Alberto was not Guilia. Massimo knew this, he had known it from day one, but he found himself guilty of falling into old 'Guilia habits' as he called them in his head.
For thirteen years now, Massimo's summer months were consumed by Guilia. His life revolved around his daughter when she was home and he wouldn't have it any other way. Years of raising her made him aware of when she needed him, the little signs that meant she needed time alone. The little tells that she was lying. She was the way he was when he was younger, so he knew how to manage her temper. He had never needed to learn how to manage another child.
And now, here was Alberto. Bright and boisterous and kind, and needy. He needed so much, but it was a fight to find out what.
Well, at first it was obvious. He needed a guardian. He needed a home. He needed somewhere safe to sleep, where he wouldn't have to chew up leaves from the bushes to stave off hunger if he hadn't been able to find anything else. That part was the easy part, but Massimo could tell there was something more. He wasn't sure what it was.
Luca's grandmother had warned Massimo: "The boy has been through a lot that he had to bury in order to focus on surviving. It may not be easy for him to dig up again. So try not to pry, as much as you want to help him. He will feel safe enough eventually, and tell you on his own time." That made sense.
He figured Alberto would tell him if he needed something. He would let slip some clues in conversation. Massimo only needed to give him time, and give him space to talk. So he did. He could be patient. He hummed along to the radio while cooking dinner, occasionally glancing back to see Alberto scribbling away at the kitchen table. Days in the boat were spent looking at the scenery.
Soon enough, Massimo thought, Alberto would feel comfortable to fill the air up with chatter the way Guilia did. Kids liked to talk, right? Yeah, most kids talked all the time. When Massimo himself was a kid, he wished his father paid enough attention to listen to him. He would never make his kids feel the same way.
The space between them remained clear and open. Alberto would fill it with talking when he felt like it, he kept thinking.
So when Alberto shouted those words- "You don't even like me, you don't even talk to me!"- Massimo was taken aback. He hadn't picked up on the fact that something was wrong, he never would have imagined Alberto thought he didn't like him. How could Massimo not like him?
"I- Alberto..."
He wanted to ask for another chance. He wanted to tell this child- who was looking at him with so much heartbreak and confusion in his eyes- that he meant well. He wanted to say something to comfort him, but wasn't sure how. What words to use? Guilia was comforted by the fact that she was listened to. Her father heard what she was saying, and took it into account. Of course all children need that. But it obviously didn't come across that way to Alberto. Leaving all this empty space for Alberto to fill wasn't the right move. What did he need from him? Suddenly Massimo felt hopeless. Why couldn't he figure this out?
"Alberto, come back here." Did he really want to leave? Was Massimo so clueless it was unbearable living with him? He reached out to gently grab Alberto's elbow, and ask him.
"Just let me go Dad!"
They both froze. Alberto stared at Massimo, stunned by his own outburst. Small drops of rain hit the cobblestone, the only sounds to be heard in the sleeping city. The suitcase Alberto had shoved his few belongings into fell to the ground. His bottom lip started to tremble. he tried to bite down and keep the inevitable at bay, but he felt his eyes and nose start to drip. Massimo stooped to pick up the suitcase.
He had always been an 'actions speak louder than words' man. But it seemed like words really mattered to Alberto. He needed things plainly stated, not implied, in order to believe them. Massimo could see that now. it was starting to click. He needed to choose his next words carefully.
"Come home. We can fix the boat tomorrow, it's been through worse."
Alberto crumbled. He felt disgusting, falling apart in the middle of the street, in the middle of the night, sobbing like some little kid. He hadn't cried like this in a long time, there were usually consequences for crying like this. He didn't deserve pity, after ruining the boat, after almost running away and ruining everything, but he received comfort anyways. Massimo set the suitcase down for a moment in order to scoop Alberto up, and he clung to the man's shoulder, drinking in the attention, the affection, the forgiveness, being so greedy. He was taking something he didn't deserve.
Everything was so confusing. He couldn't feel one thing for long before another feeling overpowered it. He felt shocked first and foremost. Was this how a parent acted? Forgiving mistake after mistake after mistake? Did they really carry you home in the middle of the night even when you deserved to be left? He deserved to be left that time, why not this time?
Was he robbed of this, if this was normal? Maybe... maybe he didn't quite deserve what he had gotten. That was the first time the thought had crossed his mind.
So the not talking wasn't a sign that Massimo didn't like him? what were the signs that he did like him?
Did Guilia ever burn anything down?
Why is he treating me the way he would treat Guilia, she's a good kid and I'm a bad kid.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled into Massimo's shirt. It occured to him that he hadn't fully apologized yet, he was too busy being scared.
"Va bene," he rumbled. "We will fix it in the morning."
"Okay," Alberto sighed. "I'm sorry I was running away."
Massimo paused, trying to think of what was best to say. Alberto felt his anxiety climbing the longer the silence stretched. Then Massimo cleared his throat. "Next time let's wait to act on a strong emotion."
"Right." Of course, how could he be so stupid? What Massimo would value most is an employee who could be like him, solid, stoic, unshakeable-
"I almost ran away once. When I was around your age." Break the silence, give him something. Those stories you would tell Guilia at bedtime after she outgrew the baby books. "My father let me leave. Or he didn't notice I was gone until later, I'm not sure. But I slept outside for a night, and then I came back home. The arguement seemed so small, and the world outside so big."
"Then why didn't you let me leave?"
"You and I, we are... the same but different. We would both run away, but the difference is that you can survive on your own. I could not, at the time. I need to bring you back, because if I don't, I may never see you again."
"Would that be so bad?" Alberto muttered, thinking of the crackling fire eating up the boat.
"Yes. It would be bad."
Massimo didn't say much after that, but Alberto was busy thinking about that last answer.