WANTED: Love of my Life

44. Sandwich pride

The next time I was at the shelter, I just couldn't stop from indulging myself. Okay, I know, I shouldn't have been watching Giacomo. But I had so wanted him to be there the other day, so wanted to see him welcomed at the dinner table back at home, that I just couldn't help it. I watched him eat his dinner, imagining it wasn't a burly bearded bloke and an ugly old hag sitting beside him, but my Father and my sister. It wasn't too far a stretch of the imagination, after all, particularly regarding the hag.

Watching him, I noticed something that I had never realized before: Giacomo ate different from the other people at the shelter. Oh, he put food in his mouth all right, but he used his knife and fork in a manner that could only be called refined. With quick, elegant movements he cut his steak into little pieces, and only attempted to put one of them into his mouth at a time. And although he hadn't stuffed a napkin into his collar, there wasn't a single stain on his leather jacket. How did he do that? I never managed to do that! It was annoying and somehow also incredibly alluring. He sat straight and quiet, exuding a contained kind of energy. I watched his knife cut and cut again, so quickly, and couldn't suppress a shudder. What, I wondered, would he be able to do with a different kind of knife?

Another thing I noticed, was that he ate everything. Absolutely everything. Not something everybody would have noticed, probably. But considering my less than complete eagerness to gobble up everything served at the table at home, you might understand why this caught my eye. He carefully cut his potatoes into little pieces, and used them to wipe the last drops of sauce from his plate. In the end, it looked as clean as if it had just come from the dishwasher.

Why did he eat every last crumb? Once, I'd heard him complain about the quality of the food at the shelter, though it tasted all right to me. Why would he be so eager to eat everything up?

My thoughts were interrupted by Debby elbowing me in the ribs. “What are you staring at, girl?”

Quickly, I turned my eyes away, but I hadn't been quick enough.

“Oh, him.” She grinned at me. “It's amazing what a nice view we have, for a homeless shelter I mean, huh?

“I don't know what you're talking about,” I said while I could feel my ears heating up. I shook out my hair to hide them from Debby's view.

“Of course not. You know, if you're too chicken to go by yourself, I could introduce you. I'm sure he wouldn't mind getting to know a pretty girl like yourself.”

I just managed to turn my laugh into a cough. When I could breathe again, I said: “Thanks, but no thanks. I don't want to have a murder on my hands. My parents would kill you.”

“Yeah, they probably would,” Debby sighed. I had told her a little bit about my Mom and Dad. “Why is it that all the great-looking guys have to come with severe drawbacks? Is it too much to ask to meet a guy with fabulous looks, brains, manners and money?”

“You're absolutely right,” I agreed.

The crossword. Holding doors open. 500 Dollars a bottle. I shook my head, and concentrated on my work again. No. Not the last one, that just couldn't be. What he'd said that day... it had to have been a joke. But I couldn't stop myself from peeping up at Giacomo curiously now and again. He never looked back at me directly, and yet, I had the sense that I was never completely out of his sight.

Father Elliot came that evening and gave a confused and warm-hearted speech no one listened to, myself included. Debby led the applause and afterwards maneuvered the good father back to his office. When she came back and saw me grab my backpack and head towards the door, she winked at me. “Got plans, girl?”