Page 17 of Christmas in Paradise

But that doesn’t change the fact that I messed up. She came here feeling like she’d be judged for having a kid and leaving her. Then I told her I wasn’t interested in anyone who might want to settle down and have kids. Even if we were just having fun, which had to hurt. If she did have real feelings for me, like I have—had—for her, then I made her feel like I didn’t think she was worth my time because she’s a mom.

That guts me.

And I’ve got to do something to fix it. I want Hope to have the opportunity to show everyone what she can do. I want her to get her dream.

The cameras are off right now to set up for the next scene.Myscene. Where I get to talk about wires and electrical boxes and everything else that’s part of the rough-in stage of construction. Easy stuff I know how to do. Easier than trying to figure out how to get closure with this relationship.

As contradictory as it sounds, helping get Hope here might do it. I can make up for what I did to her and move on.

There’s enough noise going on inside that no one notices me go outside to make a phone call. But even with all the hammering and sawing, I make sure to go far enough away from the house that no one will overhear me.

Correction.

So no one will overhear Mom.

“Sebastian!” she cries after picking up on the first ring. “Why are you calling in the middle of the day? What’s wrong? You’re supposed to be on the TV right now.”

Her words climb up and down, like a Vivaldi concerto, accented with Italian, her first language.

“Nothing’s wrong Mamma.” My own voice slips into an Italian accent. I barely speak the language, but the accent shows up whenever I talk to my mom. “But I know someone who could use your help.”

Without missing a beat, she switches from concern for me to concern for a stranger. “Who? Who needs my help? I don’t know what I can do for anybody, but I’ll help how I can.”

“You remember I told you about that girl Hope? This summer?” I glance over my shoulder to make sure no one is listening.

“The one who left without telling you?” Her voice switches again. Only this time it’s her mafiosi tone. “You want me to do something for the girl who broke your heart?”

“She didn’t break my heart, Ma.”

“Don’t tell me she didn’t break your heart! You pouted for weeks! You’re still pouting!”

I pull the phone from my ear. The noise inside has stopped, and the three guys on the construction crew all look at me through the spaces between the two by fours.

“Ma! Ma!” I quickly walk to the other side of the lawn, but even that may not be enough distance. “I’m fine. I’m not pouting. She’s got a kid. That’s why she left.”

It takes a few seconds for my words to register, then suddenly Mom goes quiet. “She has a child? She didn’t tell you? It’s not yours is it?”

“Come on, Mamma. Of course it’s not mine. The kid’s three years old, or something like that.” I kick at the frozen grass under me. The snow from the other night didn’t stick for long, so everything is brown and ugly now. My coffee’s gone cold, and I left my coat inside.

“But you want it to be your kid? You still like this girl?” The only thing worse than Mom’s loud voice is her soft whisper. It sneaks right to my heart.

“No I don’t want her to be my kid.” I don’t answer the second part of the question.

“It’s a girl?”

“Yeah. Her name’s Charly.”

“Charly! What kind of name is that for a girl? That’s a boy name.” Loud Mom is back, and I exhale with relief.

“I know, Mamma. I didn’t name her though.” A movement catches my attention, and my eyes dart to Ike the director walking out of the production crew’s trailer.

He points to me and yells, “You’re up!”

“And what is it you want help with for this girl with the boy name?”

“She needs therapy. Occupational and speech. And someone to take care of her while Hope works. She’ll be working a lot.”

I hear the sharp inhale on the other end and know Mom won’t say no.

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