Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 100605 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100605 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
At one point, she stared down at a picture of our dad that had been taken probably twenty years ago.
“This is how I remember him.” She paused and then met my eyes. “What was he like, as a dad?”
I thought back to the man I once believed I knew and shook my head. “He was…amazing. At least, I never saw anything else. He made pancakes with strawberry eyes and nose, blueberry mouth, and whipped cream eyebrows.” I smiled sadly. “Even when I was fifteen and got embarrassed when my girlfriends stayed over. He never missed a birthday or a school event, and I thought all other men couldn’t hold a candle to him. Until recently, when I found out he was like the rest of them in my life.”
Camilla’s lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “He never made me pancakes, didn’t come to a single school event, and when I was six, I waited for him to call like he usually did on my birthday, and he never did. I never heard from him again.”
I felt a heaviness in my chest. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugged, but I saw the sadness in her eyes. “My therapist, she says I shouldn’t apologize for other people’s behavior. But I still do it.” After a quiet moment, she tilted her head. “Did he ever seem…guilty?”
I wanted to say yes. That I saw little cracks in his otherwise perfect facade, little hints that showed he carried the weight of another life. But the truth was worse. “No. He seemed happy. When I was with him, I felt like we were his whole world.” A bitter laugh rose from my chest. “Turns out, we were only half of it.”
Her eyes dropped, and it looked like she was on the verge of crying. “Do you hate me for that?”
“No. I hate him. Not you.”
She looked up at me and something lit in her eyes. “I hate him, too. For pretending I didn’t exist. But sometimes…I hate myself for thinking about him and wondering if he loved me.”
Her words cracked something open in me. I leaned forward and squeezed her hand. “It’s okay to wonder, but we can’t let his choices define us and how we see things.”
Camilla gave me a sad smile. “I used to chase the boys who I knew would leave. Now I date men who are twenty years older and have fewer places to go. I don’t think we need Sigmund Freud to figure out why I’ve made the choices I have.” She stared off for a moment. “What about you? Do you have trust issues with men?”
I leaned forward and grabbed the bottle of wine, refilling both our glasses. “We’re going to need more of this for that question.” Sitting back in my chair, I took a moment to reflect on my relationship history. “Yes, but I had issues before finding out my father lived a double life. The two serious relationships I had ended in disappointment, and I work in divorce law, so I spend my days witnessing what happens to marriages that started happy and end in cheating, lying, and stealing. I was wary of men before, but deep down I still held out hope that they weren’t all bad. After all, my dad was a good man.” I scoffed and sipped my wine. “The funny thing is, finding out that not even he was trustworthy probably had me building an even bigger wall to protect myself. But then I met Matteo, and he didn’t hit the brick wall and walk away like most men do. Instead, he quietly took it down brick by brick without me even noticing.”
Camilla smiled. “You are in love, yes?”
I took a deep breath and nodded. “We haven’t said the words yet, but I am, yes.”
She seemed genuinely happy for me. “Does he have a cute brother?”
We both laughed. A few minutes later, the man who held my heart walked into the yard. Matteo was carrying something that smelled delicious, even covered in tinfoil.
“Ciao.” I stood, greeting him with a quick kiss before taking his hand and walking him over to Camilla. “Matteo, this is…my sister, Camilla.”
Camilla smiled at me before standing and kissing both of Matteo’s cheeks. “It’s very good to meet you. I’ve heard nice things about you.” She shrugged. “Except that you have no brother for me.”
He laughed and held out the plate in his hand. “I made biscotti. They’re warm.”
“The only person I ever knew who made biscotti was my grandmother,” I said.
Matteo nodded. “It’s her recipe. I remember she made it da night she first met my sister and invited us over. Figured it was appropriate.”
“That was very thoughtful. Thank you.” I looked at the table. “I need to run up and get another glass.”
“I can get it,” Camilla said. “I need to use the bagno anyway. If you could point me to it.”