Page 27 of The Vow

“That’s what they tell me,” she said, pushing the envelope back in my direction. “It’s not right.”

“We have a deal.”

“No. I mean, it’s not right to waste money on another place. I’ve never met anyone like you. Your heart is so big, I can almost see it pounding. But I’ve been poor most of my life, and I can’t let you do this.”

I wanted to tell her that she was the one with a big heart. It was scarred, broken, but she was a survivor, and when I was worried about Nick, she didn’t hesitate to rush to my place to comfort me. Behind her façade of hostility was a caring spirit.

“I thought you gave your landlord notice.”

“I did.” She stared behind me, lost in her own thoughts, and then she let a piece of that façade crumble to the floor. “How many bedrooms do you have?”

“Two. I use one for storage. Why?”

Nick was listening from a few feet away. Rushing to protect me, he made the slashing motion across his neck. Somehow, he knew what words were about to escape, her big, beautiful, sensuous, smart mouth. “Do you want a roommate?”

Nine

My mother always took a long time to answer the phone. It used to make me anxious, so I bought her an answering machine. The next time I visited, I saw that she tore the thing from the wall because apparently, it was creepy to hear someone’s voice unless it was via the telephone, and the only invisible person she’d want to hear from was pop. I asked her if it went against her religion to believe in ghosts. “If I ever hear your father, who do you think made it happen? The Easter Bunny?”

After thirteen rings, she finally picked up. Whether she knew who was calling, or not, she always answered like she was angry. “Ha-lo.”

“Hi, ma.”

“Pippo! Who died?”

“No one died. Why do you always have to be so morbid?”

“Because since when do you call when I just saw you the other day?”

“I just wanted to call. What are you doing?”

“Watching General Hospital. What about you? What are you doing? Did you win?”

“The match is next week, ma.”

“Ah... that’s right. I always get confused when I forget to flip the page on the calendar.”

It became a habit for me to flip the page for her, but it was a recipe calendar, and she always flipped it back so that she could remember to make stuffed pizza from Catania. By the time she decides to make it, it will be a new year.

“That’s okay. How are you feeling?”

“Meh... the usual aches, and pains. No point in complaining about it. Growing old isn’t for weaklings.”

My mother has always been fiercely independent, and even at her age, she insists on living alone. Still, I worry about her, despite her claims that she has bigger palle, or balls, than Mrs. Mancini. One day, Maria Mancini received a letter from her son, Donny. Ecstatic, she sat at her kitchenette with her espresso and opened the envelope. Fingernail clippings littered the table. The note attached read, “So you can bury what’s left of him, Mrs. Mancini. Our condolences.” Every mafioso within a three-mile radius could hear her wails.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Sure, I’m sure! Come on. Don’t piss me off. Call me the morning of the fight so I can go to Church and pray for you. Shit’s about to hit the fan in Port Charles. I gotta go.”

“Wait! Um... there is something I wanted to tell you.”

“And finally, the truth comes out. Is this about that art project? Because I don’t need no more art.”

“No,” I said, feeling guilty as hell. “I have a new roommate.”

“A roommate! Why? You need money?” I didn’t need to see her to know that ma was talking with her hands.

“Who can’t use money? But it’s not that. I’m just helping a friend.”