Page 94 of Matteo

MATTEO

It’s been one helluva crazy day. From getting the email summons from the old man, to hearing him thank us, numerous times, and then to this.

Kissing Elizabeth in Central Park as if we've been together for years. We walk around, holding hands, watching the world go by, and occasionally, I pull her into me and we kiss again.

But every now, in the distant corners of my mind, an uneasy thought surfaces.

What am I doing?

This is not me.

It's not only that she works for me, that the old man hired her, but, I like having control. I like boundaries between work and home. I don’t like blurred lines. I like everything to be neatly contained because I don’t want to live a life which is in danger of spiraling out of control.

I’ve already had the trauma of that as a child when the old man shattered our illusion of a happy family and the dirty secrets came out. I know what it did to Mama. What it did to us, that feeling of displacement when we had to move from Italy to America and leave our friends and everything we knew behind.

I promised myself I’d never let anyone do that to me again. But then Elizabeth says something, or loops her arm through mine and snuggles against me, and my heart starts to race again, in a good way. A rush of energy rips through me, leaving me feeling wired, and weightless, and incapable of thinking about anything except her.

I'm not used to needing someone. I’m not used to softness and strength from others, comforting me. But maybe that's why we click together. We're similar in so many ways.

It’s October, and the air is cool but not cold yet. The hours pass by in a blur and the evening starts to draw in. The air smells like leaves and street food and taxis. It’s just after seven and the park lights glow softly along the paths. People are still walking dogs, and jogging. Couples are still sitting on benches, and tourists are still taking photos.

It's busy, but calm. Just like my mind, filled with so many things I need to take care of, and yet, I’m not feeling anxious.

“Hey.” Elizabeth squeezes my hand, and I realize I've gone silent, getting lost in my own thoughts. We're sitting on a park bench watching the world go by.

“Hey.” I squeeze her hand in return.

“Your thoughts.” She looks at me expectantly.

I turn away from her, stare at the ground for a moment, not wanting to go over old ground, but it’s been gnawing away at me. “I'm still thinking about that kidney I might have to donate.”

“You really don’t want to?”

“I don’t like the man.” It's the truth. An ugly truth, but there it is. I turn to face her. “You've met him. You know what he's like.” Except, I'm not sure she does, entirely. She's not seen the parts of him we all know.

“I can see that you don't get on, but ...” she hesitates, “... you have a father, Matteo. You have a family. You don't know how lucky you are.”

She sees another side to this, and she's seeing it through rose-tinted glasses. She'd give anything to have a family. A mother. A father. Siblings.

“It’s not all sunshine and rainbows, believe me.”

“I know, but you could save his life,” she says, just when I think about giving her another kiss.

“I’m not sure I want to. I’m not sure he has a life worth saving.” I sit back.

She shakes her head like she didn’t like that. “Don’t say that.”

She's so eager for me to do the right thing. Maybe it's my judgment that's clouded. I turn to her again. There's a sadness in her eyes, that makes me flinch. She feels it so deeply, but that’s only because she doesn’t know what the old man is really like. She has no idea. She doesn't know him, or what he's capable of. And right now, I don't want to talk about him.

She pauses, reflecting on my words. “Your father does seem harsh,” she says, carefully, “but sometimes, you just have to do the right thing, even if it doesn't feel like the right thing to you. It's the right thing morally, to save your father's life if you have the chance to.”

“There are things you don't know about my father, about how screwed up we all are.”

“No,” she says softly, inching away from me. “I don’t. And I don’t believe for a second that you’re screwed up. Not too much. Your brother, Enzo, he seemed quite normal to me.”

I chuckle. “He is, I think. I’m not sure.” I consider her words. “Maybe you're right. If I can save his life, maybe I should think about it.”

I realize in that moment that I need to see Mama. She knows about the old man’s health issues, but she doesn't know that I could be about to donate my kidney to save the life of the man she despises.