Free Ready for You by Celia Juliano Page A

Chiara’s mouth, every dart of her eyes, every nervous movement of her hands.
     
    “Now,” Mrs. Buffone said, “Will you get that recipe for me, Sabrina?
     
    Sabrina rose, put her plate in the sink, and took a paper off the counter. “Here,” she said, handing it to Chiara.
     
    “Thanks.”
     
    Sabrina cleared the table and started on the dishes.
     
    “Do you want some help?” Chiara said.
     
    “No thanks,” Sabrina said.
     
    “I spoke to your mother the other day,” Mrs. Buffone said. Chiara nodded. She hadn’t talked to her mom since the boys’ last day of school, almost a week ago. “I invited her to my birthday party this Saturday. I hope you and your family will be able to join us.”
     
    “Thank you, I’ll need to ask my husband.” Mrs. Buffone inclined her head. “It’s kind of you to include us.”
     
    “It’s Grandma’s sixty-fifth. Grandpa wants her to fill the house, old friends and new, the whole family,” Sabrina said as she dried her hands on a dishtowel.
     
    Chiara smiled. There was no way she could go, definitely not with Phil, and not with her parents there either. Too risky. “I should go. I need to pick up the boys.”
     
    She rose and returned Mrs. Buffone’s and Sabrina’s hugs. She tugged at the bottom of her tee. How much she wished for in-laws like this, caring and inclusive. “Thanks again for lunch,” she said as they walked her out. She tucked the recipe in her purse.
     
    “We enjoyed your company,” Mrs. Buffone said. “We’ll hope to see you Saturday.”
     
    Chiara smiled and went to her car. On the way to pick up the boys, her mind wandered. She even missed the street for the nature park where their camp was and had to turn around. The Buffones were good people. She shouldn’t be meeting Rocco. He must know it wasn’t right. But then so did she and she kept seeing him. Was he feeling the same irresistible pull? Or did he not have the same moral code as his family? Surely he didn’t kiss every woman the way he had her. She tried to listen as the boys told her about their day as they drove home, but sometimes she had to ask them to repeat themselves because the idea to call Rocco blipped in her mind like a smoke detector when the batteries get low.
     
    The boys wanted to go to the park, which distracted her. She always kept a close eye on them at the busy community park, with its four playgrounds, water feature, picnic areas, and three different levels. They soon found some friends from school and Chiara chatted with their moms. Before, she used to imagine how happy everyone else was, what great sex they probably had, guilty over how patient they were with their kids. Now those thoughts still swirled in her mind but with the added debris of guilt over wanting Rocco. No, it wasn’t just the wanting, she admitted as she drove home, the boys whining in the back. It was the meetings, the kissing, the giddy hope she’d felt a few hours before.
     
    “If I hear one more word of whining,” Chiara snapped as she hastily unbuckled the boys from their seats, “you will both be on time out until dinner.”
     
    “Okay, Mommy,” Max said in his quietest voice while Danny glared at her and stomped to the door.
     
    She let them watch a video while she made dinner. Phil would eat reluctantly. He liked curried chicken thighs or Kung Pao chicken, not boneless skinless chicken breast lightly breaded with a delicate lemon flavor. Nor was he much for salad and roasted potatoes. He didn’t like Italian food, either. When they first dated, Chiara was intrigued by his exotic tastes and tales of his travels in Asia. But as the years passed, so did the novelty. Now she realized she wanted someone more like her favorite uncle, Max, a man who was kind, dependable, fun, and masculine. Even a comfortable irritation like her father or brother Tomaso seemed better than what she had with Phil.
     
    While she washed the dishes, she glanced out the window. Rocco paced