Page 12 of Just Ten Seconds

I take a sip of coffee and contemplate how a three-month courtship lasted through sixty years of marriage. “All because he could dance, huh?”

Her face twists into a funny expression as her hand rises, palm up. “Meet a man you can dance with, and you’ll always be happy.”

I smile into my cup. “That’s good advice.”

“You see that cabinet over there?” She points to a sideboard cabinet that her television sits on top of in the living room. It’s cherry wood with floral scrolls etched onto the sides. “That was my mother’s. Vincenzo and I were married at the Church of the Most Precious Blood, and then we went to my mother’s house for cake. She served our wedding cake on that table. When I had my babies, we served their christening cake on it too.” She wistfully looks off, her eyes dancing at a memory or two of beautiful days when cake was served. She turns back to me and adds, “When my Vincenzo died, it held a fruit platter. I much prefer the cake.”

I nod in understanding. When I packed my two suitcases, I didn’t pack my navy-blue pantsuit. It was the one I had worn the day Benjamin moved into his new office. We had drunk champagne and made love on his desk. It was also the suit I had worn to the murder trial. I prefer the champagne.

She hands me another cookie from the package. “So, what about you? Faccia bella should have a husband.”

What she doesn’t know is that I had one. One I loved very much.

“Rita,” I start and pause, unsure of exactly what I’m asking. “How did you move on when you lost your husband?”

“The church. They had a group for people who had lost their loved ones. I didn’t like it at first. What am I going to do, sit in a room full of strangers and talk about my dead husband? They didn’t know him.” Her head sways from side to side, her arms making a juggling motion until they fall as if the decision was made. “I went. And it was nice. It was very nice to be able to talk to people who knew what I was going through. Maybe you should go to a group for whatever it is that plagues you so.”

Her kindness is endearing.

“What do I need a group of strangers for? I have you.”

She waves me off. “I’m not doing very well. You never have a man over.”

Thank goodness I’m not eating again because I definitely would have choked. “Stop spying on my lack of a love life. And I’m shocked to think you’d want me to have a man over. You know, not being married and all.”

“I’m not saying sleep around, but a man’s company isn’t a bad thing.”

I appreciate her concern. I do. It’s just that I have a hard time relaying my thoughts to people. I had a life. A beautiful one that was filled with so much promise … so many promises … and one day, it just ended.

I shake my shoulders and try to let go of the thoughts. “Rita, I’m trying to move away from all that. Not stew in it.”

“I never liked stew. What is that, beef and carrots? Crazy Irish dish.”

I laugh out loud. “I suppose it is.”

She leans forward and places her hands around mine. They’re cold yet smooth with a firm grasp as they squeeze to convey her message. “You are a very sweet girl. You deserve good things.”

I close my eyes and nod, feeling the calming of her touch and the genuine concern she has. Only someone who had a wonderful marriage as bright as hers would wish for the same thing for someone else. I want it all—to fall in love again, get married, have babies, and serve as much cake as I can.

Problem is, my feet are stuck in the mud, and I’m having a hard time with moving forward.

Rita lifts a hand and gives me a light slap on the cheek.

“What was that for?” I ask.

She waves a finger as she gets up and walks into the kitchen. “You lied. You didn’t eat. Now, I make you a plate.”

I call out, “I’ll never meet a husband if you keep fattening me up.”

She pokes her head out. “Then, don’t look to marry a skinny man.”

With a glass of ice water and my Alexa playing songs from The Greatest Showman soundtrack, I’m on the internet, watching celebrity audition tapes. From a buzz-cut Seth Rogen trying out for Freaks and Geeks to Steve Carell’s winning tape for The Office, I watch hundreds. I even watch some of the tapes of people who didn’t get the role, like Gwyneth Paltrow’s audition for Jurassic Park lacked feeling and Jeremy Sisto’s for Titanic … I mean, anyone other than Leo is just unimaginable.

I don’t do this every night. Last night, I watched Matthew McConaughey give a speech to the Film Society of Lincoln Center on starting out in the film industry. The best part was listening to his drawl.

As I watch Emma Stone’s bedside video for Easy A, I glance at the picture beside my computer, the only one I have from my previous life. It’s of me and my mom back in my hometown in Queens, New York. I have a huge grin, and my eyes are wide and bright. My mom has her arm firmly wrapped around my shoulders. It was opening night of my first play, Annie. I was cast in the title role and killed it, if I do say so myself.

I was known around the neighborhood as the future star. The one to watch. When I graduated with a performing arts degree from Syracuse, it was with stars in my eyes and an eagerness to take on the world. I got some roles as extras on television shows and soon had a SAG-AFTRA card. I took acting lessons by day and waitressed at night to pay the bills.