Mauro stood in the doorway, cone still clutched in his hand, as Mary's father let out a low, bitter laugh.
—Who's this? he asked, not really expecting an answer. His focus was more on the beer can in his hand than on the two standing before him.
—Another one of your useless friends?
The air thickened, and Mary felt as though the ground beneath her had shifted. Mauro, calm on the surface, though his eyes had darkened, stood slowly, discreetly moving the cone out of sight.
—I don't think we need to keep bothering you. We were just about to leave anyway, sir.
Mauro's voice was steady, too steady, masking the awkward tension with a thin veil of control.
Mary's father grunted, collapsing onto the couch, eyes already glued to the TV, not bothering to acknowledge them anymore.
Mary's heart pounded with a mix of embarrassment and dread. She stepped closer to Mauro, her words low and tight.
—Let's go to my room."
The two walked in silence, the weight of her father's disapproval heavy between them. Before they could disappear behind the door, his voice reached out like a hook.
—Mary, this isn't a hotel, remember that.
He grumbled, not even turning his head. The implied reproach stung more than the words themselves.
Once inside her room, Mary shut the door carefully and leaned against it, exhaling slowly. Her hands shook, and her eyes were glossy with barely contained tears. She didn't want Mauro to see her like this. No one should.
Mauro sat down on the edge of the bed, his usual playful demeanor softened, almost thoughtful.
—Is it always like this?
he asked, his voice unusually gentle but with an edge of seriousness she wasn't used to hearing from him.
Mary nodded, unable to meet his eyes
. —Yeah... lately, more than before.— Her voice cracked, and for a moment, she felt like a dam about to burst.
Mauro watched her with a quiet sympathy, the kind that didn't need words. Then, with a smirk that was more for her than for him, he broke the silence.
—Well, at least your dad didn't throw a bottle at me. I'd call that progress,
he said, trying to lighten the mood.
A bitter laugh escaped her lips, but it only brought tears closer.
—Thanks...
she murmured, not sure how else to express the tangled mess of emotions she was feeling.
—Don't thank me,—Mauro replied with his usual humor, though his eyes were warmer, softer. —I still owe you for not burning the pasta earlier.
Mary sat down next to him, the weight of the day, her father, everything pressing down on her. But somehow, with Mauro beside her, things felt just a little less unbearable.
As the rain continued to tap softly against the window, Mary couldn't shake the feeling that today, what started in laughter, was just the calm before a far bigger storm.
Mauro checked his phone, eyes widening when he saw the time.
—Fuck!, I really should go
He ran a hand through his hair, giving her a sheepish smile.
—But thanks for today. I needed it. Really. We should do it again.
Mary forced a smile, trying to pull the day's lighter moments back to the surface.
YOU ARE READING
Dear M
RomanceM is that guy who always has a smile on his face, even when life's throwing major family drama his way. One day, he crosses paths with a shy girl and pulls her into his friend group, helping her break out of her shell. Over time, their friendship gr...
