One Winter Weekend

Chapter 17

Chapter 17

S aturday morning, Max and Naomi got off to a sluggish start.

He noticed happily that she was relaxing more with each passing day; today she slept much later than usual, and seemed happy to cuddle in bed rather than rushing to get up and out the door. He took it as a good sign that the beauty of the city was working its magic.

He didn’t want to say it out loud and spoil the mood, but he missed mornings like this—just the two of them, cuddled up in bed, then perhaps picking out an activity for the day. No baby needing to be fed, clothed, changed and coddled; no schedule that included mandatory feedings and naps. Just he and Naomi, the way it used to be.

Part of him felt so guilty for even thinking that though. Of course, he loved Julia—until she was born, he hadn’t quite understood how people fell head over heels in love with infants, but one look into her serious green eyes and he was a goner.

He adored his daughter, loved playing with her, napping with her on his chest, dancing around in the living room holding her and listening to her laugh. He looked forward to many years of firsts—first day of school, first pet, first date, first car—and to many father-daughter chats. He was thrilled with his daughter and thrilled with what a wonderful mother Naomi was to their baby.

He just missed having his wife around, too.

He sat in bed and watched her put on makeup in the bathroom mirror. It seemed like so much of her energy these days went into the baby, not into herself. It wasn’t just their relationship that had been put on the back burner; he realised that now, a bit belatedly.

Little things like putting on mascara in the mornings, or picking up a novel she wanted to read—they had gone out the window in favour of feedings, changings and caring for Julia. Max realised a bit guiltily that his wife didn’t have a lot of time for her own interests anymore and he wondered if maybe he should be chipping in a lot more than he was. Either way, he wanted to do something to help make it up to her.

So, while she was busy getting ready for the day, he popped down to the hotel reception desk and asked the manager on duty to help him find a good couple’s massage therapist in the city. “I don’t speak Italian, so perhaps you could set something up for us? Preferably with someone who speaks a little English?”

The manager seemed only too happy to help and promised to have something lined up for the afternoon, after they came back from their museum tour but before dinner. That treat all taken care of, Max went back upstairs to collect his wife and whisk her off to tour the art galleries.

The first one was full of classical Italian art from the past several centuries, and Max looked around with amazement at the extensive collection. He didn’t necessarily know anything about the artists featured—none of the names jumped out at him—but even so, it was hard not to be impressed with the huge collection. Their tour guide was fairly chatty but also let them have plenty of time to study the pictures on their own.

In one of the rooms, he and Naomi struck up a conversation with an Irish girl visiting the city—from Dublin, as it turned out. “Oh, we’re from Newcastle,” Naomi explained. “So we’re used to this cold!”

The woman laughed. “At least the city isn’t flooded,” she said. “It happens from time to time. I’ve been lucky though; both times I’ve visited it’s been dry.”

They chatted for a while about everything they’d seen so far, and Naomi asked if Lucy was travelling solo or with a partner. For a moment the woman looked sad, but she laughed. “No romantic trip for me, I’m afraid. I’m just taking a little break as a Christmas gift to myself.”

After the galleries, Max and Naomi found a nearby café where they ordered miniature pizzas and drinks for lunch.

Naomi checked her phone, scrolling across the screen to check the time. Max could see that she was calculating the time difference and whether it was too early yet to call home, and he said quickly, “I have a surprise for you.”

“Oh?” Naomi was distracted enough to put the phone back in her bag. He nodded, encouraged. “Remember I mentioned that massage yesterday? Well, I asked the hotel manager to book us one. I’ve got the paper in my coat pocket with the address; we can have a water taxi take us straight there. Our appointment is at two o’clock.”

“Really?” He’d expected her to be excited, but he hadn’t realised she would light up so much at the idea. She quickly checked the time. “Oh, we should leave now! We don’t want to be late.”

At her insistence, Max hurried through the rest of his pizza. That wasn’t even half-bad, he thought reluctantly. Maybe Italian food is growing on me.