Page 131 of Mafia And Maid
“Should I make sure their rooms are ready?”
Camillo’s brow scrunches. “No. They’re already as clean as a whistle. You don’t have to do anything extra, Rosa.” He leans closer to me, his lips pressing to my temple. “They’re going to love you.”
The conversation around me blurs, as does the rest of the day. Despite what Camillo said, I spend a little more time in the rooms than normal. There’s not a speck of dust to be seen, nor a single item out of place. I even give Camillo’s room an extra special tidy, even though Iknow none of the new arrivals will be going in there; although, to be fair, Camillo has been making a big effort lately to be tidier—putting clean clothing away instead of flinging it onto the floor, throwing away his car magazines once he’s read them, not leaving empty drink cartons in the room. As I originally suspected, he’s actually a pretty clean person—it’s just clutter that’s his downfall.
That evening, around dinner, I listen to everyone as they catch up on all the news of the women and children. And after helping to tidy up, I opt for some one-on-one time with Ethan, leaving the family to catch up with one another.
***
Both Juliana and Cate have welcomed me with open arms and appear eager to get to know me. Ethan is nearly always whisked off to do something with the other kids, with a quick glance at me to make sure it’s okay. It eases some of the tightness in my chest and gives me a weird feeling of warmth inside me to see him tentatively making friends.
The conversation is pleasant and loud with excitement, like it always is each morning now. Today, like the last few days since their return, there’s not much for me to do. Cate insists on handling mealtimes while Juliana is happy to take care of most of the cleaning. I help where I can by tidying the rooms, but I’ve taken a step back, careful not to step on their toes.
My eyes lift and land on Juliana. Marco’s beautiful wife has stunning blue eyes and swishy black hair. Both she and Cate are kind and warm, and the women ask questions about Ethan and me to get to know us every chance they get.
And then there are the conspiratorial looks we share at dinner as the men talk gruffly about business problems and the clubs and casinos. I’ve never had friends outside my immediate family, let alone women who actually seem to want me around. My heart squeezes at the effort they’re making with me.
I push back my chair. “I should get started on my work.” There’s not much for me to do, but I need to do something. I need to feel like I’mcontributing.
As I pass with my small caddy of cleaning supplies, I watch Ethan quietly coloring beside a few of the younger kids. It warms my heart to see it, but the small flinches every time one of the older children yells breaks my heart. It’s better than it was when they first arrived back from Italy. And slowly, he’s breaking from his shell. He smiles often now, and when he and Camillo are alone, the energy he has triples.
After cleaning Camillo’s bedroom and bathroom, I turn down the hall to one of the guest bathrooms. But the guest bathroom is spotless. Someone’s already cleaned it this morning.
Turning on my heel, I grip the caddy tightly, and numbness spreads through me as I reach and take in the now vacant and spotless kitchen. Not a speck of dirt or dish to be cleaned.
Heaving out a sigh, I replace the caddy and catch sight of a small piece of paper on the counter. It’s a note from Juliana inviting me to join them all tonight for a BBQ outside, plus an additional note at the end to say that they’ve already taken care of the grocery shopping for the meal.
Every responsibility I have has been taken and handled. Braced against the counter, I will myself to push past the worry that's worming through me. And racing alongside it is gratitude for including me. I don’t understand what’s wrong with me. This jumble of emotions billow in and out like a ship’s sail as anxiety swirls within me. Numbly, I move through the kitchen, wiping a spotless glass as my mind spins around the stark facts staring me in the face. I move from room to room, straightening the already neat and tidy areas again and again on autopilot.
Because without something to show how valuable I am, there’s no reason to keep someone like me around.
***
In the evening, I sit in the backyard with everyone. The men see to the BBQ while the women chat and the children play.
The buzz of nature and laughter fills the balmy Chicago air. I should be enjoying it. I should soak it up for all it’s worth. But I can’t. My fingersfidget in my lap as conversation surrounds me. I nod and smile at the right moments.
Even the warmth of Camillo’s fingers playing with the loose hair at my shoulder absentmindedly does nothing to soothe whatever crack has fractured open inside me.
Time ticks by, minute by minute, as the sun drops low behind the tree line that surrounds the property, an easy conversation bouncing between the others. With a feigned yawn, I excuse myself.
Camillo’s room—my room—is bathed in the fleeing golden rays. My skin itches as the tears I managed to keep away tonight threaten to spill past my eyes.
“Rosa?”
I stumble to my feet at his voice through the door. Trembling, I fiddle with the bed covers as if I’m getting ready for bed.
The door clicks shut. I can feel the heat of him before anything else. It’s comforting, and yet it scares the hell out of me.
“Rosa?”
“Hmm?”
“What’s wrong?” Camillo’s soft whisper strangles me further.
“Nothing...” I gnaw my lip, hoping he won’t pick up on why I can’t meet his eyes. He’ll know I’m lying if I look at him. But this isn’t a problem he can fix. “I’m just tired.”
“Rosa, look at me.”