Page 3 of Forbidden Fruit

The deep frown etched on her brow tells me she worries about me even in her sleep. I’d worry too if I remembered what emotions felt like.

Gently, I take her in my arms and walk upstairs to the guest room she occupies with my father when they stay. I’m surprised she doesn’t rouse at the loud snores of the man as I enter the room, but I guess after forty years together, she’s used to it. I gently deposit her onto the bed, but when I motion to leave, she clasps my wrist.

“It’s better this way,figliolu.”

I kiss her brow and disappear down the hall, opening the door to the room where my babies sleep. Anton is turned on his side, his small form facing the crib where Livia lies on her back, her tiny thumb in her mouth. A smile pulls at my lips, then quickly falls when I see Anton’s favourite teddy bear in Livia’s bed. I know he gives it to her if she can’t fall asleep and cries too loud, unconsolable, and needy for hugs and attention.

Guilt tears at my gut. I went to seek pleasure while they needed me.

I wish I could give them their mother back, but there’s no amount of threats I send Monica that seem to make her want to take our family seriously. She decided she was done and imploded our precarious equilibrium six months ago, and though we worked through a schedule to take care of Anton and Livia, she bailed more and more, until she completely left Kalliste a few days ago, saying she needed to find herself again.

I have no clue where she is, and it’s better I don’t, so then I can’t ask my boss to put a bullet through her skull. Alana would be too happy to rid me of my ex-wife; she never liked her. But I’d never do that to my kids. I’ve been miserable for years for the sake of their happiness and I’d continue to do that if it meant giving them the family they deserve.

Though I guess now they don’t even have a mother to compensate for their pathetically sad father.

I kiss my children and make my way to my bedroom, taking my clothes off slowly before popping a sleeping pill. All my movements cost me. The darkness of the night has always been my least favourite time of the day. Everything is too silent, making my thoughts louder, the gloom more visible in my mind.

In the minutes before the pill takes effect, I replay the events of the day, from waking up with Livia’s cries in my ears to my morning meeting with Alana and the higher-ups of the Moretti-Bartoli empire, right until the moment I signed the divorce papers and mailed them to Monica’s lawyer.

But it’s not my pen on the divorce papers I see just before I fall asleep. It’s bright almond-shaped eyes and a messy bun.

Saturday morning comes too quickly, but I did this to myself. I force a smile at my son, who climbs into bed with me at six in the morning like he always does on weekends.

“Slept well,picculinu?” I ask as I press his little body to my chest for a hug.

“Yes,babbu, but Livia cried a lot last night. She asked for you, but you were gone.”

There’s no reproach in his voice, just a fact that he wants me to know. I left soon after I put them to bed. I thought she fell asleep, but she obviously woke up and needed me. The guilt morphes into a black monster inside my chest, devouring what little light I have left. I do my best to keep the darkness at bay, especially when I care for Anton and Livia, but today will be a struggle.

I’m grateful my parents have been so available for me these past few months but this situation isn’t sustainable.

“I’m here now,picculinu. Let’s go downstairs and make pancakes. It’sBabbone's favourite. He’ll be happy when he comes down to eat breakfast with us.”

As though I’ve announced the best thing on Earth, Anton jumps on the bed with an enthusiastic laugh before leaping off and almost tripping on the soft rug in the corridor on his way down the stairs. If Mammona and Babbone aren’t awake with the loud ruckus he makes, it’ll be a miracle. God knows they need their sleep.

Almost an hour later, I can barely see the white marble countertop of the kitchen island under all the flour and eggs strewn across it, but the pancake mix is finally ready. And I don’t have to fake my smile as I watch Anton proudly laying place mats on the oak dining table for family breakfast.

“You can be so proud of yourself,picculinu. You did such a good job mixing the flour, milk and eggs. I barely had to do anything,” I tell him with pride.

My son beams at me and that soothes the ache in my chest along with the fear of never being enough, especially now that his mother has disappeared.

My parents come down with a sleepy Livia in their arms, who reaches for me straight away. She wraps her arms tight aroundmy neck before settling her little head in the crook of my neck. She smells of sleep and baby shampoo, and I squeeze a little harder.

I know she won’t let go until she’s too hungry and can’t resist the syrup and fruits on her pancakes, but I don’t mind. Her blonde waves, so similar to her mother’s, tickle my nose as I flip the pancakes and finish cooking our meal.

When they’re done eating, I let the children watch their favourite kids’ show, while I clean up the mess we made. My father helps me with the dishes, his voice solemn as he speaks. “As much as I love those two tornados, your mother can’t be their nanny,figliolu. She will never say a thing, but these past five days have exhausted her.”

I lift my eyes to where she sits with the kids. From the stillness of her body, I bet she’s asleep. I noticed the purple shadows under her eyes this morning.

He’s right. I just don’t know if I have the strength to go through recruiting someone right now; if I have the strength of putting my kids in the hands of someone I don’t know, watching them get attached, and potentially being heartbroken.

“I can take time off,” I say.

He snorts. “How do you think that will go? Alana is a wonderful woman, but she’s still a shark.”

“I never took my paternity leave.”

“Figliolu, don’t be ridiculous. You work for the mafia, not the French government.”

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