I’ll Look for You, Everywhere by Cameron Capello

Author:Cameron Capello [Capello, Cameron]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pan Macmillan
Published: 2024-06-25T17:00:00+00:00

29

MAGDALEN

‘How was last night?’ my mother asks from the windowsill. Her hand curls around a coffee mug, her wedding ring clinking against the ceramic as if tapping out the rhythm of an old tune only she can hear. Papa sits next to her, oblivious to the conversation, absorbed in a new report from the museum.

‘Interesting.’ I nod my head, looking down at my own coffee. Seeing myself in the dark liquid.

‘I heard Anika and Dante come home,’ she says in a sigh laced with accusation. With curiosity. What she really wants to say is: Since when do you do things more reckless than Dante?

‘Cinzia didn’t hear Theo come home, either,’ she says, and I go still, unable to think of an excuse fast enough.

‘Someone was out late,’ she pushes. I move my gaze from my coffee to the stained oak table, not ready to look up at her yet. Last night’s alcohol and this morning’s regret swirl inside my stomach in a nauseating cycle. Since when the fuck does Dante come home before me?

‘Couldn’t sleep,’ I get out, as she sets the mug down. Her ring is now tapping against the bench. I know this is a signal of impatience. Warning me to confess, or else. Or else. What could possibly be or else any more? Else was a terrifying threat once. But now? Hit me. Ground me. Bury me deep in the garden until I decompose and something beautiful becomes of me. I want to feel something besides this sickly shame that grows with each passing second. Give me else.

I crave my innocence. I want it back. A tear burns at the corner of my eye. Use me, Mag.

‘Your dress was tight last night,’ she continues, not waiting for my reply. ‘Girls in tight dresses are dangerous for men,’ she tsks. ‘Even Dexter noticed, right, amore? I saw him looking.’

My father huffs something unintelligible. He’s very good at tuning her out when he needs to.

My mother seems to always know how low I feel and want to see more of it, prodding at my pain. I wonder what I must’ve done to trigger her intolerance. Was I too quiet where she was loud? Too skinny in the places she felt heaviest? She sets her cup down in the sink. A tear slips angrily off of my cheek, plummeting into my coffee. I take a long sip, gulping down my own weakness.

She groans as she rises from the bench. ‘Be careful, amore.’ This time she says it condescendingly. Her hand drags down against my hair, her ring getting caught in the strands, and she pretends not to realize it and tugs until I wince. I look down to see she’s exposed the hickeys. I want to say something, but she’s already gone, the sound of her slippers dragging against the tiles. I hold my breath until she leaves.

When I hear the lock on her bedroom door click into place, my breath stays stuck in my throat, unwilling to escape. Papa looks up at me and smiles.

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