Apparently, a month turned into an entire season, judging by the post I saw on my mother’s Facebook last week, a photo of palm trees and sunlight at Harry P. Leu Gardens.
“What are you going to do with the box?” Mark asks.
I open my mouth, but before I can answer, Alicia walks into the kitchen. Her eyes land on the box and she beams.
“For me?” she says, already pulling it toward her and reading the card. “Oh, it’s from Grandma Ellen and Grandpa Philip. I thought they weren’t going to send anything since you’re not talking.”
“Yeah,” I say, simply.
They know I’m keeping my distance, but I haven’t shared the details. I don’t care if others judge me for it. After everything they’ve been through, the least I can do is shield them from this.
Ethan could tell there was more to it than just an argument, but he didn’t push. Alicia only said she hoped things would work themselves out once they got back from their trip.
She opens the box eagerly, but her excitement doesn’t last.
Inside are three journals and a small mountain of stationery and pens, things she would’ve adored just a few months ago.
“Oh,” she murmurs, trying to mask her disappointment. “I guess they don’t know I don’t really use this stuff anymore.”
I nod, even though she’s not looking at me.
“Is it okay if I give them to Khara’s little sister? She loves journaling. I gave her some of my stickers once, and she was so happy.”
“Of course, sweetheart. Go ahead. What matters is that someone who loves it will use it.”
“Good!” she says, closing the lid. “I’ll leave it in the living room so I can give it to her later.”
She leaves as quickly as she came, now carrying the box with her.
When I turn back, Mark’s eyes are fixed on me.
“I know,” he says, as if he’s read every thought written across my face.
My phone rings, and the moment I see his name, I can’t help but smile.
“Aaaw, our favorite Italian,” Mark teases. “I’ll leave you two alone to gush over old books.”
I wave him off, trying to hide my smile, but I can’t stop the warmth that spreads through me as I answer. “Is it good morning, afternoon, or night where you are?”
“I’m back in Europe, so it’s good afternoon for at least two more hours,” he replies, his accent slipping in, making my pulse stutter. “Currently in Barcelona, but by tomorrow I’ll be home.”
I lean on the edge of the sink, my eyes on the backyard while my mind wanders miles away.
“How did things go in Beijing?” I ask belatedly.
“Almost done. The deal’s practically closed. But I don’t want to bore you with business talk.” His tone lowers. “Actually, I called to congratulate you for today. Alicia’s day is also yours, you know.”
“Thank you. It’s hard to believe my little girl is thirteen.”
May 31st—the day Alicia came into the world. Unlike Ethan, who barely made a sound when he was born, Alicia announced her arrival with enough determination for the entire hospital to hear. Even then, she was all heart and will. My little whirlwind wrapped in a blanket, tiny fists waving as if already demanding to be seen.
I can almost feel the weight of her lying on my chest, the scent of her skin. It feels both like a lifetime ago and yesterday.
He hums. “I imagine she’ll always be your little girl. I’m over forty now, over six foot three, and to this day my nonna calls memio bambino[XI].”
I laugh, recognizing the words. “My little boy.”
The sound of his chuckle makes me shiver.
