Page 10 of Loss and Damages

Mother devoted herself to Leo once he was born and that affection never extended to me in any way.

I never wanted for anything—the housekeeper and nannies were tasked with that.

It was the line my mother drew in the sand.

Leo was hers, and I belonged to my father.

It’s a line that hasn’t been crossed in thirty-nine years.

I sit on the edge of the bed and place my hand on her shoulder. “Mama.”

“What are you doing here, Dominic?” she asks, her voice raw and raspy.

“I wanted to see how you are.”

“Leave me be.”

I smooth the hair away from her face. She’s still beautiful, and I’ve always been proud of her, proud to say she’s my mother. I wish I would have been enough like Leo was.

“ Nonna ’s here, and she’s cooking. Get up and have a meal with me.”

“No.”

“She’ll be happy if you do.”

“Leo is dead! How can you think about food? Selfish.”

“It’s not selfish to want to see you healthy.”

I try not to let her get to me. The conversation is going as well as I thought it would.

“I have nothing left. Leave me be.”

“Mama.” Her words don’t hurt me. I’ve been nothing to her since the day a nurse laid me in her arms at the hospital and less than nothing the day Leo was born.

“Your whole life hasn’t been ripped out of your hands. You’ve never loved, Dominic. You don’t know what I’m feeling.”

“I loved Leo.” I did love my brother. We didn’t get along and we didn’t see eye to eye, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t love him, don’t miss him.

“You love money.”

I love money because my father does. The bigger our bank accounts the more satisfied my father is and the more approval I earn.

“That’s not all I love, Mama.”

Finally she looks at me, her dark eyes full of misery and anger. “Then why aren’t you married? Why have you no children? You have no room in your heart for anyone but your father. Leo meant nothing to you, I mean nothing to you. Get out of my room.”

I want to point out she means as much to me as I mean to her, but she wouldn’t understand.

That to be able to give love, you have to be loved.

She’s never loved me as a mother should love her child, and I’ve never found a woman who would love me for who I am and not my money.

Until that day comes, I can never love anyone besides the members of my family who show me affection.

“Why do you think I can find a woman who will love me if my own mother can’t?” I ask, gripping her shoulder and preventing her from turning over. “You’ve never gotten to know me, have never taken an interest in anything I’ve ever done. I’m not Leo and I never tried to be.”

She doesn’t say anything, pursing her lips and closing her eyes in an unsuccessful attempt to block me out.

Still, I want to give her something. Her pain is mine, despite our relationship.

The purpose of my visit was to comfort her and possibly find a small amount of comfort in return, but all I did was make things worse.

I try to salvage our conversation. “He was seeing someone.”

She stiffens. She’s listening, and through a sick feeling in my gut, I continue. “He was driving back from her house the night he died. She lives in Hollow Lake. An artist. He was in love with her.”

“How do you know?” She doesn’t want to ask, but curiosity got the better of her.

“I went to see her. Maybe you remember her. She came to the wake. A brunette, shorter. Elegant. She was holding an umbrella.”

Her hair rustles against the pillow as she shakes her head. My mother wouldn’t have remembered anyone. She was grieving too terribly to notice. That I did will be another strike against me.

“I want to see her. I want to meet this woman Leo gave his heart to.”

“Mama—” That is not a good idea, but I knew she would want to when I said it. I knew she would want to, and I said it anyway because it gives me an excuse to drive out there and see her again.

“Bring her to me.” She turns and gives me what I want. Her attention, a touch to my hand. “Bring her to me, Dom. Let me look at her.”

“Okay.”

She squeezes my fingers, and it’s the first positive contact I’ve had from her in years.

Jemma will hate me for using her, but it will be just a few hours of her time. Dinner. She can give Leo’s mother that, I think.

She can. Whether she will is a different story.

I sit with my mother while she grips my hand, her shallow breathing wisping over the guilty pounding of my heart.

Mother and I walk into the kitchen, and Nonna looks at me like I created a miracle.

Everyone scurries and exclaims, fawning over her, and before I can blink twice, we’re sitting at the table with huge plates of pasta and espresso cups in front of us.

The spaghetti looks like worms and I move the noodles around my plate.

Mother doesn’t do much better, but Nonna doesn’t care.

I preen a little under Nonna’ s praise, but the guilty feeling doesn’t abate.

I’m using Leo’s relationship to find better footing with our mother, and it’s one more thing he’d hate me for if he knew.

A few minutes and forkfuls of pasta later, I leave, shoving the box that has the tea set in it into a forgotten closet.

I don’t know if Mother would be impressed by Jemma’s talent or think it useless.

Maybe after she meets Jemma I’ll show her the set, and she can decide if Jemma was worthy of Leo’s time.

I suppose that’s one good thing about being me.

My mother won’t care whom I marry, and she’ll leave us alone.

Leo’s wife would’ve had a tough time of it, Mama constantly meddling in their affairs.

No one he chose would have been good enough, and chances are high Jemma would have been punished simply for being herself.

I take a cab and spend the night at Leo’s. Did he ever bring Jemma to his apartment? Am I sleeping in the same bed where they made love?

It doesn’t disturb me the way it should have, and that turns me into a giant, fucking pervert.

I stroke myself thinking of her quiet mewing sounds as I slide inside her, how tight and wet she’d be.

Does she like her nipples pinched? I pump as I imagine nibbling her lush tits, scraping my teeth against her sensitive skin.

Pulling out, turning her onto her stomach, and lifting her ass into the air.

Her clit’s huge, waiting for me to rub her to orgasm.

Gently, so gently, I push my finger into her puckered muscle needing to feel all of her at once. She’s so soft, everywhere.

She comes, her muscles rippling around my cock, and I fuck her hard and deep as she moans.

Her imaginary whimpers fill Leo’s bedroom, and she cries out as I ram into her one last time, exploding in my fantasy. My cock is rock hard, and I spew all over my hand.

In my dream, I still, my fingertips sinking into her hips, and she says the only thing she could that would hit me like a bucket of cold water.

“I love you, Leo.”

Burning with shame, I shower under a hot spray and try to wash the self-loathing off my skin.

Leo already disliked everything about me. What would he say if he knew I’d just jacked off to the imaginary cries of his girlfriend?

I’m no better than who Leo thought I was.

In fact, I’m worse.