Page 36 of Broken Pieces
“A complete and total asshole?” I say.
She glares at me. “Attento al tuo linguaggio, Damian.”Watch your language.
I bite the inside of my cheek, doing my best to contain my tongue. I love my mother, and the last thing I want to do is fight with her. It’s exhausting having these useless conversations over, and over again. He’s not here anymore, so it doesn’t matter. The damage has been done, and I have the broken pieces of my heart to prove it.
“He regretted everything, you know. He told me so on his deathbed,” she whispers.
I let out an exasperated sigh. “Drop it,Mamma.”
When my father’s health started declining, they moved to Italy, so he could spend the last few months he had left in his homeland; close to everything that he knew well. I was angry and resentful at everything he’d done to me and our relationship was so damaged that I never came to visit. The worst part of it all though—what eats me alive—is I don’t regret it one bit. I would never tell my mother, ofcourse, her heart would be broken if she found out. Even though, deep down, she knows I gave up caring a very,verylong time ago.
She finally drops the topic and the atmosphere goes back to being warm and inviting. Everything’s going smoothly as we eat and catch up on our lives. My gaze shifts toward the entrance, and time stands still as I watch Aria walk into the restaurant, grasping all of my attention like a shiny, bright diamond. She’s wearing a short, emerald green satin dress that emphasizes her beautiful curves. A small heart gold necklace adorns her neck, complementing her soft pale skin. And those heels, the same ones that she had on this afternoon during our meeting. Her hair cascades in shiny waves, her freckles hidden beneath her full face of makeup, and that fucking red lipstick that’s been haunting my dreams and thoughts over, andoveragain.
My stomach flutters at the sight of her; my heartbeat quickening as I keep admiring her. My gaze drops to her waist, and my stomach flips and threatens to throw back up the few glasses of wine and appetizers I’ve had as I watch how a preppy-looking guy wraps his hand around her waist, guiding her to a table. I do my best to ignore what they’re doing, trying to focus on what my mother is talking about, but my blood is pumping with anger and jealousy knowing she’s on a fucking date.
What did I expect? I've had more than enough opportunities to make my move and didn’t. These are simply theconsequences of my own actions, but fuck, does it bother me.
I can’t believe she’s on a fucking date and how angry I am right now.
Gripping the sides of the table, my knuckles turn white as my vision blurs. My mother keeps talking, but the ping in my ears from the anger doesn’t allow me to hear one single fucking thing. My mother follows my line of sight to where Aria and herpreppy fucking dateare sitting. What’s that about, anyway? Who in their right mind wants a guy that looks likethat? He looks like his name’s Chad. What kind of name is fucking Chad anyway?
“You know her?”
I hesitate. “Uh, yeah. She’s the one I was telling you about. The curator from my gallery.”
My mother hums knowingly. “She’s pretty. Like, princess-type of pretty. You have good taste.”
My gaze snaps on hers. “What’s that supposed to mean? She’s just my employee.”
My mother scoffs. “You forget I raised you. I know you better than anyone. You like her.”
“I do not,” I challenge.
Just as I say that, Aria laughs at one of Chad’s—yes, his name is Chad in my head now—jokes. Her airy, soft laugh rings through my ears, and the place starts to feel small; hot. What’s so funny about his stupid jokes, anyway? He doesn’t deserve her laughs.No one does. She’s too worthy.
My mother glances at me smugly as I take my glass of wine and gulp it in one swing, trying my best to act like nothing bothers me.
It’s not my business who she dates. It’s not my business who she dates. It’s not my business who she dates.
I’m hoping if I repeat it enough times, it will stick.
My mother picks up her purse. “You’ve already paid the bill and I’m tired, so I’ll get out of your hair.”
I grunt with a nod, not taking my eyes off Aria and her stupid date.
She grabs my hand and squeezes it. “I’ll just say this one thing, honey. If you want the girl, go get her before it’s too late. You are kind; selfless; and have the biggest heart I know, and I don’t say this because I’m yourmamma. Open yourself to love. You deserve it.”
I don’t know about deserving love. Much less from the kindest and most wonderful woman I’ve met in my life.
As my mother leaves, I serve myself one last glass of wine and drink it in one gulp, savoring the burst of dark cherry flavor, hoping the alcohol will settle my nerves.
Why is it so hot in here?
I need to walk out of this restaurant before I do something I regret. As I’m getting up, my legs take on a life of their own and I stride to the bathroom which passes right in front of their table. Doing my best to not stare, I feel her eyes on the back of my neck, burning me. Pacing back and forth in front of the bathroom door, I clench my hairwith a fist as I let out an exasperated groan. This possessive, caveman feeling is eating me up alive. We almost kissed yesterday and today she’s on a fucking date?
Putting my hand on my chest, I make circular motions, trying to ease this achy feeling. It’s not helping; nothing is helping.
Only one thing will.
