The Line Between Us

ChapterFive

Angelo’s POV

“Hey, Angelo,” Lucienne calls from the landing of the stairs. She is leaning against the railing, a sad smile in her eyes. She pats the space beside her, urging me to join her.

My lips move automatically. It has always been my defence mechanism, especially in the last five years. And it works. It has kept me at Harvard without the need to go home. But now, I doubt that will work with Lucienne.

She has always been able to read through me.

“I know you have your medicine book or something to read.” She sounds really tired, like she is doing all she can to hang in there. “But can you just sit with your aunt for a few minutes? I missed you.”

So, I do as she asks, plopping in next to her. She releases a breath, her hand pinching her knees and her hair in a messy bun. Lucienne used to glow so bright. It is one of the things I liked about her.

Despite the fact that she used to fight a lot with my mother, she never let it affect who she was. I remember all those holidays where she would clean her tears hastily the minute I walked in, demanding cookies.

She never took her issues with my mother out on me or Dante. I thought Luca and Noel were so lucky to have her.

For my mom, it has always been a different ball game. It has been there for as long as I can remember, but as I grew older, it got much worse. She seems to be angry with me for something I have no idea of.

At first, I tried talking to her, asking questions. But they were all met with blocks until I just stopped entirely and decided to stay away. She keeps pitching Dante against me. I tried to hold on to my brother for as long as I could.

But eventually, his mother won.

Our mother won.

“I like this time of the night,” Lucienne whispers. “It is peaceful and I do not have to bump into the kids… Well, sometimes I bump into Luca when he’s looking for a smoke.” And then she turns to me. “Do you know that he does that?”

I know, because I was the first one to start it. Each time I visited Luca at Yale, he joined me for a smoke until he started doing it all on his own. Maybe I am a bad influence. Or maybe that was just me trying to prove to my dad that I am not as perfect as he thinks I am.

But I am too emotionally drained to do anything about it right now.

“How are you doing, Lucienne?” I mutter instead, steering the conversation to the one she needs the most. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, honey.” Her voice breaks, but she keeps going. “You know, Mark was the most amazing person I’d ever met. He let me shine so bright that nothing else mattered. And now…”

I wrap my hand around her shoulders, pulling her into my warmth. I want her to know it's fine to cry. I want to be that person to her. But I’m not sure I can be. I have nothing to offer.

“I loved Mark too,” I say. “I didn’t see a lot of him, but I saw him through you, Luca, and Noel. And I know he loved you all. He would never have wanted to leave you.”

Lucienne pulls away from me gingerly. “Forget about me, honey. What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

She lifts a hand, placing it tenderly on my cheeks. I grow rigid under her touch. “Angelo, you are different. I know we haven’t seen each other for so long, but the kid I knew was happier.”

“The kid grew,” I place my hand atop hers, slowly leaning away from it.

“You don’t have to act all grown around me,” she breathes. “We used to be very close. You used to tell me everything. So, what’s different now?”

I want to say something, but of what use is it now?

“I’m fine, Lucienne,” I mutter, getting on my feet as soon as the door in the distance opens. “Goodnight.”

I get up before my mother even notices I am there, walking into the hallway and down to the door beside Noelia’s. Shrugging out of my clothes, I head into the shower immediately, drowning out the rest of the house with the light tapping on the floor.

My hands lay flat against the wall as the water runs through my hair. I have thought about it so hard that I had to stop. The reason for my mother’s hostility against me. Why I still feel it even in Greenwich. If this was a wrong idea to start with.

If I should just pack my things and leave. I have paid my condolences.

But I know the one thing stopping me, even if I am yet to admit it to myself.

And as if on cue, I hear her door open and then close a second later. Lying down on the huge bed, I turn my face the other way, finally opening my phone for the first time since I got here.

There are ten missed calls from Clara and five messages. She wants to know if I got here safely, and if Roselyn's seeing her sister has reduced some of the hostility. Clara is one of those who believe that I must have done something wrong.

Maybe she is right.

I send her a quick text because I am in no mood to have a conversation with her.

‘I’m fine. I arrived in Greenwich a while ago. Everyone’s good.’

Hitting the send button, I turn off my phone and push it away from me, closing my eyes. But after what seems like an eternity of forcing myself to go to sleep, I give up, pulling away from the bed and sliding my feet into the flip-flops.

The plan is to go get a glass of water, yet I stop in front of her door.