Page 31 of Anti-Heroes in Love Duet
The baby girl laughed and hit Mama in the chest excitedly as they danced together beneath the red, white, and green streamers rippling in the warm Indian summer breeze.
Sorrow wrapped around my heart and constricted like a serpent, squeezing so hard tears popped into my eyes.
I wanted so badly to give her a grandchild, to watch as she cooed to my daughter and taught her all she knew about cooking, about motherhood, about the secrets of being a strong woman in a culture that valued subservient women.
An arrow of agony pierced through my chest as I thought of Giselle and Daniel’s Genevieve. I realized inevitably, one day, I’d have to bear witness to Mama, not only my parent but my closest confidant, loving and cooing over the baby they’d conceived while they had been cheating on me together.
Someone elbowed me in the side so painfully I gasped, jerking me out of my self-pity. When I turned sharply to bark at the offender, I was face-to-face with a slight auburn-haired man with close-set eyes and a soft, full smile. There was a bad scar at the corner of his jaw, puckered and still pink with healing.
“Scusi,” he begged of me in a poor Italian accent as he patted my arm and readjusted my purse on my shoulder for me. “Scusi, bella raggaza.”
Before I could forgive him, he was off in the crowd, powering upstream away from the festivities. I frowned after him for a long moment before I shook my head and finally made my way to Mama’s booth.
“Lottatrice mia,” she cried loudly, spreading her arms wide the instant she saw me, uncaring that one thudded into the young woman who was working beside her. “What a lovely surprise this is!”
My troubled mood, my worries about work and Dante, and Giselle and Daniel all faded away under the beaming light of her love. I could feel myself open and expanded like a flower soaking up her rays and I let myself relax my shields as I hurried forward through the thicket of people to duck beneath the stall awning and let my mama take me in her semolina-scented arms.
She hushed and clucked her tongue at me nonsensically as she gathered me to her and stroked my hair.
A sob rose in my throat and lodged somewhere behind my voice box, robbing me of the ability to speak. There was nowhere I felt safer than in the arms of my mother. Nowhere I felt more loved and accepted than against her plush side, face buried under her thick black hair. She was the only person who was never disappointed in me, the only one who believed in my goodness and rooted for me no matter what.
She was the only one who stayed resolutely by my side when Daniel left me for my own sister.
I knew that over a year after the affair had come to light, with a newborn first grandchild, Mama saw Giselle frequently again, but I didn’t care. Mama had shown me, like no one else had, that she had my back first.
That I was a priority for her.
It meant more to me than I could ever express that she would do that for me, so whenever I saw her, I battled the overwhelming urge to cry like a baby with gratitude and love.
Only with her did I ever let myself succumb to such tender, weak emotion.
She wasn’t perfect, I knew, not even close. She’d stayed with Seamus far too long because she clung to her Catholicism and she’d been oblivious to Christopher’s evil ways, but it was hard to blame her too much for either. She’d grown up in Naples where getting married and staying married was a cultural prerogative and the only thing she’d ever known.
As for Christopher, he was a sociopath through and through. No one saw the monster if he wanted them to see the man. I knew that better than anyone because I’d fallen in love with one as a girl and ended up with the other.
At the end of the day, Mama had done her best for us and I’d always love her for the simple fact that she’d always loved me.
“There she is,” Mama murmured as she pulled away with her hands on my shoulders to study my face. “Such a beauty.”
I smiled at her and smoothed my hand over the raw silk of my belted black button-up dress. “It’s new, thank you.”
“Not the dress, Lena,” she said, clucking her tongue at me and wagging a finger. “You. My beautiful daughter. I love to see you smile. So rare like a jewel.”
I laughed, leaning forward to press a warm kiss to her soft cheek. “You are biased, Mama.”
“Si,” she agreed gravely, eyes sparkling as she reached out to snag the arm of the teenage boy who was replenishing her bamboo cutlery stack. “Gino, is my daughter not very beautiful?”
The poor boy stammered and blinked as a blush stained his cheeks, but he nodded before he ducked his head and went back to work.
“Mama,” I scolded in a whisper. “You shouldn’t embarrass him.”
“Boh,” she countered with that typical Neapolitan word that meant I don’t know or meh. “It is good for children to learn humility.”
I laughed again, letting Mama pull me farther into the stall so she could hand me a scooper. Following her silent order, I began to spoon tiramisu into paper cones and slot them into the holders on the table. Mama silently worked beside me, leaving the orders to her assistant.
“I didn’t come to help you,” I teased her. “Dante actually…askedme to come. He said he’s ordered some food from you for his party tonight.”
“Ah,si.” She nodded casually, then shot me a sidelong look. “You are becoming close with Dante, to be getting his dessert?”
