I'm tucking away Matteo's birthday present when I hear the door to the bedroom open. I quickly straighten by the bed, shutting the nightstand drawer as he enters the room, still in his tuxedo from a show.
"How did things go?" I ask, glancing at the package that's waiting for him on the desk. He shakes his head, walking over to kiss me, undoing his bowtie. He looks tired.
"Everyone was off today, but other than that, fine. I'm going to have to schedule another rehearsal before the next show." He breathes in, clasping my waist, rubbing gently. "It will only be one... I'll make sure it only lasts a few hours."
I nod. "I still want you to do your work well, Matteo. I'm not forbidding you of that. I just want you to be around more. It's been really nice having you here."
He grins pleasantly. "I like being here."
"Can I ask you something?"
He nods. "Of course."
I look at the box on the desk, pointing. He follows my hand. "That package is from Poulsbo, Washington. Is that where you are from?"
The ghostly color that seeps his face says it all. It is. He backs up, letting me go. "When did you get this?"
"Just today."
I come up behind him as he grabs it. "I don't know what it could be."
I hand him the scissors from the desk. "Why don't you open it?"
He's takes them, after a moment, clearing his throat. I wait as he slides the blade through the middle of the tape, exhaling deeply. He's clearly nervous. So am I. I have been all day.
"I don't know if I want to open this, Em," he whispers, setting the scissors onto the desk again. I swallow, smiling gently.
"Do you... want me to?"
He clears his throat. "Um, please."
I reach into the box, glancing at him as he removes his tuxedo jacket, turning. I pull out an envelope first. It's addressed to Matteo.
"It's a letter, I think," I breathe, opening it. "Do you want me to read it... or you?"
He sits on the bed, sighing. "You."
Carefully, I unfold the paper out to normal size and begin softly.
Dear Matteo,
If you're reading this, it means I've already passed. I gave this to a friend. I'm glad they sent it to you. If you're reading this, you've probably also gotten news that I've left my son, Charles to you. I bet you have so many questions. I bet you were completely furious and confused... especially after how we left things in your apartment.
I knew I didn't deserve to be heard, but I had no one else to turn to. I had friends of course, but none I trusted to love my baby as he should be. You have gone through so much heartache, from your parents passing, from living on the streets. I know I caused much of your hurt and I am taking a large leap of faith asking you to take and care for Charles.
I know you're not a cruel man. You're hurt, but not cruel. I want Charles to grow up with someone that shares his blood, someone that can tell him what his mother looked like, what his grandparents were like.
I never told you this, but your parents, well they always knew you'd make something of yourself. It wasn't your persistence to leave this small town but your overwhelming talent and drive. The last time I spoke to your mother, she was crying. She told me of the fights you were having, how she couldn't reach you anymore. She told me how much she wished you would let God into your life, and I, like you, laughed. I've never been religious, Matteo, as you probably know. I mean, what kind of religious person would do what I've done to you, take what I have from you? But, as I lie here, with not an inch of hair on my body, without the strength to stand from this bed to play with my son, I tell you that I wish I did believe. I really do.
I'm not laughing anymore. If there is a place to go to after we die, if I even get the chance to get there, I will go happily. It's a comforting thought in my limited days. She always wanted the best for you, but above all, she wanted you to experience love. She didn't want you to escape that small town and shut yourself away from who you are. She wanted you to take it with you, to let it define who you are. The last time I saw you, you had a woman with you. I hope that you have found someone who truly cares for you, whether it's her or someone else.
After everything you've been through, you deserve to know true love. I know Charles can give that to you, if you just let him. So, I hope that you accept him into your life. I want him to have a father, Matteo. You will be that for him. I will always be his mother, but whether or not you choose to tell him about me, is up to you. I have no control in that. I don't exactly know what you could say, what anyone could say about me that would make him proud to be my son... except that I loved him. I loved him more than anything in this world.
So, now, my fingers are tired. In fact, every part of me is tired. I'm so ready for the pain to be over, yet I endure as many moments I can a day to spend them with Charles. Please, take care of him. Please love him. I am aware of what I'm asking, but we are family.
He is your family.
I'm so sorry, Matteo. I wish I could tell you how much. I hope everything enclosed is enough proof.
Goodbye.
I release a breath at the last word, the paper trembles in my fingers. I look up at Matteo, who's staring at the ground, hands clasped together. He lifts his head, jaw tense.
He looks lost. Unsure. I turn, setting the paper down onto the desk gently.
"W-What is in the box?" he whispers almost inaudibly.
Fuck, I know whatever is in here is going to affect him.
I reach inside, finding a manila folder, it's pretty full. I swallow, walking over to the bed. I take a seat beside him, handing it to him slowly. I almost think he's not going to take it but he does eventually, pulling it in front of him. He stares at it.
"Emma," he breathes, sounding frightened.
"I'm here," I whisper, resting my hand on his thigh gently. He looks at me, his eyes round with worry. He's scared. He's scared to let anything in. He licks his lips and looks forward, tearing the end gently with his finger. Lifting the flab, he reaches in and pulls out pictures. Matteo's hand begins to tremble violently.
He turns the photos towards him, breathing in. The pictures are a yellowish tint. He stares at the picture on top.
"It's my parents... and me."
I look into Matteo's face, too frightened to look down, seeing his body trembling the way it is. His eyes are quivering. He sets the pictures down and reaches back into the envelope. He pulls out a watch, exhaling loudly. He looks at it for a moment before his entire body seems to fold into itself. He drops his face into his hand, falling quickly to pieces.
"Oh god," he whispers, shaking his head to himself.
I stare at him, shocked and horrified as I watch him begin to break down, sobbing, trapped in his own private, painful bubble. Wishing I had words to comfort him and realizing I don't, I immediately reach out for him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders tightly, exhaling in awe. He drops his face onto my shoulder, his entire body shaking horribly.
My lips tremble as I press them to his hair, stroking his waves lightly. There is nothing I can say. Nothing that could make him stop. And I don't really want him to. He's letting it in. He's letting everything in.
***
My fingers glide through Matteo's thick locks of hair as softly as possible. We're in the dark now. His head is rested on my thighs. He's facing away from me but at least he's calm.
I look at the clock, finding it's two in the morning. It's his birthday. This is how he started his birthday... unraveled and broken.
"My father used to play the cello... in high school."
I close my eyes, relieved to hear him speak. "Really?"
He nods. "Yes, it was the reason I chose that as my core instrument in school. I always used to see it collecting dust underneath the tools in the storage closet. He rarely took it out."
"Did you ever hear him play it?"
"No, although, I heard from my mother that he was good. He got accepted into a school in California with a scholarship."
"I see where your musicality comes from then."
He nods. "He met my mom around the same time though... He chose to stay with her, to let it go and he stayed there to be a tire salesman. I always resented him for it. I always wondered how in the hell he could throw his life away, his passion away for someone else..."
"But then I met you," he whispers. "Everything was inconsequential when you weren't near me. I can't focus when we fight... I literally cannot see in front of me. I-I would find myself lying up at night as you laid with me, wanting to take in each moment that I hadn't for so long, wishing I could give you the world and leave you at the same time... knowing you deserved better than what I was offering you."
I stare down at him, barely breathing. My hands have stopped running through his hair.
"I finally understand why he didn't go. He chose his woman. He chose his family over himself." He breathes in deeply. "I've picked myself for so long. I've lived in my sorrows, lived so many years pitying myself and in doing so, I've become selfish."
"No, Matteo..."
He turns, facing me. Even in the dark, I catch how badly his eyes are swollen. He sits up, slowly and places his hand into mine, entwining our fingers.
"I can admire him now, instead of pity him. He met someone that meant more to him than himself... and I've been lucky enough to find that too. I've done a poor job of showing it. You've taken so many chances on me, far more than I deserve."
"Matteo," I whisper, dropping my head down. I feel his head rest against mine, his cheek against mine as he clasps the nape of my neck tenderly.
"You deserve a man who's willing to put everything aside for you, for his family as you have, every single day. From the moment I met you, Emma, you were trying to save me. Never once in this relationship have you asked me for anything but myself."
I don't know where this is coming from.
"Emma, you need to go back to work."
My mouth falls open wider. I shake my head. "Matteo, no-"
He kisses my lips to stop me from talking. Pulling back, he smiles. "I already spoke to Richard. I stopped to see him, the other day before I spoke to Rory. He is more than happy to take you back. They haven't filled your position. I'd be home during the day. I could take care of Charles."
Who is this man? "That job required me to work crazy hours, Matteo. I'd never see him."
"I spoke to Richard about that and he said you'd work forty hours, no more than that. He agreed to that. Emma, that's how much you are valued at your job. You showed the same care there that you do here and it's paid off. And I've been a jackass letting you throw that away... I want you to do this."
I shake my head, in shock. "But what about you?"
"I'll be here with Charles, work on composing for a change." I'm finding it difficult to breathe. I feel like I'm dreaming. He lowers his voice. "I need to be here, Emma. I want to be a man that my parents would be proud of."
I'm speechless. "Matteo, I don't know what to..."
"Just tell me you love me and that will be enough," he whispers.
I tell him that and more.