Chapter 8 - TABLE TWELVE, ONE YEAR LATER
A year after the night Leo reached for me, I was back at Table Twelve.
Still working at Aurelia.
Only three nights a week now.
Classes consumed the others.
Leo was nearly two.
He talked constantly.
Most of it incomprehensible.
His clearest words were:
“Dada.”
“Juice.”
“No.”
And unfortunately:
“Ava.”
I pretended not to adore that.
Luca came for dinner.
No entourage.
One security professional waited near the entrance because some realities did not disappear simply because a man changed.
Leo sat in a high chair.
I approached.
“Good evening, gentlemen.”
“Ava!”
Leo launched a bread roll.
I caught it.
“Your manners have declined.”
Luca smiled.
“He learned from you.”
“I have excellent manners.”
“You insulted me during our first meeting.”
“You survived.”
Barely.
Things between us had remained careful.
We became friends.
Not fake friends.
Real ones.
He helped me study anatomy by holding flash cards and pronouncing half the words incorrectly.
I watched Leo when Luca had late board meetings.
He attended my community-college pinning ceremony when I completed a certification milestone.
I attended the first public launch of Moretti Freight under its new independent compliance structure.
People still whispered about him.
Probably always would.
But whispering no longer defined what happened inside his home.
That night at Aurelia marked something important.
One year since Sofia had been trying to meet me.
We reserved Table Twelve in her memory.
Luca brought her photograph.
I brought Claire’s.
We placed them side by side for exactly one minute.
Then Leo tried to eat one.
Ceremony over.
After dinner, Luca asked:
“Do you want to walk?”
“With Leo?”
“He falls asleep in the stroller.”
“You have definitely become a father.”
“I used to mock strollers.”
“Growth.”
We walked along Rittenhouse Square.
Cold evening.
City lights.
Leo fell asleep.
Luca and I sat on a bench.
“Rocco was sentenced today.”
I turned.
Luca had not told me.
“How long?”
“Enough.”
His voice carried no satisfaction.
“Do you feel better?”
“No.”
“Worse?”
“No.”
“What then?”
He thought.
“Finished.”
I understood.
Some chapters do not end with joy.
They simply stop demanding pages.
Luca looked at me.
“You?”
“I’m sad.”
“For Rocco?”
“For everyone.”
Claire.
Anthony.
Sofia.
Luca.
Leo.
Even Rocco, in some distant human way.
One man’s fear and greed had distorted decades.
Luca nodded.
Then:
“I’ve been seeing someone.”
My chest dropped.
“Oh.”
One word.
Very mature.
“She’s a grief counselor.”
Relief hit so hard I nearly laughed.
“You’re terrible.”
“What?”
“You said seeing someone.”
“I am seeing her.”
“In therapy.”
“Yes.”
“That phrasing should be illegal.”
He smiled.
“It’s helping.”
“Good.”
“She says I need to stop treating happiness like disloyalty.”
I became very still.
“What do you think?”
“I think she charges too much.”
“Luca.”
He looked at me.
“I think she’s right.”
My heartbeat changed.
He continued.
“I also think wanting you does not mean I wanted Sofia less.”
I looked toward sleeping Leo.
“No.”
“And you loving Leo doesn’t mean you’re trying to become his mother.”
“No.”
“And if we ever…”
He stopped.
I waited.
“If we ever become something, it has to be because we choose each other.”
“Not because Leo chose me first.”
Luca smiled.
“Exactly.”
I took a breath.
“You’re getting annoyingly healthy.”
“I hate it.”
I laughed.
Then he reached for my hand.
He did not kiss me.
That mattered.
He waited.
I laced my fingers through his.
We sat that way for ten minutes.
No declaration.
No dramatic promise.
Just permission.
Three months later, we went on our first actual date.
Not Aurelia.
Too much history.
A terrible little taco restaurant where nobody recognized Luca.
He loved it.
I hated cilantro.
Sofia would have approved.
We talked about rules.
Yes, rules.
No hiding money.
No using security to learn where I was unless there was an actual safety issue.
No making decisions “for my protection” without me.
No comparing me to Sofia during arguments.
No pretending Sofia did not exist to make romance easier.
Luca added one.
“No jokes when you are actually upset.”
“That is discrimination.”
“Avery.”
“Fine.”
We failed sometimes.
I joked.
He controlled.
I withdrew.
He overcorrected.
Then we talked.
It was exhausting.
Apparently healthy relationships involve a horrifying amount of communication.
Grace found this hilarious.
A year later, I finished my degree.
Luca sat in the audience with Leo on his shoulders.
Yes.
On his shoulders.
The feared Luca Moretti walking through a college gymnasium while a toddler pulled his hair.
When my name was called, Leo screamed:
“AVA!”
Everyone laughed.
I cried.
Afterward Luca gave me a box.
I glared.
“If this is expensive—”
“It cost thirty dollars.”
Inside was a silver picture frame.
Claire on one side.
Sofia on the other.
Between them, an empty space.
“What goes there?”
I asked.
“Whatever comes next.”
My eyes filled.
That answer felt like love.
Not replacement.
May you like
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