My Journey with Farrah - Alana Stewart [46]
As I sat alone in his beautiful, romantic, candle-lit restaurant, I started to feel deeply sad. I’d come back to Germany thinking it was going to be like the last two times with Mimmo, but this trip has been different. Before, our relationship was romantic and sexy and lighthearted. Now, it’s…I don’t know exactly. Sad, I guess. Just sad.
He joined me and ate his dinner. He showed me his new cell phone and told me about the new five-hundred-Euro bicycle he’d bought today. I wonder if he spoke English or if my Italian was more fluent, would the conversation be so superficial? Sadly, I fear it would.
As the conversation progressed, we began to talk about Sean, and Mimmo was saying how much Sean loves me. I said it was a pity Mimmo and his mother weren’t close. He’s told me before how they always clashed and that his nonna (grandmother) was more like a mother to him.
“Psychologists,” I said to him, “say that men who don’t have good relationships with their mothers have problems in relationships with women.”
“I don’t have problems. I have had a lot of relationships,” he said.
“That’s my point,” I countered. “Lots, maybe, but none lasting.”
“Women are too difficult,” he said. “They always want to know where you are, what you’re doing, who you’ve talked to.”
I told him, jokingly but meaning it, that that was because he’s selfish. Egoista in Italian. He always does what he wants, when he wants.
“When you’re at my house in L.A., I ask you every day what you want to do,” I said. “I don’t just go off and do things alone.”
He said, “But I always do everything you ask me to do when you’re here. When have I ever said no to anything?”
“But I never ask you to do anything!” I countered.
“But I would, though.”
“Okay,” I said, knowing full well he was looking forward to a sunny Sunday so he could go ride his new bike in the mountains all day. “Farrah and I would love to go to the lake on Sunday.” I smiled sweetly.
“Well, I will, if you really want to,” he said, trying to mean it, but looking like he was being asked to sacrifice his right arm.
“You’d die!” I said, laughing.
“Well,” he said sheepishly, “what about Saturday afternoon?”
I just laughed again. I’d made my point.
I was going to walk back to the clinic, but he insisted on driving me. He’d even prepared food for me to take to Farrah. Outside, walking to the car, he stopped me and asked, “Potete darmi un bacio?” (Can you give me a kiss?) Then, “You don’t kiss me anymore.”
When I got out of the car at the clinic, I kissed him on the cheek and thanked him for dinner and for Farrah’s food. Heading back into the clinic, I found that feeling of sadness creeping back in. I stopped by Farrah’s room, and we talked while she ate. I told her what had happened and she listened thoughtfully.
“I’m not sure he’s mentally stimulating enough for me,” I said. “Maybe it’s the language barrier, but even so, how much time can you spend talking about cell phones and bicycles?”
Just talking it over with Farrah was helpful, but I think both of us are beginning to think this relationship has possibly run its course.
June 18, 2008
We were supposed to be coming home to L.A. today. Now it looks like we’ll be here at least another week, if not more. Dr. Jacob just told me that Farrah has been really sick all night. She started throwing up at 4 A.M. and it continued on for hours. She’s finally sleeping now.
I remember Dr. Jacob saying to me the other day that there was always the possibility of an unexpected setback if some kind of complication or infection occurred. That’s always in the back of my mind now.
Later
Cancer is the great leveler of humanity. It doesn’t care if you’re a superstar or a housemaid. Everyone suffers the same indignities, although it must be a great plus if one has the money to afford the best doctors and the best care.
I’ve seen it now, up close