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My fingers dig desperately into my palms, but as soon as Cesare and his date walk past us, and the familiar scent of his aftershave hits me—-

No. No. No.

I throw up on Rufino's footsteps—-

And I know Cesare's heard me.

But he just doesn't give a fuck.

Is it today, God?

Is it today...that everything finally makespainfulsense?

GREG DRIVES ME BACKto my new place, and the whole ride is spent in silence. I wish I could just say'thank you',but I'm still terrified that the moment I open my mouth, the tears I've been desperately holding in check will never stop falling.

He pulls up by the sidewalk across my apartment building, and I get out of his car on my own. It just feels weird if I were to wait for him to open my door; that would make this seem like a date, which it's not.

"Sure you'll be okay?"

Relief breaks over me when I hear the concern threading through his voice. It's more than enough that he doesn't pity me the waythatgirl did.

"I'm fine."

"Want me to walk you up to the door?"

His phone rings before I can say no, and I know it's an important call when I see frustration flash in his eyes.

'Good night,'I mouth at him.

He makes a face as I wave at him, but he also mouths back 'good night' in the end.

I feel like it's only polite for me to remain in the lobby while he walks back to his car, and so I stay there...watching him.

And that's when I remember that night.

It was the night before Dad died, a night where he had come home unusually late—-a night that I had dreamt of a few weeks ago.

I remember sitting up and looking at my phone. Remember asking him—-

'Where have you been?'

I remember him sitting next to me on the couch.

'Sorry, Penny. I should've called. You didn't have to wait up for me.'

'You still haven't told me where you've been...'

'Grief support.'

'For real? You finally attended one?'

'Yeah. I think I even made a new friend. He lost someone because of his gambling addiction. Since then, he's never stepped inside another casino, and everywhere he goes, he's got this die in his pocket, to remind him of what he's lost.'

Chapter Fourteen

Cesare

GAZELLE COULD NO LONGERhold her silence. "Are we really not going to talk about it?" She had been waiting for her brother to talk to her about what just happened, but all he had asked her in the past hour was if she wanted red wine or white.