The knock on the door drags me out of my self-pity. I get up, and exchange my twenty for the pepperoni pizza the dude is holding out for me.
“Enjoy your night,” he says in a high-pitched voice that makes him sound no older than fourteen.
“You too,” I mutter. With my foot, I close the door so my hands are free to open the box. I lift a slice out and shove the end into my mouth, savoring the greasy taste.
I grab a Coke from the fridge and slump down onto the sofa, flicking on the television. It takes me no time at all to polish off the entire pizza. Satisfied, I stretch out, just as my phone pings, alerting me to an incoming email.
I sit upright and grab my laptop. It’s the private detective I’d emailed earlier in the day. I
wasn’t expecting a reply so fast. Frustrated, I wait for my laptop to load, wishing it wouldn’t take so damn long. I navigate to my email and open up the reply.
Pietro,
I’m willing to help you, but you need to understand my fee will be higher considering the nature of your inquiry. If you’re happy to proceed, please email me any and all information you might already have, including your father’s birth and death certificate.
Regards,
Lucca
Quickly, I tap back a reply. All the information I have is on my computer, so I attach it along with a short message indicating the little I know about my parents’ deaths. My hands are shaking when I press SEND. I stare at the computer screen, as if I’m expecting him to reply immediately. This is the closest I’ve ever gotten to potentially finding out what happened, and I can’t shake how anxious that makes me. What am I going to do with the information when I have it? The plan was always revenge, but do I have it in me to take things that far?
My heart jumps when my phone pings again. I pick it up and see a message from Lucy.
Lucy: This is getting easier. I only think about home five times a day now.
Me: I’m surprised you have time to think at all. I hope you’re looking after yourself. Are you eating properly?
Lucy: Um…if you call finishing off the food my father stocked for me “properly,” then, yes, I am.
Me: Not good enough. There are plenty of restaurants that can deliver something healthier than the crap you’re eating. Don’t make me fly over there.
Lucy: If that’s all it takes for you to fly out here I should’ve started on the frozen meals a long time ago.
I pick up the phone and punch in her number.
“Luce, don’t test me,” I growl. As I stare at the empty pizza box, I see the irony in my picking on her food choices.
“What? I’m sorry. I don’t have a cook to prepare me ten meals a day. Maybe my father should’ve thought of that,” she grumbles.
“I don’t have a cook either and I manage.”
“Yeah, by mooching off my dad,” she fires back. “Come on, Pietro. I bet you’ve never cooked yourself a meal involving more than baked beans on toast in your life. Admit it.”
Damn it, she is right.
“You need to eat properly or you’re going to wear yourself into the ground,” I say, diverting the conversation back to her.
“See, I’m right, aren’t I?” she says, her voice smug. “Okay, I’ll look into some more fulfilling alternatives. Will that get you off my back?”
“For now.” I smile, and settle back into my seat. “So, how are you liking it over there? Worth giving up your whole life for?” I tease.
“New York, I could take or leave, but the ballet is amazing.” I can hear in her voice how much this means to her. “God, I can’t describe how it feels to dance across those floors knowing how many amazing ballerinas have done the same before. But…” She pauses. “I’m worried if I fall in love too much it will all be taken away. I’m not in yet, and I don’t want to get my hopes up, just in case.”
“Be confident in your abilities, Luce. Believe that you can do it. I do.”
“I have no idea why you have so much faith in me, but thank you.”
“Anytime. And if you ever need to just talk, call me. Or text. I’m quite enjoying our little text sessions,” I say, grinning to myself.