Page 9 of Loss and Damages
“I think Leo would have told me.”
“They’re not going to announce they’re mafia.” He scoffs. “Have you ever seen Dominic Milano walking around St. Charlotte wearing a sandwich board sign advertising cement shoes for sale? I don’t think so.”
“I haven’t seen Dominic Milano do anything.” Besides stare at my car as I backed out of my parking space at the funeral home. “It’s not like we’re in the same league.”
“You and Leo were in the same league,” Tara points out, running her fingers through Jeremy’s hair.
“You can be in the same league as anybody if you’re alone talking about homeless shelters and programs to help the poor. It felt different because he acted different. Leo didn’t give off that venomous vibe, and it helped he never brought me anywhere. Trust me, he would have felt very much out of my league if he’d taken me into the city. Like on a date. He never mentioned anything except that benefit, and I never wanted him to.”
“You can keep up with anybody,” she says, defending me.
“That’s sweet, but I don’t want to keep up with Dominic Milano. I miss Leo. He never asked for anything but my time, and I have a feeling that all Dominic Milano does is take, take, take.”
Tara licks her lips. “Yeah, well, I bet they’re willing to give.”
“That’s enough,” Jeremy says, playfully slapping his wife’s leg. “I think it’s time we get some sleep. I can show you how much I have to give.”
“Trying to have another baby?” I ask, cuddling Maya and smelling the delicate scent of baby shampoo in her hair.
“Not yet, but practice makes perfect.” He yanks Tara into his arms, and I turn away. I don’t want to watch him kiss her.
“Goodnight, you guys.” Carefully, I wiggle off the couch and walk down the hallway toward the nursery that doubles as a spare room. I lay Maya on the queen bed near the wall and change into a set of pajamas I keep here. I skip brushing my teeth and crawl into bed, snuggling her little body close to me.
Leo and I would lie like this when he was down, a little sad, and we would talk in the dark as moonlight played on the back of his hand while he wrapped my hair around his fingers. It would’ve been romantic if we’d felt that way toward each other, but we didn’t. I never felt the fire, the searing heat when we were together. No, he was a cool balm after a long, hectic day at the gallery, and it was soothing, that I could be myself around him and he could just be Leo, someone who liked to paint, not a billionaire’s son. There were no expectations, not even romantic ones. We were simply friends, and that was enough for both of us.
I let tears run down my face and soak into the pillow.
Leo’s dead.
I can only be grateful I was able to say goodbye.
Chapter Five
Dominic
I stumble into Leo’s apartment. I’ve had so much to drink I believe it when I say that I’m going to be okay without him in my life. We didn’t get along and I didn’t correct it, didn’t try to be a better brother. I thought I had time to repair our relationship and didn’t bother to try.
Now my time has run out and the only thing I can think of is how I’ll never get another chance to apologize for the type of person I am. The type of person he hated.
Staggering to the bathroom, I clamp my mouth shut against the vomit threatening to spew up my throat, and I drop in front of the toilet and lift the lid just in time. I heave until my stomach’s empty, then dry heave some more, my muscles tensing with the effort. Around the gagging, I struggle to catch a breath. My stomach stops trembling, and I suck in air that stinks of regurgitated liquor.
The bathroom’s dark except for a weak nightlight, and I’m glad I can’t see what I threw up in the toilet bowl. I flush, use the back of my hand to wipe my mouth, and prop myself up against the shower’s glass door.
My head spins, keeping me thoroughly nauseated, and closing my eyes doesn’t still the room. A headache feels like it’s going to split my skull in two, and the cool glass does little to alleviate the pain. I tug at my jacket and pull it off. Grappling with the knot in my tie, I want to give up, but I can’t draw air into my lungs. Finally I’m able to loosen it enough to yank it over my head. The floor calls to me, and I lie down in front of Leo’s twin sinks, a nubby rug under my cheek.
I miss my brother.
I’ve been strong all day. For my father, for my mother. Jimmy and my other cousins. A shoulder to cry on, someone in control who could make decisions, talk to Father Dan, greet the mourners. Comfort the other pallbearers and hand out programs. I let myself cry now. For me, for Leo. For the woman who said her quiet goodbyes at his wake. I sob on Leo’s bathroom floor, alone, having no one to share my grief. My father will cry holding his mistress tonight. My mother will weep in the arms of a man I’ve never met.
The keening sobers me up, but just a little. Washing my face helps, and in Leo’s bedroom, I push off my shoes and collapse onto his bed. The bed is made, and the comforter smells freshly laundered.
I roll onto my side, the city’s lights streaking across the walls fighting with the stars bursting behind my eyes.
The party at Jimmy’s restaurant was too much. Too much crying, too many stories. Too much whiskey. Too many memories.
Press crawled around the church like starving rats looking for scraps. The fucking scavengers. Filming the mourners walking into the church, filming us carrying Leo’s casket to the hearse to be driven to the cemetery. I know what the reporters say. That the Milano family deserves what we get. That we court every terrible, horrendous thing that happens to us.
Why should we be punished because we’re smarter, richer? They claim I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth and turned it to gold.
