Fall from India Place (On Dublin Street #4)(13)
Author: Samantha Young

He nodded, a scowl forming on his handsome face. “My mom’s big brother. My aunt Gabby is Scottish Italian, but her dad is originally from Chicago. She came for a visit years ago and my uncle Gio fell for her. They came up with the idea for the restaurant, her parents had capital, he moved here with her, and D’Alessandro’s was born.”

Silence fell between us and I suddenly felt awkward touching him. I dropped my hand and settled back against the bench. My eyes moved down the long sprawl of his legs, and I thought that if he’d wanted to, Marco could have fought back. He didn’t. Out of respect or refusal to be brought down to his uncle’s level, I didn’t know. I just knew it made me care about him even more.

“Is this why you texted me?” My voice sounded loud in the darkening gardens.

“Nah. I texted you to hang out with me. To talk.”

I laughed softly. “You? Talk?”

I felt warm all over at the sight of his grin. “I talk. I just did, didn’t I?”

“I suppose. But you’re really more of a listener.”

“Whatever.” He shook his head at me, still grinning.

Wanting to keep him smiling, I attempted some easier conversation. “Well, you said talk, so I’m going to make you talk more.”

“Yeah?”

I nodded, turning to the side and stretching my arm out along the back of the bench. Marco shifted slightly, turning his body in toward mine. “Let me see… okay. What’s your favorite song?”

“‘Dirt Off Your Shoulder’ – Jay Z.”

I burst out laughing and his smile widened. “You’re lying.”

He shrugged.

“Seriously? Favorite song?”

Marco sighed, rubbing his hand over his head. He seemed almost self-conscious as he replied, “‘Hurt’ by Nine Inch Nails.”

“I’ve never heard of it.” But I’d definitely be YouTube-ing it when I got home.

“It’s good. Real, you know.” He shifted again so he was sitting to the side, facing me. “Nonna’s neighbor died and her son inherited the house. He was a big Nine Inch Nails fan. He’d blast that music, pissing off Nonno and half the neighborhood. Nonno sent me over one afternoon when I was twelve to tell the guy to shut it off. But when I got there ‘Hurt’ was playing. I’d never really paid that much attention to lyrics until that moment. Didn’t get how they could be like a letter someone wrote to you… to let you know you weren’t alone.”

For some reason this brought tears to my eyes. I’d never wanted to protect someone the way I wanted to protect him. I thought if he saw, he would resent it. But sitting there with him, looking into his eyes as he looked into mine, I knew Marco could discern how I felt about him. And for once he didn’t walk away. Instead, his expression softened, his eyes warmed, and he asked, “What’s your favorite song?”

I beat back the wetness in my eyes and smiled. “I grew up listening to Bob Dylan. My mum’s a huge fan. Have you listened to him?”

Marco shook his head. “Not really.”

“‘Blowin’ in the Wind.’ That’s my favorite song. It’s kind of a sad song, but it doesn’t remind me of sad times. It reminds me of day trips to the Highlands with the whole family, or lazing around on a Saturday afternoon, just Mum and me. I suppose sometimes it’s the memories associated with the song rather than the song itself that makes it a favorite.”

“That sounds cool. I’m glad you have a cool family, Hannah. You deserve that.”

I frowned at the seeming insinuation behind his words. “So do you, Marco.”

When he didn’t reply, I pushed the frustration over not being able to help him with his family life aside, and asked, “Favorite movie?”

I saw his cheek lift into a smile again and I relaxed. “Training Day.”

“I haven’t seen it.”

“We’ll fix that oversight. What about you?”

“My favorite movie? Or my real favorite movie?”

He chuckled. “Both.”

“The movie I tell everyone is my favorite is Dead Poets Society. It’s a great movie, but it’s really my mum’s favorite movie.”

“And yours?”

I felt my cheeks heat a little. “Okay, you can’t tell anyone.”

He laughed. “How bad is this?”

“It’s Finding Nemo.”

Marco grinned. “It’s not that bad.”

“Out of all the movies of all time, I choose Finding Nemo. An animation,” I reminded him.

He shrugged. “I chose Training Day. It’s not what everyone else holds up as a great movie – your favorite movie is one you enjoy a lot. A movie you can watch over and over again because for whatever reason you get something out of it.”

“You’re right. You’re completely right. From now on I’m owning up to Finding Nemo.”

“Oh, I never said that,” he teased. “Keep that shit to yourself until you’re out of high school.”

“Hey!” I punched him playfully on the arm and he burst out laughing. Watching him, knowing I’d lifted his mood, made me feel like someone had wrapped us up in a warm cocoon. The connection between us had strengthened. “Next question. Favorite book?”

Marco grimaced comically. “Like I read.”

“You’ve at least read something, right?”

He laughed and deflected the question. “What’s your favorite book?”

“To Kill a Mockingbird.”

Something I didn’t understand glittered in the back of his eyes. “Nice choice.”

“Aha, you’ve read it!”

Marco smiled and shrugged.

“I don’t know if shrugging constitutes an answer where you come from, Chicago Boy, but here it doesn’t qualify.”

“Them be a whole lot of big words, smart girl. Ma small brain ain’t be knowing what yer talkin’ about.”

I burst out into surprised laughter. Marco was often sarcastic and he enjoyed the ironic, but this side of him, this joking side of him, was rare to see. “Stop avoiding the question.”

I waited for him to stop grinning. As the smile slipped from his face, there was something new and intense in his expression. Our eyes held and the air thickened between us. “To Kill a Mockingbird,” he told me softly.

His confession seared me to my very soul. It might not seem like something to anyone else that we shared the same favorite book but right then, in the growing dark, it felt like everything.