Antonio. Even now, he’s still a part of my life. That’s probably why I sometimes feel like he’s still around. I have to stop wishing he was still here. Look where that got me.
Antonio’s gone. The one who’s still here is his despicable twin, the one with the annoying smirk, the messy hair and the disgusting tattoos on those thick arms, packed with hard muscle just like his back and his chest and…
I shake my head and scold myself. What am I thinking? Didn’t I say I’d forget about Leo, about what took place between us?
I squeeze the marble as I draw a deep breath, then put it back on the bedside table. I focus my attention on my laptop but realize what I need is a pen and paper to draft my opening statement and questions.
I go through the contents of my purse. I find my pen but not my trusty notepad. Now, where can that be?
I look inside my briefcase. Not there. It’s not inside the backpack where I carry my laptop, either. Maybe I wasn’t able to grab it from the coffee table in my apartment? I was working, after all, when I got the call that my father was in an accident, and barely had time to gather my things before rushing to the hospital.
I look for a scrap of paper instead but that search proves unsuccessful, too. Even around the room, I can’t seem to find anything to write on that I can bring with me to court. Doesn’t Dad have any paper around here?
Then it occurs to me where the paper might be – in Dad’s study, of course.
I go there, trying not to look at the divan where Leo fucked me or even to think about it as I pass by the library. I enter the study and the first thing that catches my eye is the urn which is still sitting on Dad’s desk. I try not to think about him, either, as I move it to a spot on the shelf between two plaques of recognition. I’ll find a better place for it later, maybe build some kind of shrine like the Japanese do, but for now, it should be fine. At least no one will topple it over or break it, which would be a catastrophe.
I step back and look around the room. What was I looking for again? Right. Paper.
I sit behind my dad’s desk and try to open the top drawer. It’s locked so I pause. I probably should just move to another drawer. I doubt my dad keeps blank sheets of paper here anyway. Still, I can’t shrug off the blanket of curiosity weighing on my shoulders.
This drawer was where Dad kept important stuff. What if there’s something here I need to see?
The fact that I know where the key is – my dad told me years ago – just makes it harder for me to resist the temptation. A few more moments of silent debate and I give in. It’s hard to win against yourself when you’re adept at making arguments.
I retrieve the key from behind a framed old family photo on the corner table and open the drawer. Strangely, I find it empty except for a small, lacquered wooden box engraved with the image of the Virgin Mary. I pick it up.
I remember this box. Dad bought it from the airport in Athens with the last of his euros. I thought he was going to give it to someone but I guess he kept it.
I open it, frowning when I see nothing inside. Why did he keep it? And why is it the only thing in this drawer? All the times I’ve seen it, it’s been filled to the brim.
I start to put the box back but on second thought I slip it inside my pocket. It’s a memento of Dad I can carry around with me, after all, unlike the urn of ashes. I can even put Antonio’s marble inside it.
After closing the drawer, I proceed with my search for paper and after finally finding a notepad, I leave the room. Again, I pass by the library and this time, before I know it, my gaze lands on the divan.
Is that… a stain on it?
I frown. Should I try to get it out? After all, I can’t just leave it there, not when I might live in this house and work in this library, but I don’t really know how to get stains out of furniture, especially that kind of stain. Should I ask the housekeeper who comes here once a week to do it? But that would be embarrassing. Maybe it’s better to throw the thing out. Then again, I’m not sure I’m ready to part with anything in this house just yet.
I let out a sigh before heading towards the door.