Page 56 of Nine Years Gone

It takes a few minutes to arrive from my office to the entrance of the bar. Before entering, I take a deep breath and whisper to myself, “You can do this.”

Inside, the tables to my left are nearly full, and the bar area to my right is standing room only. All the seats are taken, and people are crowding the space. Most of the people don suits, ties removed, top buttons loosened, suit jackets off. Everyone is here to drink away the stress of their workday. The voices are loud, and I have to force my way through the crowd to reach the far end of the bar. Nearing the back of the restaurant, I spot Massimo sitting in the second to last stool; he saved the one in the corner for me.

He’s wearing his signature black T-shirt, snug around his biceps, his ink now covering almost the entirety of his left arm, stopping just short of his wrist.

When I reach him, he stands to make room for me to get by and into the corner.

“Hi,” he says, leaning down to softly press his lips to my cheek.

“Hey, have you been here long?”

He shakes his head. “I know Tom, the bartender, and haven’t seen him in a while. Figured I’d get here early to catch up with him and ensure us a seat.”

As I hang my jacket and pockabook over the back of the stool, I hear Massimo say, “Grey Goose and soda, with two limes for Lena, and another Jack for me, thanks.” He slides his stool closer to mine and sits on the side of it; his face is just inches away—his scent intoxicating, his nearness dizzying.

“How are you?” I ask, looking into the depths of his dark brown gaze.

“Better, now.” He grins, showing those smile lines on each side of his face. His hand lifts to grab one of the locks of curls framing my face, twisting it around his fingers.

“How have you been since burying your mom?”

“Okay, I guess. I don’t think it’s hit me yet, ya know?

“Death is hard. Take it one day at a time. It’s really all we can do.”

“You can say that again.”

“Look at that sleeve tatt. It’s impressive. Let me see it.” My fingers trace the ink, and Massimo lifts his arm so I can get a better view of it. When I met him, he had just a laurel wreath with a large rose in the middle of it. He had told me the laurel wreath was related to his family’s name back in Italy and that the rose in the middle was for his mother, whose name is Rosa. Said he placed it in the middle of the wreath because she’s the center of the family, the rock that holds them all together. Now, he’s added to the lower part of his arm. A Roman gladiator with his two boys’ names inscribed on the shield and along the underside of his forearm the Roman Colosseum. I lift my eyes to his and say, “It’s incredible. Why a gladiator?”

“You know Rome is my favorite city, and I’m a lover of history.” His eyes flit down away from mine to his ink. “Besides, I’ve lived through a lot; gladiators are a symbol of strength. After my boys were born, I had their names added along the shield, at the forefront of everything.”

I cringe at his words about being through a lot, knowing I played a massive role in causing him so much pain. “I have no doubt,” I say, raising my eyes to meet his gaze, where pride glows he speaks of his boys.

“How was work?” he asks.

“It was work, nothing exciting.” I shrug.

“Law school, huh? You finally did it. I always knew you were destined for great things.”

I grin at his words. “When I was in Des Moines, I was in bad shape, emotionally and mentally. I was self-sabotaging myself and felt like I was drowning in my own despair. I failed myself, my family, my friends—” I pause to exhale because my emotions are churning “—you.” I break my eyes away from his, the intensity of his gaze right now is too much for me, and I push my glasses back up to sit on the bridge of my nose.

With my eyes hidden from his, I continue, “Nothing was satisfying me anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I loved bartending, but I was in a rut, and honestly, being behind the bar reminded me of you and of our plans to have various restaurants. I needed a change and something challenging, something to keep my mind focused. I had a conversation with Luci about how I was feeling, and in typical Luci style, she whipped me back into shape. Gave me the pep talk I needed to snap out of the funk I was in. That’s how I ended up in law school.”

“Do you like it, being a lawyer?”

“Most days, yes. I work for myself, so that’s important to me because I can choose the cases I take and the schedule I work.”

The bartender had left our drinks on the bar, and I sip from mine. The burning feeling of the vodka soothes the ache constricting my heart. I begin peeling back the layers for Massimo to see, exposing my vulnerabilities, and need my drink to give me the courage to continue. I push the ice around with the small plastic straw floating in my glass.

“Self-sabotaging, huh? Tell me about that.” Massimo pushes the hair back from over my eye, and with his index finger at my chin, turns my face to him. His eyes search mine, telling me he’s listening.

I’ve buried my feelings and emotions over abandoning Massimo and my subsequent regret for years that it takes me a moment to gather the courage to speak up, to give him what he deserves.

“I was miserable and bitter and tried to drown those feelings by having meaningless sex. The sex made me feel worse about myself. It was a vicious cycle.”

Massimo recoils at my words. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. The betrayal reflects in the pool of his eyes, and questions churn in their depths, but he doesn’t ask them and instead lets me continue.

“Anyway, I became good friends with the girl who worked the bar with me, Stevie. When I trusted her enough, I shared most of my story with her. She was my only friend in Des Moines for a while. When I found myself in a rut, she and Luci were the ones holding me up, encouraging me to do better.”

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