The Blessings of the Animals: A Novel - By Katrina Kittle Page 0,82

every opportunity. Bobby disliked it and didn’t put it on the menu at Tanti Baci. I’d once, years ago, asked Mimi to show me how to make it. I’d paid attention. I didn’t think I needed a recipe.

“Buongiorno, bella,” the man behind the counter said when I returned to that Italian market.

“Buongiorno,” I answered. “Come sta?”

“Bene, bene, grazie. Parla italiano?”

I laughed. “Lo parlo poco.” Then I admitted, “You caught me. That’s the limit of my Italian.”

“No, no,” the man insisted, his cigarette-stained grin wide, “your pronunciation is good. Good. You had me fooled.”

In spite of the grocer’s prominent Adam’s apple and slightly marred teeth, there was something so welcoming about his laughing eyes and dimples that I felt charmed. His name was Antonio (of course), and he carried the basket for me as I roamed the aisles. When I told him I was making carbonara, he feigned a swoon, clutching at his heart. “For a lover?” he asked.

My blush told him the answer and he laughed. “Lucky man, bella. I hope he knows this.”

Nearing 4 p.m., I started the meal in Vijay’s kitchen. I sloshed wine over sautéing pancetta cubes, relishing the furious bubbling this produced. I beat eggs and cream, stirring in Parmesan. I was carried along on the cooking, enjoying it, and didn’t even look at the clock. I boiled the spaghetti (I was going to go with penne, but Antonio suggested spaghetti for its more sensory, chin-slurping qualities), then tossed it with the egg-and-cheese mixture and the syrupy mess of the pancetta. Only after having added the chopped parsley did I look at the clock. 6:10.

Hmm. Well. I poured myself a glass of wine and cleaned up the kitchen. I set the table.

At 7:15, I called Vijay again but hung up when I got his voice mail.

By eight o’clock I was so famished, I made myself a plate of the carbonara, lit some candles, and sat down to try my creation. I held my irritation at bay, which was easy in light of this decadent meal. Even alone I moaned with pleasure. I wished Antonio the grocer were here to share this.

My heart leaped when my phone rang. But it was Davy. Poor Davy. Why had I left them?

“Are you guys doing it right now?” I loved that his voice was its normal, naughty silly self.

“Not right now,” I teased back, “or I wouldn’t have answered. That would be the epitome of bad manners, don’t you think?”

“Hell, yes. But . . . you have, right? Just calling for the report.”

“Actually,” my throat tightened, “we haven’t.” I explained.

“Damn,” Davy said. “Here I was thinking that one of us was having a good time.”

“How are you guys? Have you done it, at least?”

He sighed. “Not yet. Not since . . .”

“You need to remedy that. Don’t let it go too long.” We talked for nearly an hour, and then I fell asleep on the couch again.

“HEY, CAMI.” I DREAMED THAT MOONSHOT SPOKE TO ME IN English. But then I opened my eyes to Vijay, again kneeling beside the couch, apologizing. Outside, rain poured and thunder rumbled. Vijay’s hair was damp, the front of his blue shirt spotted with raindrops.

We sat on the kitchen floor, the pan of carbonara between us, instead of using plates. We twirled up spaghetti, our conversation teasing and seductive. When Vijay leaned over to kiss the creamy sauce from my lips, we were lost.

I melted from the inside. Oh, this was good. This was very, very good . . . until we reached the moment and realized neither of us was prepared. We were ready in every possible way, except the most crucial. “I’m not . . . I don’t . . . I don’t have anything,” I said.

Vijay’s face fell. His shoulders slumped. “Oh, my God. I don’t either.”

For a second it seemed the world had come to an end. Or that we might decide to blame each other. But knowing someone since you’d gone trick-or-treating together counted for something.

“You’re a doctor,” I teased him. “An infectious-diseases doctor. You specialize in HIV! How can you not have a condom?”

He thumped his forehead on the kitchen tile.

I started laughing.

We considered going out to a drugstore for a purchase, but the driving rain made us lazy. We lay naked on the kitchen floor, glistening with sweat, and ate more carbonara.

WE SHARED HIS BED THAT NIGHT, AND IT SURPRISED ME how right it felt to have a body beside me. Vijay slept, exhausted from his day, but