CATERINA


    It’s incredible the difference it makes when you wake up in a house where you don’t have to dread what you’ll find when you go downstairs.


    I hate thinking that way, especially since it’s the first thing that goes through my head when I open my eyes on Sunday morning. This is the second morning in a row I’ve woken up in Gianni’s bed, only this time, he’s not waiting with a tray full of food. He warned me he’d be busy with work today, but that’s fine. I could use a little time with Tatiana, anyway. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own shit, I haven’t been as good a friend to her as <b>I </b>could be.


    I allow myself to think of my father briefly. I wonder how he’s doing? Lately, it seems like he’s more interested in avoiding me than anything else, and now that I know the truth about his job, I understand why. The less he has to see of me<b>, </b>the easier it is to avoid answering questions. At least he finally stopped blowing up my phone. He did send a message overnight.


    Dad: At least let me know you’re ok.


    I shake my head. He decided to text instead of constantly calling. If he’s willing to do that after years of scowling when I’ve tried to convince him he’ll get a hold of me a lot faster if he texts, that means he’s desperate to hear from me and because I’m not a totally heartless person, I respond right away.


    Me: I’m fine. I hope you are, too.


    Hopefully, he understands that even if I texted him back, it doesn’t mean I’m ready toe home. Going home is a terrible idea, but something I’ll face eventually. All we’ll end up doing is rehashing the same argument, and I don’t know how long <b>I </b>could go without throwing his lies in his face. I don’t want to hurt him, even as I might not be able to control myself in the heat of the


    moment.


    Before getting out of bed, I roll over and press my nose to Gianni’s pillow. It smells like him, and I smile. It doesn’t make me a total weirdo to smell his pillow, does it? If so, I don’t care. It’s such a joy being with him and allowing myself to be happy. I only wish there wasn’t this nagging sense that it would all disappear. <b>My </b>happiness always does.


    Now. That is not what today is about. I can’t let myself get all dark and twisty–life gives me enough of a reason to do that as it is. Before heading to Tatiana’s rooms, I stop in the sun–filled kitchen for something to eat. Sheryl smiles before waving me in for a vani–scented hug.


    “It’s good to have you back.”


    “It’s nice to be back. And thank you so much for the muffins yesterday. I might’ve missed them more than anything else,”


    “I have some more ready and waiting for you.” In fact<b>, </b>there’s a breadbasket sitting on the granite countert


    she was in


    the middle of cing muffins inside when I came in. <b>“</b>I’ve added a few for Miss Tatiana, along with a pot of peppermint tea that I was going to take to her.”


    “Peppermint tea?” She’s usually more the matchatte type. “Is she sick?”


    Sheryl pats her lower belly and winces. “She’s feeling rather miserable. I normally brew her a pot on her first day.”


    Oh! I wince, as well. “Makes sense. I can take this to her room for you. I was already headed there anyway.”


    “Thank you, and be sure toe back for lunch if you’re staying the day. I have some delicious pears and cheese I was going to


    add to a sd.”


    “If I wasn’t already going to stay, I would now that I know what’s for lunch.”


    Her soft chuckle follows me out of the room. She’s such a sweetdy and reminds me greatly of what I’ve thissed all these years without Mom. Just having a woman in the house makes a world of difference. Not that Dad didn’t do his best<b>, </b>there are just certain things only a woman understands. Like how a girl wants chocte muffins and peppermint tea when she starts her period and feels miserable. There’s the warmth I’ve missed, too, a feeling of being nurtured.


    <b>I </b><b>can </b>finally put my finger on it, all because a kind cook showed me her maternal nature. Dad was always there for me in <b>his </b><b>own </b>


    way, but there wasn’t that warmth. He was the rule maker, his word wasw, and while I could always go to him with my problems, his solutions usually involved wanting to get in the middle of things and solve them himself.


    He wasn’t equipped to simply pull me into hisp for a hug, stroke my hair or ask if I wanted to go to a movie and get some <b>ice </b>cream. I can’t believe that Gianni would ever take that from me, or from any kid for that matter. I know him well enough to know how he operates.


    He always knows exactly what he’s getting into–he researches, he ns, and he would undoubtedly know my mom had a child at home. He had a daughter my age when I was eight years old. He wouldn’t take a mother from a little girl his own daughter’s age. I am unable to believe it otherwise. Not only because I don’t want to, but because that’s just not the man he is.


    Once I reach Tatiana’s wing, the sound of screams makes me trot with the tray bnced precariously. Only when I reach her room do I realize she’s in bed watching a horror movie on herptop.


    “I would ask you how you’re feeling, but I guess I have a pretty good idea.” All I can do is offer a sympathetic frown as I set the tray down on the bed, then climb in next to her without asking. When you’ve been friends as long as we have, you don’t have to ask.


    “I needed to watch other people being as miserable as I am.” Ahhh and at this particr moment, a girl is getting beheaded by a guy carrying a chainsaw. I guess we’ve all had days like that.


    “You want some tea?” As soon as I pour some into the mug, the aroma of mint fills the air.


    She epts it, holding the mug in both hands and inhales the steam with her eyes closed. “I don’t know if peppermint tea is enough to soothe these monsoon–sized cramps. I feel like hell.”


    “I’m sorry. I feel bad now, ‘cause I was about to ask if you wanted to go to brunch.”


    All she can do is cringe. “I’m in no shape to go out in public. It feels like something’s kicking me to death from the inside.”


    “That’s fine with me. We can hang out here. It’s been a while since we’ve been able to just kick back and not do anything.” Thest time we tried, we ran away and hid out in a hotel. It wasn’t exactly a feel–good sort of day. <b>I </b>spent the whole time missing Gianni and wondering how long it would be before he found us while talking Tatiana off a ledge of despair. I take the spot beside her.


    <b>For </b>a while, it’s enough to eat chocte muffins, drink tea, and watch a pretty brainless movie. Actually, the longer it goes on, the more obvious it is that I needed something like this. I can turn my brain off for a little while and focus on something with no stakes whatsoever.


    And all throughout, I get to have my best friend with me, even if it’s apparent she’s in utter misery. <b>“</b>Where’s your heating pad?” I ask when she groans and curls into a ball. “I’ll grab it for you.”


    “I honestly don’t know. Maybe the bathroom closet?” On my way across the room, she asks, “So, does being here mean everything is okay?”


    What a loaded question. I’m d she can’t see my face as I open the closet door. Taking a deep breath, Lclose my eyes and then answer. “It’splicated.”


    “So no, in other words.”


    “I didn’t say no.” The heating pad is in here, after all, but I hesitate before pulling it out and closing the door. Here I am again, having to remind myself what <b>I </b>can and can’t say.


    She doesn’t know about my father’s theories. It would hurt too much to know what my father is using hers of, especially with her hormones all over the ce the way they are now. Yeah, I’m not doing that. I’m sure she wouldn’t believe it, although <b>she </b>may wonder why my father does, and <b>then </b>there goes opening another can of worms.


    Instead of telling her about that<b>, </b>I offer a shrug while returning to her side and plugging in the heating pad at the <b>nearest </b>outlet. “It’s messy. You know that. He’s technically still married, and then there’s the age issue. He’s technically old <b>enough </b><b>to </b>be my father. So those two things right there make everything very awkward. And let’s face it, your mom is sort <b>of </b>vindictive<b>. </b>I’m not going to unt the two of us being <b>together </b>if there’s a chance of her retaliating somehow<b>, </b>you know<b>? </b>It’s just not worth <b>the </b>


    trouble.”


    Nevertheless, you two are actually together? Right?” I wish I could know how she feels about that. She sounds rtively neutral, but she won’t look me in the eyes, either.


    “Do you want us to be?” I ask while climbing back into bed.


    “I want you both happy, and if that means being together, then yes<b>” </b>


    “I think we’re closer to that now than before, if that makes a difference<b>.</b>”


    “It does.” She ces the pad across her lower abdomen, then pulls the nket back up to her shoulders. <b>“</b>It’s nice to know things can work out for some people.”


    Do not engage.