Da Vinci shook his head and ran a finger down from my neck down to my belly button. “My notebook is personal. Now let's get it on so I can do my sit-ups before bed.”
He was nearly as fitness obsessed as my sister. The only difference was he ate whatever he wanted, but he made up for it with marathon workout sessions: jogging, biking, lifting weights, Pilates. Rachel had asked him to come on her show for the next taping, so he'd been even more obsessive than usual. His hundred sit-ups turned into a thousand. Not that I let his one-armed push-ups make me feel bad about my still soft body. Well, maybe a little.
“I thought you said America cared too much about TV? That we should get out and enjoy nature more?”
“This true,” da Vinci said. “But TV makes you star, no? And maybe I could be star.”
I picked up a pillow and threw it at him, hitting him in the head. “I already have one star too many in my family, thank you very much.”
The puppy whimpered from inside the house, his bark becoming more persistent, needy. Bellezza. Da Vinci had named him for beauty, but I was beginning to think we should've named him Cane Terribile for “holy terror.”
I grabbed my sweatshirt and sweatpants, thinking I must be an old, uninteresting girlfriend to not even wear sexy lingerie for da Vinci after only four weeks together. I made a mental note to pick up some when I went to the department store to look for a bed. Oh, God. I was going shopping for a bed? I'd have to pop a Xanax just to get through it. For some reason, it felt like more of a betrayal than being with da Vinci.
“Don't go,” da Vinci said, tugging at my arm. “Puppy can wait.”
Another annoying trait: da Vinci could be selfish. Maybe a younger, more interesting girlfriend would've stayed with him, but I was a regular woman with two boys and a puppy, which was a lot like having a newborn. “Da Vinci, I've got to take care of Bellezza. I'll see you tomorrow.”
He sat up in bed, pulling the sheets over him. “Is that man coming tomorrow?”
I slipped on my house shoes. “Cortland? I have no idea. Why do you ask?”
“He's been over too lot.”
I rolled my eyes. “He's been over a lot. He's just helping with the puppy. He's being nice. I haven't had a dog since I was a kid.”
“I had six sheepdogs back home.”
“Well, Bellezza isn't a sheepdog, is she? She's a German shepherd, and if Cortland wants to help, I appreciate it.”
“Something not right about him. How you say, fishy? He's not welcome in house.”
“I can't believe this,” I said, grabbing the door, the sound of Bellezza's barks growing louder. “You're jealous of my sister's boyfriend? Do you know how crazy that sounds? And since when is it your house?”
He clicked off his lamp and turned away from me in a huff. What a baby, I thought, unsure of whether I should be flattered or turned off by his behavior. I decided to blame it on too much sugar and retreated to take care of my other baby.
She caught me off guard. Again.
I was walking Bellezza around the park when I got The Call. It felt out of the blue, though my heart had skipped a beat every time my cell phone rang the last week and a half. This time, I was too preoccupied with waiting for my puppy to pee to think that it could be Her.
“Ramona? Hey, sorry it's taken me so long to get back to you.”
Her voice was unmistakable, like an angel's, though not a sweet cherub, but a powerful angel like Raphael or Gabriel.
“God, I did it again. Sorry. It's Monica. Blevins. I was going to call you when I returned from Japan?”
“Yes, of course. How are you?” I looked down to find Bellezza urinating on my sneaker. A half-acre to roam, and he picks my Nike. “Dammit.”
“Excuse me?”
“No. Not you. My puppy just peed on my shoe.”
Monica laughed. “I don't hear that every day. Shall I call you back?”
“No, no. Don't hang up. It'll dry, right?”
“Well, if you need to, call me back when you have your calendar in front of you.”
I imagined Monica was the type of person who couldn't live without her planner directing her every move, but my schedule was in my brain: Monday, Wednesday, Friday at the Panchal Center, Tuesdays and Thursdays volunteering at the school, and every day from 3:30 to 8 p.m. was booked with boys' activities, and then dinner, homework and bed. “Not at all. What works for you?”
Monica made exasperated noises on the other end: moans, sighs, ticks, as she moved through her frenzied days. She must be important to be so booked up. “Okay. Got it! I was nervous for a minute there, but I have thirty minutes two weeks from Monday.”
“Two weeks?” I'd already been a nervous wreck waiting for her to return and call me back. Now I had to wait two more weeks for her confession? For those huge Unanswered Questions she was going to hit me with?
“You're right. That's too long, isn't it? Let's see what I can move around.”
“Oh, you don't have to do that for me.”
“It's no big deal. Besides, Joel was special to me. It's the least I can do.”
I nearly dropped the phone. I wanted to say, “Forget it. Let's just get this over with on the phone. What do you mean by special? What precisely is your definition?”
“What about tomorrow then? Coffee at 8 a.m.? That Starbucks on 89th?”
The one where Cortland and I had our spat. “I might be a few minutes late. I drop the boys off at 8.”
“That's fine. I'll see you then.” And she was gone. I was left standing in the park, staring at Joel's bench, with warm dog piss on my shoe.
The next morning, I woke up with a racing heart as though I had anxiety even in sleep. It was 6:30 a.m., just enough time to look half as good as Monica. It would have to do. I would exfoliate my entire body in the shower and use the expensive lotion my sister got me last Christmas. I would even wear eye shadow and attempt to curl my hair.
Forty-five minutes later, when it was time to wake the boys, William wasn't in bed. My adrenaline still pumping, my voice rose an octave. “Bradley?” I shouted, shaking him awake. “Where's your brother?”
Then I heard it. Gagging noises from the bathroom. I followed the trail of spaghetti vomit down the hall and to the bathroom, where William sat hunched over the toilet, puking.
He looked up at me with those big, sad eyes, drool hanging from his mouth. “Mommy, I don't feel so good.”
I leaned against the doorframe. “You don't say, buddy.” I caught my reflection in the mirror and hardly recognized the woman staring back at me. Dare I say she was pretty?
After I washed his face, cleaned up the mess, and put him back in bed, William, hot with fever, held my hand in his. “Why are you so dressed up? Is it a special day?”
I thought of Monica and our fated meeting that wasn't meant to be. “Nope. Just a day to get you better. Now I'll call Grandma to give your brother a ride to school, and you and I can stay home and be bums.”
Monica didn't answer when I called her, which was for the best. As a mother herself, I was sure she'd understand. I'd waited for two years for the truth. What was two more weeks?
When da Vinci came into the kitchen later wearing only a pair of khaki shorts and flip-flops-much too cool for early November- he shrugged me off when I hugged him from behind. He was not a morning person and on this day, perhaps he had a sugar hangover.