Page 10 of The Vow

“I guess if you’re an atheist, you’re shit out of luck?”

“Don’t swear! And no, that’s not what I mean. I mean you have to have faith that you will meet the one and stop forcing it to happen. It should feel natural, and when it does happen, it will also feel like magic. Whether God is the magician or not, it doesn’t matter. Why are you so interested? Is there someone new in your life, Filippo?”

Her eyes lit up at the exact moment that the butterflies invaded my belly. Nick would say it’s indigestion and that I should focus on the fight, but Alex has put a spell on me, and I wondered if that’s the magic that ma was referring to.

“Well? You can tell me. I’m your mother.”

“There might be someone.”

“Grazie a Dio! Thank God.”

“I thought God had nothing to do with it.”

“Don’t be funny. I was starting to worry about you. I thought maybe something was wrong with you. Who is she? It is a girl, right?”

She’s all woman, I wanted to say, but I simply said, “Yeah.”

“Well? Where did you meet? Is she nice? What do her parents do? Is she Italian?”

Ma was yelling over her shoulder from the kitchen sink. I took the soapy sponge from her hands and hip bumped her so that I could finish washing dishes. “She’s not Italian. I don’t know what her parents do, and we met at Nick’s.”

“Nick’s! She drinks?”

“Everyone drinks, ma.”

“Good girls don’t.”

A fork slipped from my hands causing a rattle. “Don’t send out the wedding invitations just yet. She’s doing a little... um... project for me. I don’t know if it will turn into anything else.”

“What kind of project?”

“Art.”

“Why don’t you go to il mercato and buy a painting?”

“Because” I said, drying my hands, and kissing my mother on the cheek. “She needs the money.”

“Who are you? What’s the word? Like Barbara Eden. Her genie?”

“No. Jerry. Jerry Lewis.” Leaving my mother with a puzzled look on her face, I picked up the large margarine container that was packed full of leftovers and quietly asked the Man upstairs to give me herculean strength in the ring so that I could eventually find out just how good a girl Alex really is.

Five

Pacing doesn’t make a phone ring. I’ve been dialing frantically on both my Nokia and my landline, stupidly thinking that using a different device would somehow alter God’s course. I’ve left eleven voicemails in the span of an hour; five on the answering machine, and six on the cell phone, and since eleven is my lucky number, I can’t leave another desperate message or the universe might implode. I’m sure God is laughing at me, or He’s listening, because the Goddamn landline is ringing.

“Finally! Fuck! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Is this how you greet all the girls?”

“Alex?”

“Yeah. Is this a bad time?”

“Yes. I mean... no. I’m... dealing with a family emergency.”

The pancakes that I had for breakfast were threatening to make a second appearance. If I wasn’t so worried, I’d be dancing to the sound of her voice.

“Shit. Is it bad?”