Page 42 of Three Times You

Suddenly, inevitably, dramatically, I’m reminded of Babi. How did she convey the news to her husband? Did she know the baby’s sex the first time she went to the doctor? And when she found out, did she tell him right away? Did she wait for him at home or did she text him the minute she left the gynecologist’s office? Did she send a picture of a boy baby, a blue bow, a pair of light blue baby shoes, or the symbol of masculinity with the circle and the little arrow pointing up and to the right?

“Well? What are you thinking about? It’s a boy or a girl, you can’t go wrong! It’s not like I’m asking you to guess the exact weight!”

I smile, but I’m annoyed. I try not to let it show, but a sense of uneasiness rises up out of the depths. That little boy who lives with Babi and her husband is my son. And so, out of a sense of contrariness, without even really thinking about it, just to give an answer and ward off all that unpleasantness, I tell her in a rush. “It’s a girl.”

And Gin sits there with a piece of raw fennel snapped off in her mouth and then goes back to chewing. Eventually, she says, “Good job. Damn, though, you’re always lucky!”

“Oh, well, I had a fifty-fifty chance. It worked out for me. Okay, then, let’s see…Here, how about this? Gertrude! I love Gertrude as a name. It’s so uncommon, yet it’s a significant name. Gertrude was a queen, Hamlet’s mother.”

“Where do you get these things? Riccardo doesn’t know them. Maybe from Giorgio? I liked you better when you were ignorant! Are you seriously thinking of naming my daughter Gertrude? Just listen to the sound of it…”

“It’s beautiful, it’s unique, and it’s special. I won, and so I get to choose the name.”

“I was just kidding! And after all, Gertrude was also the name of the Nun of Monza.”

“Seriously?”

“Certainly! You wouldn’t want to have such a sinful daughter…”

And we go on sampling potential girls’ names. Giorgia, Elena, Eva, Giada, Francesca, Ginevra like her mother, or even Gin, Anastasia, Anselma, Isadora, Apple, like the daughter of Chris Martin and Gwyneth Paltrow, or even the name of Madonna’s daughter, Lourdes Maria.

We go on joking, but all this reminds me of the time that Babi and I snuck into that house on the sea and found the robes with two initials and, after taking a swim, put them on and started inventing the most ridiculous names, the more ridiculous the better. In the end, there we were, Amaryllis and Siegfried, embracing as we looked up at the stars, happy, so happy that we felt like we were at least three meters higher than heaven.

I feel a knot in my stomach. Will I ever be able to get free of her, of every thought, memory, joy, or sorrow, of all that universe of emotion that, over the years, has meant that it’s been carved so damned deep into my flesh?

Chapter 35

Babi walks out of little Massimo’s room.

“I sent you a dozen red roses, and you didn’t even text me to say thank you.” Lorenzo is standing in the middle of the living room.

“I was out all day, and I knew you’d be home later. I needed to check Massimo’s homework.”

“We have a nanny to do that.”

“I want my son to grow up in contact with me. I want him to hear the sound of my voice. I thought you knew me. I don’t like having nannies around the house. When we were little, my sister and I never had one.”

“We can afford them though.”

Babi glares at him angrily. “My folks could afford them, too, but they preferred not to.” She walks over to the roses, arranges them to give them a little more room in the vase, and then picks up the card on the table next to them.I love you more than ever.She folds it back up. “Thanks. They’re beautiful.”

“Do you know what they’re for?”

Babi says nothing. She picks up a few action figures from the floor where Massimo had been playing with them.

Lorenzo looks at her, with her back to him. “Because today is our monthiversary. It’s from the first time we kissed. It was at night, and we were up on the Gianicolo Hill. We got out of the car, it was cold, and you said to me, ‘Hold me tight.’ So I did. I embraced you, and we stood there like that for a while. Then I kissed you, and you laughed, and you asked me, ‘So what does this mean? Are we going steady now?’ And I told you, ‘No, it means I want to marry you.’” Lorenzo smiles, pulls out a pack of cigarettes, and lights one. “So? Do you remember?”

“Perfectly. Just like you never remember not to smoke indoors.” Babi walks out on the terrace. Lorenzo picks up an ashtray and follows her. He sets it down on the parapet and stands near her. They remain in silence, looking down on the passing cars on the Via Nomentana. There’s a bit of traffic. Over a distant roof, the flag of an embassy waves and beyond that lie the magnificent vaults of the church of Santa Costanza.

Lorenzo looks around. “The terrace has turned out perfectly. I like the lighting too. Shall we sit down?” He points to a sofa near several potted strawberry trees and a maritime pine, illuminated with faint blue lights.

Babi goes over to him while Lorenzo walks to the light switch to dim the terrace lights ever so slightly. When Babi turns around, she can’t see him, but then she hears the melody of “Meraviglioso” by the Negramaro coming out of the speakers, filling the terrace with atmosphere and sound. A second later, Lorenzo appears with a remote in one hand, smiling at her.

“Turn the music down. I’m afraid that if Massimo wants something, we won’t hear him.”

He shows her, in his other hand, a baby monitor with the green light indicating that it’s turned on. “We can hear him for sure with this.” He sets it down on the low table in front of her. “Do you want something to drink?”

“A coffee, thanks.”

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