at some of the more ridiculous jabs. I can’t believe this show ever made it onto the air; it’s terrible.
“You don’t have to apologize for having feelings,” Sofia says after a while.
“I wish I could be more manly,” I say regretfully.
She laughs. “You’re plenty manly. Even men have panic attacks. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Tell that to my father,” I moan.
She waits a beat, then adjusts herself in her seat. It’s almost like she’s sitting up to pay attention but also leaning against me. “Do you want to talk about it?” She asks.
I sigh, my eyes drifting up to the ceiling. I want to talk to her, but I can’t risk it. My father would kill me if I told anyone about his business. And in a very real way, I would put Sofia in danger. The less she knows about our family’s operations, the better. But there are a few things I can talk about.
“I guess I’m worried about the new baby,” I admit.
“It’s a big change,” she agrees.
“I didn’t have the greatest relationship with my father growing up,” I tell her.
“How so?” she wonders.
“He was always busy, and I got the sense that I was a bit of a disappointment to him,” I say. Even speaking those words out loud hurts. I realize I haven’t ever spoken to anyone about my father because our secrets were too important.
“I’m sorry,” Sofia says, commiserating with me as if I’m just a regular guy with a regular father.
“And when the new baby comes, my dad is talking about retiring,” I continue. It feels safe to reveal that much. Most fathers don’t leave behind a legacy of violence when they retire. Most of them don’t have to go into hiding or pass down their criminal empire to their oldest son.
I mention nothing about me stepping into my father’s shoes. That’s not happening yet. I have plenty of time to work my way up to that level of leadership. Nine months to be exact, althoughMarlena’s at least a month into her pregnancy, making it eight months or less.
I close my eyes. At this rate, I’m going to be panicking forever. Sofia puts a hand on my stomach and draws a slow circle, calming me down. I hate that I’m so weak, but I’m thrilled at the physical contact. This is so much more than I expected, and exactly what I want out of our relationship.
