“I’ve been busy with work,” I reply in English, as Madison looks completely lost in translation.
“You work too hard,” Concetta says with a thick Italian accent. “Look at you. You’re too skinny. Here sit, sit. I will make you frittelle di ricotta and bring some pane.”
I laugh as she escorts us over to a booth. “Thank you, but just coffee and those biscotti.” I point to the endless display of baked goods. “This is Madison, by the way,” I add, and Madison smiles.
“Nice to meet you,” she says, and she surprises me as she bends forward, giving Concetta two kisses on the cheek before taking a seat.
When Concetta looks at me approvingly, I know what she’s thinking.
“You are a principessa,” she says, and Madison giggles.
“Thank you. I think.”
Concetta cackles, patting my arm. “Mi piace il suo,” she says, voicing her approval of Madison before heading over to the coffee machine.
Taking a seat, I look over at Madison, who’s looking around the store in awe.
“Wow,” she gushes, her eyes widening when she sees the variety of food on display.
Growing up amongst these traditional Italian items, I’ve completely forgotten how overwhelming all this cultural stuff can be. But when Madison bounces in her seat and claps her hands, I know she’s not so much overwhelmed as overjoyed.
“Is that for us?” she asks Concetta, who has a huge tray of sweets in her wrinkled hands.
“Si, principessa,” she replies, and places the platter on our table.
“Thank you,” I say, looking up at Concetta, who I’ve known since I first moved to Manhattan.
“Anything for you,” she replies, and I give her arm a gentle squeeze.
A contented sigh has me turning around to look at Madison, who has slumped back in her seat, happily munching away on a cannoli.
“That’s some good shit,” she says dreamily, taking another bite.
When her pink tongue darts out to lick up any missed sweetened ricotta on her lips, I barely contain my self-control.
“So,” I say, needing an immediate distraction. “I couldn’t help but notice you have quite the sweet tooth.”
Madison pauses chewing and I chuckle at her guilt. She swallows quickly. “You got me. I don’t eat desserts often, so when I do, I kind of make up for lost time. Sorry,” she says, embarrassed.
“You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for,” I stress, pushing the platter toward her. “I like that you feel comfortable enough to eat this way around me.”
Madison smiles and shyly reaches for a biscotti.
“So why don’t you eat dessert?” I ask, stealing a mini fruit tart. “It’s not like you need to worry about your size.”
Madison stops chewing and her cheeks turn a ghastly white.
“That was a compliment,” I explain, wondering what I’ve said that’s wrong.
She nods, but pushes the plate away from her while I raise my eyebrow, confused.
“Are you okay? Did I say something to upset you? I just meant—”
But she cuts me off. “I know what you meant,” she says, lowering her eyes. “Thank you, I just…” She takes a deep breath before continuing. “I was a chubby kid, and well, something, um…it was…” And I see her clam up as she twists a napkin in her hands.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” I reach over the table and place my palm over hers before she shreds the napkin in half.
Her hand trembles under mine, and I squeeze it lightly. “If ever you want to talk, not psychiatrist to patient, but just Dixon and Madison, I’m here, okay?” I say, wanting her to know that I’ll never analyze her, or make her feel like a case study.
“Thank you, Dixon,” she says with a small sniff, wiping away a tear.
Concetta comes over with our coffees, and I reluctantly let go of Madison’s hand.
“Grazie,” I say, reaching into my pocket for my wallet to pay, but she waves me off.
“Non insultarmi, bambino,” she firmly states and I smirk, as I know better than to fight with a Sicilian.
“Thank you. If you need me for anything, you know where to find me,” I say, and she nods.
“You just keep coming back to visit, and bring the principessa with you, too,” she says, looking at Madison, who blushes.
“Deal,” I reply and she bends forward, giving me a kiss on the cheek.
As she shuffles off to serve a customer, Madison asks, “How do you know her? It seems you’ve known one another for a while.”
“I’ve known Concetta since I moved to Manhattan. This cafe was mine, Hunter, and Finch’s savior throughout college. Without her double espressos, I dare say I would have slept through half of my exams.”
Madison laughs as she adds sugar to her coffee. “Who are Hunter and Finch?”
“They’re my friends. I’ve known them my whole life, and we moved to New York together for college,” I explain. “Finch is happily married to his high-school sweetheart, Heidi. They’ve just had a baby girl.”
“And Hunter?” she asks, listening intently.
“Hunter is an acquired taste,” I tease, sipping my coffee.
“Well, they both sound awesome.”
“They really are,” I reply, thinking about how awesome those bastards are. “So what about you?”
“What about me?” she counters quickly, and I notice her hand shaking slightly as she stirs her coffee.
“I know about Mary,” I explain.“But what about your family? You mentioned you and your mom were close.”
“We are,” she replies with a small smile.
I know her family, just like mine, seem to be a touchy subject for her, but I can’t help myself as I ask. “And you said you had a brother?” I say, remembering her losing her footing when she mentioned him.
Madison nods, the discomfort obvious in her tense face. As much as I want to know why she’s suddenly clammed up, I don’t want to know that badly and ruin our day.
“I always wanted a brother,” I share, and see Madison’s shoulders instantly depress in relief.
“Yeah?”
I nod with a smile.
“Why?”
“So I could blame him for breaking my mother’s crystal vase.”
She bursts into laughter.
However, thinking about my current predicament, I can’t help but confess, “And it would make circumstances a lot easier to deal with.”
“What circumstances?” she innocently queries.
“Things with my…dad,” I reveal. He made his feelings perfectly clear the other day, so I’ve given up on a reunion any time soon.
“What do you mean?” She watches me closely, waiting for me to elaborate.
I sigh, deciding to share this one small snippet with her. “If I had a brother, maybe he could be the son my father deserves.”
Madison’s eyes fill with pity, and as she opens her mouth, I dread what she’s going to say. But at the last second, it appears she changes her mind. “I think this world can only handle one Dixon Mathews. And besides, I’m sure Hunter and Finch were like brothers, right?”
I grin, grateful for the change of pace. “Yes, they still are. We were neighbors all through school. My poor teachers,” I say, shaking my head.
Madison laughs quietly and seems more relaxed now that the topic has shifted away from her family.
“Sounds like Mary and I,” she says cheerfully.
“Oh yeah?” I ask, happy she wants to share this piece of information with me.
“Yeah,” she replies with a reminiscent smile, as if touching on a memory. “Before my mom married Sebastian, we were dirt poor. We lived in a tiny, one-bedroom apartment, right next door to Mary. Both our moms were single, working two jobs to make ends meet. We were inseparable, and still are.”
“So she knows all of your deepest, darkest secrets?” I say jokingly.
Madison frowns, her finger skating around the rim of her cup. “Not all of them.”