A Kind of Romance (10 page)

Benny tilted his head in surprise and sat back to study me. I hoped the flickering candlelight veiled my hostile expression until I could swallow my anger. Benny didn’t need to hear any bitter, old family tales, and I didn’t want to go down that worn-out path anyway. I was relieved when our plates were removed and the waiter interrupted to let us know our dinners would arrive shortly. I thanked him as I swirled the burgundy liquid in my glass and glanced across the table at Benny, who was staring at me intently.

“What?” I asked. My hackles were up and my accent was firmly in place. “What” sounded more like “wha?” with a ton of native New York attitude.

“Nothing. I get it. That’s all.”

“What do you get? There’s nothing to ‘get.’ My dad’s a great guy. Ask anyone in the five fucking boroughs and they’ll tell you the same thing. ‘George Gulden is a fuckin’ prince among men.’ Of course, they didn’t grow up a gay kid in his house. Lucky bastards. But hey… he’s reformed. Ain’t that grand? I just wish I didn’t remember all the fucked-up years I spent avoiding him when he wasn’t quite so… kind.”

My face heated with shame as a tense silence fell between us. I hated it. I hated knowing I was responsible for it. So much for family loyalty. It wasn’t like me to dump this crap on… well, anyone. I wanted to blame it on alcohol, but I hadn’t had that much to drink. I was just an asshole. “I’m sorry. I have a big mouth sometimes. I shouldn’t have—”

Benny held up a hand. “Don’t apologize. It’s no good to hold that kind of anger inside. You should talk—”

“I do. Once a week. My therapist’s number is listed as one of my top five favorites. I’m a fuckin’ loon, Ben. Just ask Dr. Weiss,” I snorted derisively.

Benny crossed his arms and cast a scornful gaze at me. “You have a dirty fucking mouth,” he commented dryly.

I burst out laughing, startling the couple next to me. He held his fierce look for half a second longer before he gave in and chuckled.

“I do. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry I went off like that. My dad and I are… complex. Nothing is as easy as it should be. I’m glad he’s embraced a kinder, more PC side, but it doesn’t erase the past. I wish it did.”

A server approached our table with our dinners. I was grateful for the reprieve. I racked my brain for a topic change because I didn’t want to take a walk down memory lane. It was never pleasant.

Benny smiled as he lifted his fork. “
Buon appetito
.”

We ate in companionable quiet. I stole glances of him twirling pappardelle noodles around his fork like a seasoned pro and couldn’t help but admire his graceful mannerisms. When I first observed him in the emergency room, I remember thinking his movements were calculated and too effete for my taste. But now, I recognized the proud tilt in his chin as something entirely different. Hard-won dignity. Poise.

Suddenly I was consumed with details. The way he held his fork, the way his right shoulder leaned into the table, the way his mouth crooked at the corner as though he were amused by my attention and—oh. Shit. I gulped and tore my gaze away before making a production of spearing a scallop.

“This is good. Not as good as my mom’s and nowhere near as good as Nonna’s. But good,” he said with a wink.

I chuckled softly. “Let’s not give your high praise to the chef. You’re liable to piss him off.”

“That
is
a high compliment! My mom and grandmother are amazing cooks! I am too, actually.”

“You cook?”

“Of course I cook. There is no one in my family who can’t put together a sublime Bolognese. We learn early. Every family member does time working at the restaurant in some capacity. No one gets a pass. I knew how to roll pizza dough before I could ride a bike,” he said with a self-deprecating chuckle.

“That’s amazing.”

“Not really. Just tradition.”

“I’m more of a basic cook. I barbeque like a pro, but I can’t seem to keep veggies from turning to mush. My mom didn’t want us in the kitchen. It was her domain in the house. She’d be more likely to set you down with a snack and ask to hear about your day while she prepared dinner than to ask any of us to roll up our sleeves and get to work. And she loved to bake. A day didn’t go by without homemade cookies, shortbread, or rugelach. Sometimes, I wish I’d insisted she taught me, but it didn’t occur to me she might not always be around.”

Nice move, Gulden
, I thought, shaking my head. I couldn’t understand why everything felt so close to the surface tonight.

“I’m sorry.” Benny’s voice was low and infused with infinite compassion. “Your dad talks about her sometimes. She sounds like she was special.”

“Yeah, she was actually pretty fucking spectacular. The LGBT shelters my dad so kindly donates to should thank her. She was the one who gave a shit about equality and compassion.” I huffed humorlessly. “She’d give anyone the shirt off her back, and let me tell you, Ben… she’d never once judge anyone based on the way they walked, talked, sashayed, or lisped. She was the real thing. No bullshit, no bias.”

I dabbed the corner of my mouth with my napkin, then set it back in my lap before leaning forward. I couldn’t set this angst aside and figured I may as well ride it out. “Let me tell you a story. One time when I was about twelve, these two guys walked into the bagel shop. I was with my mom and my brothers. We were dropping off Abe to work with Dad for a couple hours. I think we were going shopping for school shoes, but… whatever. Abe was behind the counter with Dad getting a blow-by-blow of his duties while my mom talked over them. It was how they communicated. Dad started talking and she’d finish his sentence or ask the question he was about to next. It was weird, but it worked. My dad stopped midsentence as these two guys approached and made some snide, shitty comment about serving a ‘coupla fruit loops.’ I looked over at these guys, and yeah… they were that type. They swished when they walked and batted their eyes and—” I shrugged before adding, “—one of them was wearing pink.”

“Mortifying,” Benny said with a gasp, smoothing his fingers over his faded pink bangs.

I made a comical face and inclined my head. “They made me nervous. I’m not proud to say it, but it’s true. They were the loud, proud version of the guy I was beginning to suspect I was inside. Their honesty terrified me. I had this fear someone was gonna come at them out of nowhere and beat the shit out of them for being so….”

“Different,” Benny supplied in a quiet tone.

“Yeah. And the way my dad looked at them with a not-so-subtle contempt… it freaked me the fuck out. My skin crawled and my stomach turned. I wondered if they could tell there was something different about me too. I wondered if they’d give me away, and I wondered what the hell my dad would do or say to me when he found out one of his sons was a fucking fruit loop too.” I paused and took a sip of wine, listening for a moment to the clinking of silverware and the hushed voices of the nearby diners. “Before I could add one more ‘what if’ to my growing list of fears, my mom smacked her hand hard on the countertop and hissed at my father. I have no idea what she said, but it must have been something along the lines of ‘shut the fuck up’ because he did. And when those two men walked closer, she moved around the counter to help them herself. She put my dad to shame. She was friendly, kind, and perfectly pleasant. The way my dad is now,” I added, raising my glass in a mock toast.

“When they left, she gave him a look that carried the weight of heavy dialogue. In my house that meant a showdown. The kind you may as well pop some popcorn and take a seat to enjoy ’cause it ain’t ending anytime soon. But this time… she didn’t say another word. She pointed to the door and shooed us toward the car. End of story.”

Benny beamed at me. “She sounds like she was pretty awesome.”

“Mom led by example when she knew words weren’t sinking in. She wouldn’t let anyone get away with any BS. Including my dad. And sometimes, I can’t let go of the injustice of it all. It’s ironic that my dad literally takes you under his wing, admires your ever-changing hair color and general fabulousness. It’s not just you. He does it with everyone who walks into his store. But the gay ones… they get a special nod. They get the do-over. The benevolent, kindhearted father I was denied. I can’t reconcile him with the asshole I grew up with sometimes. I try, Ben. I swear I do. I love him. He’s my dad. Most of the time, I think I do a decent job. But make no mistake… I do it for her sake. Not his.”

“That’s the problem, then.”

“What?”

“You have to find a way to forgive him. For yourself.”

I held eye contact for a long moment, hoping my intense gaze would convey my scorn without the necessity of speech. Benny looked decidedly impassive. When he raised his brow in challenge, I couldn’t help but be impressed. I was nearly twice his size and was known for having a commanding presence. I could be downright scary when I was angry. But I wasn’t angry now. I was… annoyed, uptight, and feeling generally pissy. Benny didn’t seem bothered in the slightest.

Weird.

He smiled kindly as he reached out to touch my hand. It was a featherlight caress. A friendly gesture. But fuck, it went straight to my cock. I didn’t get it. It had to be heightened emotion. My physical reaction to him in the midst of unpleasant memories was odd and confusing as hell.

“Look, I only say that because I’ve been through the same thing. Different story but same idea. My dad left us when I was six. My stepdad left when I was twelve. In both cases, it was me they were leaving. Not my mom.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I say it because it’s true. My bio dad and Mom fought a lot. Italian-style fighting. Yelling, throwing things… it could get ugly. I was an only child, and while I had plenty of aunts and uncles to go to, I still got stuck listening to their never-ending screaming matches. Their last one was a doozy, and it was all about me. He was too hard on me, she was too soft. Blah, blah, blah. It ended with something crashing and an eerie silence. Then he said, ‘I’m outta here. I don’t want no part of raising no faggot kid.’ Eloquent, right? I remember sitting on the staircase listening. I think I was wearing my onesie pajamas and carrying a teddy bear. I was too young to know what he meant. I didn’t know the word. Yet. But I did understand that it was my fault he was going. I tiptoed back to bed and prayed real hard he wouldn’t leave us. I prayed I wouldn’t be a faggot kid, and that he’d stay, and they’d have more babies, and we could just be a happy family.”

Benny paused and took a sip of wine. He set the glass down and gave me a sad half smile that went nowhere near his pretty eyes.

“He was gone in the morning. I never heard from him or saw him again.”

“Sounds like you were better off,” I commented lamely.

“Yeah. Probably. I was six. Life buzzed around me with so much family and activity that I didn’t dwell. I asked about him sometimes, and Mama would tell me he was on a trip. I never told her I heard them. She was too sad, and part of me wondered if she’d blame me for it. After a while, we made our own family… just the two of us. We lived above the restaurant and life went on. Until she met Frank Capizzano. Then it was awful again.”

“What happened?”

“Press Repeat. He loved my mom, but he hated me. He set out on this quest to make me into a real man, and as you can tell, he failed miserably,” Benny said with a laugh.

“How long was he around?”

“Two years, I think. Maybe less. He was my personal nightmare. I couldn’t do or say anything right. He’d pick on my hair, my clothes, the way I talked, walked, laughed… you name it. He didn’t understand any Italian, so Nonna and my aunts would talk about him while he was standing a couple feet away. I thought it was hysterical. They’d call him a no good, lousy bum, and I’d giggle like a fool until he gave me one of those looks. The scary kind that told me I was in for it. We don’t need to go into it. Suffice it to say, their last argument sounded a lot like the one she’d had with my bio dad. Only this time I knew for sure it was my fault.”

“Or maybe she just has bad taste in men,” I offered.

Benny threw back his head and laughed. A joyful, melodic sound that made me grin. It was an instant ray of light that washed away the heavy feel of our conversation, and it was testament to his resilient spirit. Not everyone could acknowledge unpleasant aspects of their past with humor. Hell, I obviously couldn’t.

“Well, she has Charlie now. He’s this big Swedish guy from upstate. Blond hair, big, bushy beard, and a beer belly. And not a trace of Italian blood. Nonna was sure she’d hate him, but honestly, he’s hard not to like. He’s always laughing. He thinks everything is funny. Including me. When I brought out my glitter wand and gave him a dose of serious fairy magic, he didn’t bat an eyelash. He’s complimented my hair in every hue… purple, pink, blue, and aquamarine. I guess I’m easy, because he won me over. He treats my mom well, and he’s kind and respectful to everyone in our family. Especially me.”

“That’s nice. I’m glad for you. And your mom.”

“Me too. But I told you all that for a reason. Forgive. Move on. I would have given anything for my dad or even my lousy stepdad to apologize. To admit they were wrong and try to make amends. For my mom’s sake as well as my own. No one is perfect. At least your dad acknowledges his faults and is trying to repair damage. Your mom may have passed on, but you still have each other.”

“My mother isn’t dead.”

He set his wineglass down and gave me a sharp look. “Oh. I—thought. I mean—”

“She has Alzheimer’s.”

“Oh.”

I let the silence grow because honestly, I had no idea what to say or how to explain someone who was here, but… wasn’t. I sipped my wine and leaned on my elbows. The moonlight’s reflection spilled across the white linen tablecloth. It captured my attention and rooted me to the present until I could think of some way to move the conversation to a lighter topic. Unfortunately, I came up blank.

“Does anyone know? I think Rand or William would have said something. Abe talks about her the same way you do. I assumed—”

“It’s okay. It’s not a secret as much as it’s not easy to talk about. Or explain. She’s alive, but she’s not my mom anymore. Not really. She’s a pretty stranger who looks like her. Just saying that out loud makes me feel like a traitor. An ungrateful bastard who’s forgotten the only person who was ever one hundred percent in my corner. The truth is… she forgot me. She doesn’t know any of us now. Not even Dad. We’re a few nice guys who come by to visit. It’s… excruciating. I don’t know what else to say.”