“He’s the worst model, really, he moves around all the time—”
“Same when he was a boy, always moving, impossible to tell him to sit still.”
“Yes! But look at him.” Her smile was bright, teasing. “I can’t help it, I have to put him on paper, just to make sure he’s really real.”
They parted as Masso prepared for the dinner shift, promising to bring home more of the cheeses Regan had liked from lunch and telling her where to find the good wine. Don’t let Aldo pick it out, his tastes are too sweet and also make him cook or take her out, make sure she didn’t lift a finger. Aldo, who protested that of course he would never put her to work, was cheerfully ignored.
Outside, Regan was gleaming, buzzing. “It’s so warm here, hardly even winter.”
“Then let’s walk.”
“Is it a short walk?”
“No, like two miles, but it’s a nice walk.”
“Oh, that’s short enough.”
She held his hand while they walked. He ran his thumbs over her knuckles, pointing out this and this and this. She liked the trees, she said, how warm the sun is, how different it feels in the shade. How kind your father is. How nice the people at the restaurant are, they really love you.
“I worked in the restaurant for a long time,” Aldo said. “They know me.”
“How long is a long time?”
“I used to come to the restaurant right after school and do my homework in the kitchen, then in high school I was a busboy there. When I left college for a bit I was a waiter, then a bartender.”
“So it’s like home for you, then.”
“Yeah, kind of.”
“I’m so glad I came with you.”
“So am I.”
His father came home late, like always, but Regan wasn’t tired, she insisted they stay up. Show me pictures, videos, I want to see it all. Masso didn’t have to be told twice. He dug out the albums, showing Regan, See, here’s Rinaldo’s first bike, here’s his first math competition, he was always so good, I had no idea. I assumed all the kids were like that, silly me, I never even helped him, I didn’t know. Masso seemed sad at that and Regan leaned over, throwing an arm around his shoulders. You raised such a good man, Masso, she whispered to him, and Aldo felt heavy, felt like crying, only Masso turned and smiled. Thank you, Regan, it was only by accident, he was just made this way.
That night, Regan touched him like she had never touched him before, slow and sweet and syrupy with caresses. She lingered, persistent, taking her time. Time, they had so much of it here, and she seemed to feel it; seemed intent on making him feel it, too. His bed was so small, the room itself so small, but their needs were small, too, just each other. He opened his window and they stared out at the moon, contemplating it.
“What was it like, not having your mother?”
“Normal, I guess. I don’t think about it much.”
“Do you ever want to find her?”
“No, not really. She made my father sad, and my grandmother didn’t like her. Maybe I thought about it once or twice, I don’t know, but then I thought … if she wanted to find me, she could find me. She knew my name, and she knew my father’s name. It wasn’t like we ever moved.”
“Oh,” said Regan, softly.
He shifted, snaking his arm free to reach into his drawer for the picture of his mother and his father. “I have this,” he said, handing it to Regan, who sat up, reaching for it like it was something fragile that might shatter in her hands. “It wasn’t like I didn’t know about her.”
His mother was beautiful, dark-skinned and lovely, her hair precisely like Aldo’s would be if he’d ever had the idea to grow it out. He liked seeing her that way, permanently young and in love with his father, which anyone could see. This, Aldo explained to Regan, was the only version of his mother that he needed.
Regan handed the picture back to him and he returned it to his drawer.
“I want to tell you something,” Regan said, “but it’s going to be so fucking stupid.”
“I talk about stupid things all the time.”
“No, you talk about interesting things, they’re just weird. This, though, it’s just … it’s just so ridiculous. I shouldn’t even bother.”
“No, say it.” I want you to say everything, anything. I want to have your thoughts, I want to bottle them, I want to put them in my drawer for safekeeping.
“Okay.” She rested her head on his shoulder, then sat up again. “No wait, I should look at you, I think.” The glow of moonlight was like a halo and she was in his t-shirt. She settled herself between his legs and looked at him, deathly serious. “Aldo,” she said, and stopped.