The door closed behind them and Tony took a moment to exhale, staring at the ground.
"You okay?" Angela asked, placing a hand on his back.
He nodded. Clearly he was processing, but she wasn't sure what their next move was, so she had to interrupt his thoughts again.
"Do we know when the car is coming back to get us?"
"Ah, yeah, at 9:30. After dinner, in the Centro by the Catedrale. Sorry, I forgot to mention that part. Why don't we wander the streets a little, then find a restaurant for dinner?"
She smiled. "Sounds perfect. You lead the way."
They purchased a map at a tourist shop and managed to find their way to La Vucciria, a large, colorful open-air market near the center of Palermo. They found some souvenirs for the kids - Angela picked out a a leather purse for Sam and a belt for Jonathan, while Tony chose a gold bracelet with a Sicily cutout for Sam and a Pinnochio toy for Jonathan. For Mona, they decided on a lemon tablecloth for her kitchen table. While he was paying for the toy, Angela found a souvenir Sicily t-shirt that would be suitable for sleeping in; she quickly paid for it and slipped it into her bag.
Angela could feel that Tony wasn't really present, but tried to keep the conversation light, not wanting to push.
"Oh Tony, look at these blown glass Christmas ornaments! They're hand-painted - so exquisite. I'd like to get one for our tree."
"For sure, for sure. Pick out whichever one you want. I'll buy it."
"Oh no, Tony, these are pricey. I'll insist on buying them."
"No Angela, you are my guest on this trip, I'd like to buy you the souvenir. And besides, it's my tree too."
She smiled. "I guess that's true."
She fingered the ornaments, examining the detail of each handpainted one. "Do you remember our first Christmas as a family?"
At that, he smiled a bit. "'Course I do. Our first Lindy by the tree," he said, waggling his eyebrows at her.
"A new tradition born," she laughed. "I remember thinking that Christmas was the first time I felt like I had a proper family in a really long time."
"That's exactly what Sam said that night when I was tucking her in."
"She did?"
He nodded, then squinted, recalling the memory. "I think she said it felt like what Christmas was supposed to feel like."
His gaze lingered on her a moment, before he looked down at the ornament, studying it. "You know what, I think my mom had a few of these on the tree growing up. I remember her saying they were from the old country." His mouth cocked into a crooked, half-hearted smile.
"Oh really, Tony? Then we have to get some." Angela spied a box behind the table. "Signora - " then gestured with a clumsy, "may I see the box?'
The saleswoman handed the box to Angela, "Tony look, it's six ornaments. One for everyone in the family."
"Well but Angela, there's only five in our family."
"That's true, but it comes as a collection of six. One to grow on," she joked.
Tony's eyes grew wide and he looked at her, surprised. What did that mean? Angela's face grew hot as she realized what she said. He knew she said it without thinking, and his bemused face waited patiently for a response, his lips twitching as his eyes remained wide.
"You know what I meant; I wasn't thinking like that," she stammered, swatting him on the chest. "I wasn't thinking at all," she added hastily. "But...we have my grandmother's 12 Days of Christmas silver bells from England that we add each night. Maybe I'll get two boxes, to match the bells. Then we can have a piece of your Sicilian heritage on the tree too. And I insist on paying."
Before she could say anything more, Tony signaled "2" and handed the lire to the young woman behind the table.
"Tony! Those were fifty dollars a box!"
He shrugged. "I'm a sucker for Christmas, what can I say? I like the idea of adding one each night with the bells. And besides," he added, "It'll be a nice memory of our trip together."
She gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you," she said quietly.
"Ay yo, it's for both of us. For our tree." He took the bags from the woman and offered a polite, "Grazie," as he handed Angela the ornaments and placed a hand gently on the small of her back, guiding her through the market.
The door to their room shut behind them with a heavy, echoing thud, punctuating the thick silence between them.
Angela had asked Tony a few questions when they sat down for dinner, gently prodding him to process what they had just learned.
"I didn't know any of it. I mean, I knew that they were in Sicily during the war, of course. But they were teenagers – barely older than Sam. I just wish I knew why they never told me."
"I think what Antonio said was probably right, Tony. It was too painful to relive. And you were just a boy when your mother passed away."
He nodded at her, then tucked into his menu as a diversion.
The rest of the evening, Tony had been very quiet, managing to engage in light small talk only when spoken to. Angela wasn't sure what to do, except fill the air with as much meaningless chatter as she could muster.
The only time she felt like her Tony had returned was when he chided her for not wanting to order the ravioli.
"No, I can't, it's so heavy. I'm going to do the fish."
"You said it sounded so amazing."
"I have a dress to fit into tomorrow."
"Pshaw, Angela, life is short. I could kill Mona for the number she did on you. We're in Italy. You're a knockout. I promise your dress will still fit after you eat the butternut ravioli."
Her mouth twitched with uncertainty as she counted up the croissant she'd had for breakfast and the frittata she'd devoured for lunch.
"An-gela...get the ravioli. We're on vacation," he growled.
She gave him a grateful, hesitant smile, "Okay." His melancholy demeanor returned, as did the thick silence that had overtaken their usual effortless banter since leaving Antonio's.
She was almost grateful when the car picked them up and their evening together came to an end. She knew Tony was rattled by everything he had learned about his parents, but if he wouldn't open up to her, she wasn't sure how to properly support him. It was clear this entire trip was having an unexpected impact on his psyche, in more ways than one; she rarely saw him like this, melancholy and vulnerable. He was her rock; she realized had come to count on his steady, effusive positivity over the years, but she could count on one hand the number of times he needed her the same way.
She pulled her new t-shirt out of the bag and slipped into the bathroom to change. When she emerged, Tony was already on the verge of consciousness, his book wavering on his chest. She moved around the bed and tucked her legs under the covers as she clicked off the sconce by her bed. She took his book from his hands gently, slipping the bookmark in, and patted him on the chest.
"You better get some sleep," she said quietly.
He looked at her drowsily. "I haven't been much company tonight. I'm sorry. I'll be better tomorrow."
"Oh, Tony. Don't apologize. It was a wonderful day. I loved learning more about your parents in the war. I loved seeing Palermo. I'm having a wonderful time. Don't worry so much about me. Your whole life revolves around me at home. This trip is about you; I'm just enjoying being here."
His head bobbed gently. "Yeah."
"They'd be proud of you, Tony. Proud of the man you've become," she offered gently.
He nodded again.
"Goodnight, Angela."
"Goodnight, Tony."
Angela wasn't sure how much time had passed when her heavy lids cracked open. Tony was fitfully tossing, causing the mattress to bounce with every turn. She rolled over and looked at him in the blue moonlight. His face was scrunched up, almost pained.
She didn't say a word; her hand slid across the cool sheet and laid gently on his arm, sliding down it to gently flip over his hand. She slipped her warm palm in his and laced her fingers through.
His chest rose slowly, then fell. A deep breath.
He rolled onto his side, and his eyes fluttered open to meet hers. She was here. He would be okay.
He squeezed her hand tightly and pulled it to the center of his chest.
They laid there a minute, wordlessly, their intertwined hands on his heart, just looking at each other sleepily in the dark. It was a different silence than that which had punctuated their evening earlier; this was the silence that gilded the edges of their complicated, delicately loving relationship.
An entire layer of their relationship's foundation was built on the words they said only with their eyes. And tonight, a thousand words were spoken between them, without ever uttering a word.
Angela stirred first the next morning, thanks to an overeager rooster who apparently began his day at 5:30 AM. After lying there until the sun rose up over the hills, she padded down in her robe to the kitchen to fetch two espressos and two croissants. Rosa greeted her with a smile, reminding her of their cooking lesson.
"Nine sharp. We must finish by ten so they can begin preparations for the wedding."
"Si, I'll be there, thank you Rosa." She secretly hoped Tony would join them again; the lesson became a lot more enjoyable once he arrived. "A- ah, newspaper?"
Rosa gestured to the chair by the kitchen door where a stack of English and Italian papers laid.
She shuffled to Tony's nightstand with the paper under her arm and laid the coffee and croissant down, trying not to wake him. She admired him a moment as he slept. He really was just a beautiful specimen of a man, she thought, only slightly guiltily. He stirred at her nearness and his eyes fluttered.
"Mornin, Ange," he smiled at her sleepily.
"Morning," she couldn't resist perching on the edge of his bed and tenderly sweeping a bit of hair from his eyes. "How are you feeling? More rested? You seemed...pretty tuckered out last night."
He stretched out on the bed, propping one arm behind his head. "Yeah, I'm a little better I think. This trip is really doing a number on me, huh?"
"Well, I don't think you came here expecting to learn your parents were spies in the war, Tony. Of course it's going to come as a shock."
"It's somethin' else," he agreed, slurping the foam off the top of his coffee. "See, you woke up first, so you brought the coffee," he added with a wink.
Angela smiled warmly, resisting his conversation pivot. "So much bravery and love between them. I wish I had known them."
"They woulda loved you, Ange." He said it without thinking, but let it hang there a bit, before reinforcing it with, "I mean, you need proof, look no further than Rosa."
She smirked. "I think Rosa is confused by me. I do "man's work" in the city and am hopeless in the kitchen."
"Yeah, but she adores you, mysterious as you are. Rosa's the Old Country. Trust me, my mom would have loved you for being a strong, independent woman; she wouldn't have cared if you could cook. Don't get me wrong, she was an incredible cook, but she worked too, as a bookkeeper in Manhattan, and my dad did most of the cooking and laundry during the week. He had to be up real early to be on the garbage truck, but got home at 2 each day. My mother worked until 6 most days."
She looked at him a moment, struck by his casual defense of her as a prospective partner needing his parents' approval.
"You...you never told me that. You come by your role reversal naturally I guess," she managed.
He smiled at her, seemingly oblivious to the slip. "It's never bothered me. I loved having my dad around when I got home from school. A lotta my buddies in the old neighborhood had fathers who worked all the time, or no father at all. I was lucky."
"And my mom, no matter how tired she was, she would always make sure I had a bath and a bedtime story."
"A lot of love in your house."
He nodded, tearing off a piece of croissant. "Like I said, I was lucky," he said. "Until, of course, you know. And now, it makes so much more sense. Why my father never married again. He never even tried. Look at what they went through together. She was the love of his life. The light of his life," he added with a soft smile.
His smile was warm, but the edges of his eyes were etched with sadness. What he said next stopped her heart cold.
"Kinda makes you believe in soulmates, doesn't it?"
She hesitated, then nodded slowly. She wondered if he was thinking about what they talked about yesterday, about him, and Marie, and Mona. She realized that Tony was like his father, and her own mother in so many ways – burying his grief, allowing his heart put up a wall to shield it from being hurt again.
She wondered how she could live with Tony for so long and still know so little about her best friend. Had Tony's position as her employee caused him to be guarded with some of these revelations? Had she misjudged their close bond? Or was this just part of being on vacation and spending this much uninterrupted time together?
For the first time since Tony moved in, their working relationship was almost non-existent. Stripped of the armor they donned at home to maintain professional boundaries, they were re-discovering one another as dear friends. She wondered incessantly how this trip would change their relationship at home; something was...shifting between them. As many times as she'd dared to imagine their future together, married, in love, making love, she'd never been able to see the path they'd take to get there. And while she could envision a life with Tony more than she ever had before, new worries were burrowing their way into her heart.
The kaleidoscope that held the many facets of Tony was coming into sharper focus. His fierce devotion to his family; his self-assuredness as a male housekeeper; the emotional block he still felt moving past Marie's loss. And yet, while she was coming to understand Tony so much more intimately, he was retreating into himself, and she wondered if he was starting to see how different she was from Marie, and from his mother.
Would he be happier with someone who shared his heritage? Someone more like him, from the old neighborhood, from the old country? Would he ever be comfortable enough with their income gap to make it work?
She wondered if Marie had been his soulmate.
