Page 37 of Mending Our Chance

I nodded. “Of course. You know where things are set up here.”

He inclined his head and left.

This wasn’t their parish church. Gianna and I had never attended, Church of Our Saviour, where the whole Family regularly worshiped together. But this was a good church and Gianna had insisted we attend here on a semi-regular schedule. That had lessened as her health declined, and after today, I wouldn’t step foot in this building again. I wasn’t giving up on my faith, just escaping the places where memories of her persisted.

While my father was gone, family, friends, acquaintances, and people who somehow knew the Family trickled into the church. Right before it was time to get lined up for the procession, Marcus appeared. I had told him there was no need to come early; we had not been expecting this crowd after all. He nodded to me and I waved my fingers at him.

When he walked up to me, I asked, “You aren’t kin, but would you still sit with me?” Again, I was blurting out sentences without thinking. Marcus, however, seemed to beam at my request. Our relationship had been secret, but my gesture put him by my side and told the world he was more than a business partner.

As he was about to answer, he looked over my head. When I saw the color drain from his face, I couldn’t help but sneak a look behind me. I saw my father emerge from the back room where the coffin was now being wheeled from.

The Signore, flanked by his twin sons, approached us. “They are ready for us to line up.” My father looked at Marcus as he asked, “Felìcita, who is this?”

“This is Marcus Bowers, my business partner and…” I let my voice trail off. We had been sleeping together, every night, but I wasn’t going to be the one to make the announcement—not without talking to Marcus to ensure he was ready.

Marcus resolved it for me. He held out a hand to the Signore. “I’m her boyfriend, Sir. I am pleased to finally meet Felicity’s famous father.”

My heart squeezed tight in my chest and I smiled, fully aware that all my teeth were showing. Who cared? This beautiful man had just claimed me in front of my father. I opened my mouth to say something, but at that moment, the Priest, decked in a brilliantly embroidered chasuable, came out to prepare us for the ceremony.

The incense filling the room was slightly sweet. It cast a pall of choking smoke over the proceedings. The service was a blur of rites and proper church procedures, and when I was finally sitting for the homily, I was able to think again.

My father was an imposing force, one I was not currently in the right frame of mind to deal with. Clearly, the way Marcus had reacted when he saw the man was evidence of the Signore’s prowess. Yet even under scrutiny, Marcus had put a label on us. His boyfriend! Now everyone knows that Marcus is finally mine—this is so much more than a fling this time.

It was what I had always wanted, even when I had hated his guts. But now that we were official, it scared the shit out of me. The fear of getting too close to Marcus if things went badly was still there. Before, the relationship was all in my head, so I really had no reason to fall as hard as I had because I never claimed our chance at a future. Now, the ground had been clearly staked. I had jumped at the chance to help Marcus and prove my worth in the business world, and it had thrown me into bed with him. Now the doors to a life together had been thrown them wide open. Anything was truly possible if I could let go of the hatred and clear the air.

My father was sitting on the opposite side of the twins, and on the tail of these thoughts, another idea crossed my mind. If the relationship between Marcus and me had been broken—then the one with my father had been shattered.

I never did hate my father. I just let bad faith rot us apart.

Thinking about the past and the reality of the present, showed me that there was a golden opportunity here. My aunt was gone—with all her drama and foul agendas. As we laid her to rest, I could at the very least bury the animosity I felt for the Old Italian gentleman who was nodding along to the words of the Priest. But I was scared to get close to my father again. When I always said that family is the most important thing, I didn’t think I would be eating my words.

A laugh stuck in my throat, choking me. An arm came from somewhere to pat my back. Shaking myself out of my mental turmoil, I realized that those around me thought the reverent words from the Priest’s message had struck a chord. Little did they know that I was paying no attention to his voice wafting down from the pulpit.

Yeah, I would definitely have to address my relationship with my father. After all, if I could heal my broken relationship with Marcus, I could fix ours as well.

Struck by an idea, I noticed there were little pencils in the wooden hymnal pockets in front of me. I impulsively scribbled a note on the back of my service pamphlet, using my thigh as a clipboard. The curiosity of my brother sitting next to me resulted in the pencil jabbing into his leg, and I had to resort to covering the words with my left hand as my right quickly jotted down what I hoped was a coherent message. Then, leaning across the twins, I passed the folded note to my father.

The Signore—who would never have let us pass notes during Mass as children—actually grabbed a little pencil from the rack in front of him and scribbled a reply back under my note. The twins passed it back—not daring to peek. Under the words “We should spend some time together. Gianna’s death ends a horrid chapter. I think it’s time to see if we can make a fresh start. Would that be something you would also be interested in?” the Signore had scribbled back, “Supper, Il Cortile, I will pick you up at 8?”

I replied with a nod of assent. And just like that, my father and I were speaking again.

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