“See you then.”
I call Angelo back. “My brother is on his way.”
“Great, thanks.”
“Let me know if anything else comes up.”
“You’ll be the first to know.”
Angelo abruptly ends the call, which is fine. He’s busy. No need for formalities between us when we spend hours together or on the phone every day.
As always, I give thanks for Milo. He’s the best of the best, and everyone knows it. Milo would be perfect for Sofia and her little boy. He’s the sort of upstanding man she needs in her life.
That’s a depressing thought, but it’s the truth.
As I take a left turn and follow her into the parking lot at her apartment complex, I’m fully aware that my little brother is a far superior man. But I’m determined to be better for Sofia and for her son, even if that means changing everything about the life I’ve led up to now.
My gut clenches with concern for her living alone with her little boy in such a rough neighborhood. I haven’t been anywhere near here in years, and I liked it better when I didn’t know where she lives. Calling this place run-down would be generous.
I take a good look around as I park in a visitor spot and follow her up a flight of outdoor stairs to the second floor, toting the big bag of gifts from my grandmothers. Paint is chipping, one of the stairs sags under my weight, and I doubt the banister would stop anyone from taking a bad fall.
She juggles Mateo, who’s half asleep on her shoulder, and her purse as she uses her key in the door. She’d be incredibly vulnerable if someone wanted to harm her in the unlit corridor.
Is this place even up to code? Doubtful. Maybe I’ll make a call to the building inspector at city hall tomorrow and get them over here to do their freaking jobs. But then I remember it’s Christmas tomorrow, and no one will answer the phone at city hall. I’ll save that call for another day.
Sofia flips on a light inside the door and steps aside for me to go by her into a warm, cheerful, cozy space. I marvel at how she’s made the most of every square inch of the place to create a home for herself and her son.
“This is so nice.” She’s asked me to speak to her in English so she can continue to learn.
“Oh, thanks. If you can ignore the outside, it’s not so bad.”
It’s really bad outside, but she doesn’t need me to tell her that.
She turns the dead bolt and applies the chain lock. Both look sturdy, which is a relief. “Let me just get him down.”
“Take your time.”
“His gifts are in that closet.” She uses her chin to gesture to a door. “If you want to get started.”
I wish I’d thought to bring tools. “Sure. I can do that.”
“I have a few tools in the drawer by the fridge.”
“You read my mind.”
Her smile lights up her gorgeous face and makes my heart skip a beat, which is another thing that never happened to me until she happened to me.
“Be right back.”
As my Nona would say, there’s not a pin out of place in the apartment, which is clean and ruthlessly organized. A poster on the wall lists the seven rules of life: Smile, Be Kind, Don’t Give Up, Don’t Compare, Avoid Negativity, Make Peace with Your Past, Take Care of Your Body and Mind.
Words to live by, for sure.
Another poster has a quote from Maya Angelou: “People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”
That one makes me feel guilty over the broken hearts I’ve left in my wake. I’m not proud of my track record with women, but the one thing I’ll say in my own defense is I’ve never made any kind of promise to a woman. If they read more into casual encounters than I did, how is that my fault?
It’s not, but I could’ve been less of a dick in my dealings with them. That much is for certain.