Ren

APRIL 2010

"Babe? Gio? Are you home?"

"I'm in here, Bellissima. Get in here!" Gio calls from the kitchen. There are discarded basil leaves on the counter and a pot of boiling water on the stove. Gio is scooping out pesto into a bowl from the Cuisinart. He's always home before I am, so most nights, he's been making us dinner—I love it! I come in next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder, and give him a quick kiss on his cheek. 

"How was your day, baby?" I ask, and he grins ear to ear. "What?"

He sets the spatula down and suddenly picks me up by the waist spinning me around once before setting me down. "Bella, you did it!"

"What?" I ask again, laughing with him.

"The ad you did. It was published yesterday, and I already got two calls!"

"You did?"

"They said my website was great. They are big jobs too! I visited one this afternoon. It is in the hills: a big house with beautiful mature landscaping. They want things pruned and spruced up, new things added, and they easily accepted my new pricing. But bella, the other one. The other is a new property ground-up construction, all new landscaping, and they want me to design it."

"Really? Gio, that's fantastic!" I gush, jumping back into his arms and giving him a big hug.

"It's amazing, but I never would have done something like that if it weren't for you," he says, pulling me back, catching my eyes with his sincerely. " I'm nervous, though. I've never designed something like this before. But, this job could lead to more with the contractor if I'm good."

"Which you will be."

"But I don't have drafting software. They'll want something that looks professional."

"Your mom didn't have computer drafting. How did she do it?" 

"She hand drew plans and used watercolor to color them in, they looked amazing, but I've tried that before. Mine look terrible."

"I'll help you. I love watercolor. Baby, this is so exciting! We should cheers to your success." I bound away from him and dig around in the fridge for a wine bottle.

"Come on, Bella. We said we'd cut down on the mid-week drinking."

"We'll just have one, okay? This is a celebration!" I say, slamming the fridge door and uncorking a half-drunk bottle with a pop. I pour us two glasses. "Here's to you and Metric Landscape and Design!"

"Here's to us," he corrects, clinking his glass with mine. We take a sip and get back to cooking, grating the parmesan. "Anyway, how was your day?"

"Terrible," I huff and take a sizable gulp of my wine. Gio might not have another glass, but I'm definitely going to. "They need to hire another graphic designer. I barely keep up, and Olivia is helping me almost daily."

"Well, if you guys are busy, why don't they hire another person?" he questions, stirring the cheese into the pesto.

"I don't know! It's so frustrating!" I groan, kicking off my shoes toward the front door. "I think Cheryl is still scared about the recession and likes operating under this slimmer model. She doesn't feel the heat. She's cashing in." I slump onto the counter stool at the end of the peninsula.

"Yeah, until you quit because you're overworked," he mumbles, pouring the dry pasta into the boiling pot.

True. Cheryl doesn't realize what she's got till it's gone.

"You should quit." 

"Hmm, what?" I say, half in my own thoughts and half in the conversation.

"You should start your own business, bella," he reiterates, turning around to face me."With your dad, just like you wanted to." 

I wave my hand in front of my face. "I can't do that yet." 

"Sure you could. Look what you did for me already," he beams, taking my hand. "I'm your first client. I'll leave you a five-star review!" 

"I'm not ready," I say, withdrawing my hand. "What if I don't get enough clients right away? I still have to pay rent."

His face lights up. "I'll move in! I can help you pay the rent and the other bills. I'm practically living over here anyway. It's hardly fair." 

Wow. That would be... amazing...

"Okay. But what about your truck and trailer? I don't think we have room here for all those in the parking lot, plus, you rely on that garage at Adam's house."

"Yeah...that's true..." he grumbles, wrinkling his nose at the obstacle I found to his great plan. He leans against the counter, thinking. "When's your lease up?"

"Um, six months from December would be... May. Then it goes month to month."

"Let's move!" he concludes, grinning.

"Move. To where? Rent's a lot more for houses with garages are a lot more than apartments."

"To the country!"

"Really?"

"Yeah, I miss it so much. West county's cheaper, we can look for a little two bedroom house with a garden and a garage. It'll be great! Come on," he coaxes me with his stunning eyes flickering. 

That all sounds so appealing, but is that really advisable? My head spins for a moment with the thought of moving in together after only two months. Shut it, my heart throbs, I'm just as ready as he is. 

"Okay." I bite my lip to hold back the jubilant excitement that's ready to burst. 

He cocks his head, his eyes big. "Really? You mean it?" 

"Yeah, let's do it!" And I grin so wide I'm sure it's pushing past the boundaries of my face.

"Bella, give your notice to your landlord next week." He thumps the counter with his fist in triumphant punctuation. "May is your last month!" 

♥︎♥︎♥︎

Gio didn't waste time. It's the last weekend in April, and he had three houses lined up to view today. We've already seen the first two, and they were okay. The first one was a little too run down, and the second was nicer on the inside but felt dark and a little too far out for my liking.

At this point, we are close to Bayfield—the little micro gold-rush town Gio grew up in, which is approximately three blocks square. Our stomachs are rumbling, and we have an hour til the next appointment, so we turn onto Bayfield Road and soon pull into the parking lot of Misty's—a 150-year-old cedar-sided roadhouse and the only public building left beside the old rundown Town Hall.

Gio pushes open the door with some effort and holds it for me as I pass through. Inside is homely with a big river-stone fireplace and cedar wood walls crammed with every imaginable thing from street signs and surfboards to old photographs and 80s memorabilia.

Gio's mom had been a regular here, and I had passed by countless times in high school, but it was the first time I'd ever been in the place. We sit down at one of the open tables by the windows. I'm amazed that it actually has quite a few people eating lunch here for how far out in the country it is. The girl behind the bar brings us water and menus.

"The BLTs are good here," Gio says without looking at the menu. "Get me one. I have to take a leak. That coffee went right through me."

Gio gets up and heads off down the hall. I look around for the waitress and spot her walking toward me, eyes averted. I try to catch her attention, but she sets the bill down on the table in front of me and jets straight back to the kitchen. My eyes land on the older gentleman now paying his bill in cash. I scan his face because I feel like I recognize him somehow. 

I watch him fold the receipt neatly and carefully place it into his wallet, and his gold pinky ring flashes in the sunlight. The man from the plane!

He puts his wallet away and slides his Gucci sunglasses back on. I realize I need to avert my eyes from him because, well... you know.  But it's too late. He makes eye contact with me and smiles. It's a done deal he's coming to talk to me; I can just tell.

"Hello again," he says with a familiar smile, coming up to the side of my table.

"Hi, small world," I say, throwing him a kind smile as well.

"Che fortuna," he responds in his thick accent. "What's your name? I don't think I ever asked you."

"Lauren,"

"Lau'ren. Bella. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl." I blush awkwardly at his remark. "I'm Carlo." He offers his hand, and I give mine. He holds it in his soft fingers gently and nods before releasing it.

"What are you doing out here?" finding it so odd to run into him all the way out in Bayfield. What are the chances?

"This is a memory place for me. I used to come here often with my family many years ago," he says sadly.

"I remember you mentioning your kids on the plane. How are they doing?" I ask to be friendly and let him know I was listening to our conversation.

"I, uh, I haven't seen them yet," he admits.

"Oh?" My heart sinks for him. 

"It's a long, sad story I won't bore you with," he sighs. "Well, I've got to get back to San Francisco, but it was very nice running into you again, Lauren. Ciao," he nods, giving me one more kind smile, which has a strange effect on me. 

I still have this strange, persistent feeling, like a slow drip waterboarding my brain, that I know him from more than just the plane. Yet, I know for sure I've never met an Italian Carlo before.

"Caio..." I respond slowly. He walks past me, and I hear the old door open and close loudly behind me. Just then, Gio swings into the seat opposite me, breaking me out of my thoughts.

"Did you order yet?" 

"No, um, she hasn't come by," I stumble over my words.

"Damn new servers," he sighs. "Well, I'm sorry those other two houses were a bust, but I saved the best for last!" he smiles. Gio's smile...

"Ren, are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Sorry. Where's the next one?"

♥︎♥︎♥︎

Gio wasn't kidding. It was love at first sight as we pulled into the driveway and drove up to a little 1920s two-bedroom cottage on half an acre just off Bayfield Road. It was only a ten-minute drive from West Hills Middle School, where Gio and I first met.

The chocolate-colored house had a robin-egg blue door and stood in the middle of a wide yard. The long un-mown spring green grass grew in great tufts around four mature apple trees in full bloom. Delicate pink blossoms fluttered off the trees in the light breeze.

I was already in love. Nothing says my hometown like apple trees. In the 1900s, my hometown was known for its apples. I distinctly remember stepping on rotten apples barefoot in the fall to get to my tree fort, picking goop out from between my toes without even caring. The apple orchards are almost all gone now, replaced by vineyards for the wine industry, so having a slice of my past in my yard again would make me so happy.

Gio shakes the hand of the woman landlord showing us the property, and he speaks with her briefly before she tells us to go ahead and have a look around. Gio puts his arm around me as we walk toward the front door. 

The interior is old, the paint is dingy, and the curtains are dated, but it has nice southern light streaming in, and I see the potential to make it really special. By the starry-eyed look on Gio's face, I know he sees it too. It has oak hardwood floors and original cabinetry, wide open archways from the living room to the dining room, a fireplace, and, best of all, even the cutest little telephone nook.

"Aw, look at how cute this is!" gesturing towards the niche like Vana White with my hands. "We can put a candle in here, our little jade hearts, and maybe a photo of us!"

"Very cute, bella," he placates me, patting my shoulder as he rolls his eyes. But then a smile sneaks out because he secretly loves it when I act all girlish and excited like this. 

Wrapping his arm around me to guide me out, he kisses my forehead. "Let's go take a look outside." 

So unlike me, Gio doesn't think the telephone nook is 'best of all' because it's evident by his vulgar ejaculation gesture he is clearly more enamored with the large detached two-car garage—big enough for his trailer, all his various tools, and his 'other baby'—his Corvette.

"What do you think, Bella?" he asks me, and we don't need words to discuss it. He can already tell by my eyes. 

"We love it. Can we fill out an application?" Gio asks.

We take the application and stand in the kitchen to fill it out on the counter. I even brought my checkbook for the deposit, just in case. Gio has me fill it out because he thinks my handwriting is better. I start filling out my information, and Gio's looking over my shoulder, watching me write out my full name.

"Sophia is your middle name? I like that. Wait! Your last name is Schemer now?" Gio comments incredulously, his nose wrinkling up.

"Um, yeah, I changed it when I got married."

"I don't like it," he says petulantly, and I laugh.

"I don't either." 

"You should change it then," he says matter-of-factly. "I like the sound of Lauren Sophia Regali much better," he says with a wink.

My eyes widen at his. The fuck did he just say?!! I did NOT just hear him say that!!

I can't even TELL you how many times I've written my name with his last name attached to it. Probably nearly a hundred times in my diaries and notebooks over the years. But hearing him say it out loud right now sends chills through me. It takes me a half a minute to come to.

"Uhhh, maybe I will..." I say, shaking my head out of its stunned haze. "One day." I pick up the pen to continue with the form.

"You better," he adds.

I turn my head slowly to stare at him. He's being playful with me, but he's also serious. He's trying to keep a straight face, but his jaw flexes, and a twinkle is in his eye. He breaks into a grin seeing how flustered he's making me, and all I can do is continue to stare at him.

"Relax. I'm not proposing!" he laughs, bumping my shoulder with his. "You need to get divorced properly first—pft!" he shakes his head, annoyed, but then softens his voice to say deeply, "But... if that wasn't an issue..." He pauses and bites his lip with a sexy smirk.

I seriously can't with this right now! We are signing a lease together. He's making me feel all kinds of ways! I take a breath, rub my face and try to get back to the task at hand.

"Ooo-Kay!" I can feel my face burning, but I ignore it. "What's a good email address." 

"Umm..." 

Weirdly, an embarrassed laugh escapes him, and I look up, my eyebrows knitting together.

"What's funny?"

"It's nothing." He tries to rearrange his face into a casual expression, but it's not working. Gio doesn't blush easily, but his cheeks are the ones tinging pink now. I raise my eyebrows.   

"Okay, fine... it's Metric underscore 81 at hotmail dot com," he says in a rush, scratching his neck behind his ear.

"You. Used." I say it slowly for effect just to torture him. "MY secret code name for you... as your email?"

 Now he's the one staring at me. "How long?" I press to embarrass him further.

Probably several years, seeing as it's a Hotmail address. He's been using my middle school crush name for his email for YEARS! What else has he used it for...?

"Um, I've had it.... a long time anyway, it sounds cool," he defends. "I've always loved that name for me," he mumbles, looking down.

"Okay." I bite back my smile. "But you still have Hotmail!!! Come on, babe, that and your defunct Nokia phone. You need a serious technology upgrade," I tease him as I tap the pen cheekily to his nose before I get back to filling out the form.

Giovanni...uh...I don't know his middle name either. How have we never asked each other this?

"What's your middle name?" 

"Carlo," Gio states simply, and all my hairs stand on end.

"Carlo?" I gasp.

"It's my dad's name. Haven't I ever told you that before?" he asks, confused as to why I'm reacting like I am.

I don't think I can open my eyes wider. "No!!" 

"Baby, what? Why are you looking at me like that," he asks, sensing my alarm.

"Gio... I think I talked to your dad today."

♥︎♥︎♥︎

https://youtu.be/ZygSJbakZDo