Selena Kitt - Letters to the Baumgarters

“Oh bella.” He collapsed, kissing me deeply before rolling to the side, pulling me in close and yanking the covers over us. I didn’t say anything, but snuggled back happily in his arms, too dazed and confused to do anything else. We rested like that for a long time, quiet, our breathing deep and even.

I thought about going home. I didn’t want to be here when Mason got back. Nico was breathing deep and even beside me, and I thought he was asleep. He probably thought I was too.

Which is why I didn’t say a word when he kissed my temple and whispered, “Choose me, bella. Choose me. Please, choose me.”

I just kept my eyes closed.

Dear Carrie and Doc,

I am so confused. I know you said I just need to be honest with them, and myself, and I know you’re right. But what if I don’t know what I want? If I don’t know my own heart?

I’m sorry I keep laying things on you like this, but when I write to you, somehow things get clearer. I start figuring out what’s going on in my head, and things inevitably come out that I didn’t even realize I felt. I know you said you don’t mind, but I feel like I have to apologize anyway. You’ve got enough going on with school and Janie and your own life. Like you need my problems too?

I’m trying to be honest and truthful about my feelings. I’m trying to figure out what it is I really want. A life with Mason? A life with Nico? The third option would be a life without either of them, which I can’t even begin to conceive of. Losing them both would break my already-broken heart into another million little pieces, and I just don’t think I could pick them all up this time.

Mason’s been my best friend for years. We’ve been through so much together. Even after we divorced, I never stopped loving him. I think we both needed the time and space and distance to grow. To grow up. To heal too. We’re so much better now than we ever were before.

But Nico… he’s so sweet, so generous and open and tender. How can I not love him too? And it isn’t just physical. If it were just the sex, I could give that up. We have so much in common-a love for this country, for the people and the food. We spend hours roaming galleries together, talking about art and culture. He’s so passionate, about life, about everything. About me. He makes me feel alive in ways I haven’t in so long.

The truth is, I’m selfish.

I want them both.

And I know, I know. It’s just not possible…

“Easter means you can eat chocolate again?” I asked Nico, holding one of his sister’s homemade truffles just out of his reach.

“Don’t tease the animals, dear.” Mason snatched the chocolate from my hand, tossing it to Nico, who caught it and stuffed it into his mouth before I could even protest.

“Meanie!” I stuck my tongue out at him. “You never let me have any fun.”

“Are they good?” Giulia asked, shifting the baby over her shoulder. He was bigger now, a few months old, able to hold his own head up, gazing around at us with big, dark eyes. Just looking at him made my uterus hurt. Literally. The cramps came in waves, although my period wasn’t due for another week.

“Fantastic, as always.” Nico kissed his sister’s cheek, leaving a smear of chocolate there. She laughed, wiping it off, as her brother reached for his nephew, lifting him high in his arms, making the baby giggle. When Luka’s eyes got wide, being so high, Nico handed him back to his sister before the baby could begin to cry.

“You’re such a tease.” Mason sat next to me on the sofa, putting an arm casually around my shoulder. Nico saw this and sat on my other side, taking my hand. I couldn’t help the heat filling my cheeks, seeing Mama Dorotea frowning in our direction, the way Nico’s sister Anna and her husband glanced at us from where they were playing cards at the dining room table with the kids.

Caprice, being the precocious teenager she was, looked between the three of us with big eyes and started asking the questions everyone wanted to know-in English, of course, because Mason didn’t speak much Italian. “So you’re married?”

“We were married,” I corrected her. “We’re divorced now.”

She wrinkled her nose, looking between Mason and her brother, the confusion apparent on her face. “But… what are you doing here then?”

“Visiting,” Mason replied.

“So you’re not together anymore,” Caprice went on, pushing him to clarify.

“Hey, Anna, did you get your landlord to fix your leaky sink?” I inquired, trying to change the subject.

I could hear Mama Dorotea in the kitchen muttering something in Italian. She hadn’t said much to the three of us, but I caught the word “bastardo” and winced, glad Mason didn’t know the language. She was still angry that Nico had moved out. I was surprised she’d invited us to Easter at all, but then again, I’d overheard Nico saying, “If they can’t come, I won’t be coming either,” so that might have had something to do with it.

“Of course not.” She rolled her eyes, slapping a card down on the table. “Ha! I win the re bello!”

“What’s that?” I asked, getting up off the sofa and going over to the table. It was a good excuse to get away from Caprice’s questions.

“The beautiful king,” Anna said in English, kissing the card and holding it up to Sal, who scowled in her direction. “It’s Scopa. Do you want to play?”

“No thanks. I’ll just watch.” Although I knew the rules, I’d only played a few times. It was a lively game, and the family quickly slipped back into speaking Italian, laughing and slapping cards down on the table. Soon Mason and Nico had wandered over to the table to watch as well, but I was glad to see that Caprice had decided to stay with Giulia and Will in the living room so she could cuddle the baby.

I didn’t like to get too close to the baby. When he’d been such a tiny newborn, with all that dark hair, he’d reminded me so much of Isabella it physically hurt me to look at him. Now it was better, although I swear my belly contracted every time I glanced over there, as if aching for a life of its own. I’d sworn, after she was born, that I would never have another. I said I’d never risk going through that again, whatever the chances might be.

Mason had been heartbroken. In spite of our young age, in spite of his parents’ relief-yes, relief-at our daughter’s death, in spite of our precarious financial situation, in spite of everything, he’d wanted to try again right away. It was one of the things that had driven us apart. Just thinking about having another baby brought a stab of fear and pain so great it made me feel faint.

“Are you okay?” Mason asked at my elbow.

I glanced back at him and smiled. “Fine.”

“You look pale,” Nico said. He was behind me, on my other side, watching the game. In the other room, the baby cried, and the pain in my middle increased as if in response. I gasped, my hand instinctively moving to cover my lower belly. The cramping, which had been dull and constant, suddenly became a sharp, stabbing thing.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Mason again.

I struggled for breath to speak. The pain had taken it. “I don’t know.”

“What is it?” Nico turned me to face him, frowning.

Everyone was looking now. Even Mama Dorotea, who had heard the concern in her son’s voice, had appeared in the kitchen doorway, a turkey baster in her hand. In the next room, I heard the baby crying in earnest now. Probably hungry, I thought, remembering how my breasts had ached after Isabella was born, making milk for a baby who would never eat.

“I’m just a little dizzy,” I managed to whisper, but the room was receding, going black at the edges, and I knew it was more than that. Something was suddenly very, very wrong.