her and leaving him to make her feel more comfortable.
She needed that from him.
He got up from the table, bouncing her a bit, but then he handed her to mamma.
“I’m going to take a shower.” He kissed me on the cheek and then left.
I sighed. He was pulling back again.
“What did you do to him?” Mamma hissed at me.
I shrugged. “We worked it out.”
“He has a cut on his neck!”
“On his heart, too,” I said.
“Ah! Mamma mia!” She put her palm to her head. Ele started to giggle and then they both started laughing. “What am I going to do with your parents, ah?” She gave her big, fat kisses on her cheeks. “Come with nonna. I will save you from these people with no sense after you eat.”
I laughed while I made Ele her morning cereal and pureed pear. She ate it up, and then mamma took her upstairs to get dressed. They spent mornings together. After I fed Ele, mamma would change her and then take her outside for a walk. I knew mamma would be leaving soon, and I couldn’t think about that either.
I had one main issue to focus on.
If there ever was a time to talk to Corrado about my cousin and his sister, it was now. The night before had changed things between us, and maybe if I acted, things could continue to change for the better.
If he would only hear me out.
I narrowed my eyes when he came into the kitchen dressed in a suit. After last night, I thought we would spend the day together. We would say things that needed to be said.
He put his hand on his tie before he leaned in and kissed my lips. He went to the coffee pot after and poured himself a cup. He stood by the open window, staring out at mamma singing to Ele in Italian as she walked around the garden with her.
“Someone will fix this today,” he said, nodding toward the gaping hole.
I did not respond. I was sure he would see to it.
He took a drink of coffee, still staring out, and I stared at him.
Ele laughing. The family taking pictures. Playing at the park. Singing in the kitchen or during her baths. Going for walks.
All of these things he watched from wherever he happened to be, but never did he put himself there with us. He couldn’t seem to find a way to get to where we were. He always kept himself at arm’s length.
His eyes would consume the scene, as if he was starved to be there, to be present, but his body kept him rooted to wherever he was. Which was too far from us. His family.
I breathed the Sicilian word for longing. Then I spoke it out loud. He didn’t hear, not paying attention to me, but to our daughter laughing. She loved music.
“Corrado,” I said.
He took another drink of his coffee, stared for another minute longer, and then turned to face me.
“Longing,” I said.
“What about it?”
“Longing,” I repeated the word. “A yearning desire. Pining. Craving. Ache. Burning. Hunger. Thirst.” He stared at me with a blank expression. I sighed. My hands moved as I continued. “You feel all of those things when you look at us. When you watch us. I see it in your eyes. You want to be close to us, but something is stopping you.”
“Is that what it is?” He almost seemed relieved. Like he had thought of it before, but could not put a name to it. “All of those things. I feel them here.” He pointed to the center of his chest.
“Yes,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s longing.”
“I want to kill it,” he said.
“Why do you have to feel it? When we are right here?” I stood up, and reaching out, took his hand. I placed it against my chest. “You can touch me whenever you want. You can go outside and take your daughter for a walk whenever you want. You can put her to bed each night. We can spend time together. All day, every day, for the rest of our lives. Why? Why do you have to long for us? We’re here. You can have this life and us.”
He shrugged. “You know who I am. What comes first.”
I searched his eyes. “You’re at war within yourself,” I said.
He nodded. “One obligation doesn’t leave room for what I had no idea I needed.”
“We pull you one way and the life pulls you another.”
“You and