Page 93 of Deal with the Devil
Either way, I asked if she wanted me to put on something on the TV, something to take her mind off the pain, and she shrugged in that indifferent way that said she wouldn’t mind.
So I turned on the TV, opened the first streaming app that loaded, and sawMy Cousin Vinnyplastered across the home screen.
She perked up immediately. “I like that movie.”
I clicked play, then hovered long enough to realize it was a comedy about the mob. Curiosity piqued, I stayed by the door to watch the first few scenes.
She was sipping her tea, heating pad on her lower stomach, bedsheets pooled around her waist.
Eventually, I stayed long enough to sit down on the edge of the mattress, careful to keep space between us.
It wasn’t lost on me that she was suffering from her flare-up because of me.
The soup came half an hour later, when Mara knocked and brought in the tray. I didn’t expect Portia to eat much, but to my surprise, she did.
Gradually but gratefully like a rabbit would, taking modest spoonfuls so as not to overdo it.
Mara brought me a bowl, and it became a joint movie effort—we were officially watching the mob comedy together.
Now the scent of chicken broth and fresh herbs lingers in the room. The plot unfolds on the TV screen as we sit, a captive audience.
Portia lets out a laugh as the courtroom scene unfolds. Joe Pesci in that ridiculous suit, pacing in front of the judge, going off about tire marks and deer hooves.
Her laugh is loud and unrestrained. It makes the corner of my mouth crack into a grin. Then I’m chuckling too—or as close as I come to chuckling—when the rest of the scene plays out.
“It’s okay to laugh, you know,” she teases. “You won’t combust into flames.”
“I’m beginning to realize that.”
She spoons more soup from the bowl in her lap. “Is this… the first movie you’ve ever watched?”
“From start to finish? Yes.”
“Wow. So you’ve just been… what, brooding in the dark your whole life?”
“Not quite. But there are many things I’ve never done. Rafael’s lived most of our life. There wasn’t much space for me. Not until recently.”
Her brow furrows. “But… how can you remember anything from your childhood? I thought it didn’t work like that. I thought you didn’t... exist yet.”
“We existed together at first. Back then, the separation wasn’t so distinct. But life became… harder. And he began to change as he had to learn to survive.”
Portia watches me carefully, her expression unreadable. “You mean his childhood. That’s when it started?”
I nod. “Most people’s origin stories do.”
“I still don’t understand how that would split you in two.”
“You’ve lost your parents. You should understand more than most.”
“You mean Rafael losing his mother?”
“That was part of it. The things he had to do.” I pause for a few seconds before I add, “The thingswehad to do.”
Portia stares at the flickering screen, eyes unfocused, as if forgetting about the movie. “My parents were gunned down. I was just a kid and they went out for a date night with Jayla’s parents. It happened as they were walking out of a restaurant. All four of them shot dead in cold blood like nothing. The police never caught who did it.”
I nod along. “I know.”
“Youknow? Or Rafael does?” she asks sharply. “Is that something he researched before he ever spoke to me?”
