have!” He kicked the table. “It’s all I fucking have left!”
I longed to go to him, to touch him, but all I could do was speak. If I touched him, it would be the equivalent of throwing rum on an out of control wild fire. I reminded him that he had me. What about me! But this seemed to anger him further, and we began to shout at each other. Maggie Beautiful’s voice rose above ours.
“WE DON’T SEE THINGS AS THEY ARE, WE SEE THEM AS WE ARE!” She read one of the quotes on the wall by Anaïs Nin. After Violet had turned me on to her, I turned Maggie Beautiful on to her.
The house fell silent and some of the tension escaped while our attention was focused on the sequined beauty going from quote to quote, reading them out loud. When she finished, she kept her eyes on the last quote, not turning around.
“She can read.” The words were soft, filled with awed surprise, though the tension remained, continuing to tick in his tight jaw.
I nodded, not adding anything else.
“Yes, I can read.” Maggie Beautiful turned to face him. She pinched her lips together and then released them. “You’ve been to see Luca! That stupid, stupid man! What for?”
He shrugged, glancing my way for the briefest of seconds. “Who taught you how to read, Maggie Beautiful?”
I stepped forward. “I did. I taught her how to read, because that’s what I want to do. I want to teach. And that’s what I’m going to do. I’m staying here. I’m going to a local college and I’m going to teach locally when I’m done.”
“A teacher.” He used the same tone as my mother had, as if it were beneath my feet. As if the thought was preposterous. As if the most common thing in the world was just assigned to an extraordinary being.
My heart sank into my stomach. My fists clenched at my sides. All the blood rushing into my cheeks came straight from indignation. For the countless time in my life, my wishes were being thrown to the side, my happiness sacrificed for something I could do but didn’t really want—not in the way it had been presented to me.
My mother dismissed me. My father struggled with his own life, probably wishing his life could have been different. My sister hated me out of jealousy. My grandmother cared for me, but not like Maja Resnik adored the dancer in me. My brother, the only normal in my life, was dead. Gone. Out of reach.
Now the love of my life had joined the forces that pushed me, drilled me, and overworked me, in some quest to direct me down the path he saw fit.
A moment of clarity swished through my thoughts. The rum. It seemed to be grating on my nerves, making me feel hot, more irritable than necessary. But I pushed it aside in favor of using it for my benefit.
I shoved Brando, hard, in the chest. Even though I didn’t budge him, it felt good all the same. “Effing blue balloon!” I yelled. “I refuse to be trapped by it. I refuse to be treated like some golden-legged butterfly that needs to dance for money, fame, and applause. If you like it so much, why don’t you do it?” I shoved him again. “Suit up, angelo sbagliata, put the frilly stuff on and strut your stuff! If you think it’s so grand, why don’t you get out there and shake your ass. Work so hard that your feet feel like two scalding hot pulses at the ends of your legs! I don’t want it. Not the way everyone else wants it for me. Why doesn’t anyone listen to me? Why doesn’t anyone care what I think? Or feel!”
I never knew I could growl, but I did, and then I went to shove him again, but this time he caught my wrists. He slid his hands to mine, holding firm, and looked at Maggie Beautiful. “Is this what you want? Think back, Maggie Beautiful. Think back to when you were fifteen.”
“I’m not fifteen!” I screeched.
He ignored me. “All of your dreams. Your hopes. Is this what you want for her?” He motioned with his head toward me. “Is this what she deserves?”
And that, I thought, was as close to an explanation as I’d get from him for the time being—for his mindset and behavior.
Maggie Beautiful bit her lip. She looked between the two of us. After a few beats,