10: The Little House (2)

Mario was trying to spear the last half peach from the jar.
"Is this a peach or a giant orange olive? It keeps slipping away!"
Marta sat with her legs bent and pulled up against the chair's crossbar, hand over her mouth to keep from laughing.
"It's the fork — it's older than Methuselah and the prongs don't grip anymore. Perfectly normal." She explained.
"What do you want to do now?" Mario tilted the jar to pin the last piece against the fork. "It's Saturday afternoon — do you have anything in mind?"
Marta pulled her legs all the way up onto the chair until she could wrap her arms around them. She tilted her head and bit her lip, playful.
"Hold you."
Such a simple word caught Mario so off guard that he let go of the jar, the peach, and the fork.
"I'm sorry?"
"I want to hold you, kiss you, touch you—" she shrugged, looking upward as though stating something blindingly obvious that no one else could see — "feel you for as long as I can."
Mario stretched out his legs, his arms, and let his head fall back — completely undone.
"And I you, Marta — but how about, I don't know, a walk?"
"That sounds nice. We can stop at the shop and pick up something for dinner tonight and breakfast tomorrow."
Mario straightened up and studied her carefully. Every line of her face seemed like something worth preserving.
"What?" Marta noticed — partly because she had been watching him with the same intensity. She raised a hand and ran it through her hair. "Have I got something?"
"What do you want me to say?" Mario steadied himself and rested his elbows on the table. "Do you want the lie or the truth?"
Marta climbed down from her chair and onto him, answering with a kiss.
"We could walk holding hands." She suggested.
Mario raised an eyebrow, playing along, chin tucked against his chest.
"So you can comfort me like a child?" The question sounded like a complaint, though it didn't match his playful smile. "Couldn't I put my arms around you from behind? I like resting my chin on your shoulders."
"I don't like it when couples get soppy in the street — it's uncomfortable at best." Marta offered.
"I know what you mean — the ones pawing at each other without a shred of shame. Excruciating to watch."
"I wouldn't want to make the neighbours uncomfortable."
"There's always a middle ground." Mario recalled a random phrase from school. "Except in maths!"
Marta erupted — that contagious laugh she never wanted to let anyone hear. And it had taken an innocent, fairly obvious comment to bring it out.
Mario's face lit up at hearing such a genuine burst of laughter in Marta's voice, but although he was smiling with happiness, the laugh didn't take hold in him.
She froze. Not sad, not hurt — it was surprise that stopped her cold.
"Your laugh reminds me of something..." Mario murmured, "but I can't place it yet."
"You didn't laugh..."
Mario understood what Marta had been expecting.
"Is this your contagious laugh?" Mario was genuinely surprised.
Marta nodded slowly. The look of astonishment hadn't left her face.
"Perhaps in a different context," Mario smiled sincerely, "if it were someone else's joke..."
Marta relaxed, her disbelief still intact, and wrapped her arms around Mario's shoulders.
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For giving me back the naturalness I was trying to suppress."
"Oh no." Mario grew concerned. "So that's why you said what you did — that if I ever heard you laugh, I'd know?"
Marta answered with a small, telling smile and a shrug.
An idea came to Mario and he lifted her easily as he stood up.
"We're going out to the garden to sit in those metal chairs I spotted when we arrived this morning."
"We're going to watch the world go by?"
"Exactly, my beauty."
They went out into the neglected garden — nothing more than scrubland, weeds and scattered sand.
There were two metal chairs framing a lovely but battered rustic bench.
They chose the bench. Ten metres from the wall surrounding the property, the half-built frame of an unfinished porch and three wild grapevines gave them a measure of privacy.
The afternoon slipped away — nothing but the sound of distant, unfinished conversations, and the simple certainty that there was nowhere else either of them would rather be.
"We never did buy dinner or breakfast." Mario observed, tearing his gaze from the line of Marta's profile to check his watch.
"True." Marta agreed without stirring, her expression somewhere between serene and amused.
"It's ten at night. Anywhere decent that sells food will be closed by now."
"True." Marta raised her eyebrows — and this time the serenity came with a small, barely-there bite of her tongue.
"Are you hungry?"
"No!"
"Do you think your neighbour might have some milk?"
Marta turned to look at him with an unreadable expression.
"What do you want milk for?"
"I always have a small glass of milk before bed. It gives me a feeling of home that helps me sleep." Mario mentioned it as though it were a random fact about himself.
"That's very sweet — but last night, at your other place, you didn't." Marta raised a sceptical eyebrow.
Mario answered with a mischievous smile and got up from the bench.
"Don't move. Back in a moment."
He left the garden and crossed the street. The neighbour — a woman of more years than she might have liked to admit, but with a softness in her features — appeared at the door.
"Hello, what can I do for you, young man?"
"Good evening." Mario put on his most innocent face. "You see, I've come to spend the weekend with a very good friend of mine—" he gestured towards Marta with a small nod of his head "—and she's been kind enough to invite me to stay, but we have a small problem." Mario pressed his hands together with a soft clap. "We have nothing for breakfast."
The woman leaned out to look at Marta again and, smiling, went inside and came back with a carton of milk and a small bag of sponge fingers.
"You're trying to impress someone tonight, aren't you, lad?"
Mario let out a short laugh and nodded, still smiling.
"You've already got her!" The woman smiled, deepening the lines on her face. "But don't keep your doubts to yourself — they'll weigh on you in the end." She raised her hand and gave Marta a warm wave across the street. "Tell her too. And good luck!"
The woman said goodbye and went back inside. Mario crossed the street and returned to Marta.
"There — breakfast sorted."
"You didn't flirt with her, did you?"
"My queen is jealous." Mario set everything down on the cracked stone table and sat back beside her. "I only said you were my friend and had invited me to stay."
"Mario!" Marta protested.
"What? It's not a lie!" Mario stroked her cheek and kissed her.
They took the milk and the sponge fingers and, without untangling from each other, went inside to sleep — and a little more.