A few weeks later, when I was back on my feet again, Papà woke me up on a Saturday morning to go out for breakfast. I'd had a couple of nightmares, so as the exhaustion still washed over my body, I couldn't get out of bed easily.

Papà opened my door again, looked down at me. "Don't you want to eat breakfast somewhere else?" His voice was soft. Warm. Safe. "I've heard they serve a mean full English. Don't you think eating that without getting scolded sounds lovely?"

I cracked a small smile. "Sometimes I wish she could still scold me over food all day, over and over again."

"Me too, Chap." Papà sighed softly, sat down upon my bed. "I never let her order my food, because she would always order something completely different from what I asked for."

"Really?" I slowly sat up, secretly enjoyed that he was talking about Mamma.

"Yes, really." Papà chuckled, carefully ruffled my hair, as if the stitches were still there. "I don't blame her, I got to taste food I never thought I'd like. She really did expand my horizons."

I watched Papà, sensed something, but I wasn't sure what. "Do you miss Mamma right now?"

Papà looked at me, his glance raked over my face for a brief, silent moment. "You look so much like Mamma. And you're only starting to look more and more like her every day."

"Do you miss her, I asked." I frowned, wondering why he always avoided my questions.

"Everyday, Benjamin." Papà whispered, stood up, reached for my arm and dragged me out of my bed. "Now, come on, Campione. I'm hungry as a horse. Aren't you?"

"I am." I smiled, but it faded too soon.

The reason they had taken me out for breakfast, was to talk about a few things. When I realized that, I had innerly groaned. I disliked the talking, hoped to just eat and enjoy being out after staying inside what was mostly my bed after the concussion. But because I had been too tired to start a fuss about it, I decided that if I simply listened, the talk would be over quicker.

Salomé started the conversation, softly touched my hand. "Hey, Benjamin? Do you remember when Lavinia told you that sometimes the family structure needs a little help too?"

"I don't even dare to think about that day." I didn't look at her, kept my eyes trailed upon my plate.

Salomé laughed softly, removed her hand from mine. I liked that she laughed about it. I glanced at her. "It's alright, Benji. We've been over that day in our conversations a couple of times, yeah? It's all forgiven. But, what I wanted to say is that she gave us some insights too. Meaning that.. Saturdays and Sundays will only be for us at home. The children won't come to our house anymore, they will go to the refugee house. And I want to apologise to you for taking your privacy like that. It really wasn't fair."

For some reasons, it turned a little timid. I wasn't sure why, but I could only look at my plate and play with my fingers. "You were.. only taking care of them." My voice was barely above a whisper. I guess I felt ashamed about the outburst that I had that day, but at the same time I felt that it was a fair, needed outburst.

"Maybe, Benjamin, but that doesn't mean that I have to put my own family second." Salomé sighed softly. "So.. what do you think. Does that sound fair to you?"

"Yeah." I nodded, feeling relieved. "Thank you."

Papà ruffled my hair. "I'm sorry too, Cowboy. We all have to adjust to the new situation, which isn't always easy."

Tell me about it, I thought. They had been married for a little over seven months, and I still wasn't used to waking up in the new house, the new neighborhood, seeing Papà kiss Salomé, or hold her hand underneath the table, or seeing him laugh so much with her.

Papà and Salomé started to talk about something I wasn't interested in, so I ate quietly for some time.

I was just scooping beans on my toast when I noticed that Salomé had been staring at a little baby for quite a few times. The baby made eye contact with her, giggled when Salomé waved. Papà simply laughed at that. It went on for a few minutes. She had barely touched her food. I had told Papà and Salomé a couple of times that I didn't want any siblings, but I realized I had never really asked what she thought about it.

So when ate a bit of my toast, I cleared my throat, looking at her. "Salomé?" I swallowed the beans down with a bit of tea, placing it upon the saucer. When Salomé hummed, I asked: "Do you even want children of your own?"

"Benjamin-"

"No, Zev. It's okay, really." Salomé reached for Papà's hand, her face had a slight pained expression, but it softened when she looked at me.

"But-" Papà frowned, sighed softly in defeat when Salomé looked at him.

"I can't get any children of my own." Salomé confessed, cupping her hands around the cup of tea to warm them. "The place where a baby is supposed to grow has been removed out of my body."

I grew extremely quiet at that. How many times had I screamed in their faces that I didn't want any siblings, while all this time, she wasn't even able to? I wanted to apologize, but somehow, the words wouldn't leave my lips. So I continued eating without saying anything, until I realized that Mamma had been sick there, and she hadn't removed it.

"So, you can live without that? I mean, the anatomical part?" I glanced at her, then at Papà. Papà was biting his upper lip, gulping down some coffee.

"Yeah, you can. It saved me."

"Could it have saved Mamma?" I looked at Papà again. "Why didn't she have surgery? Why didn't they remove that part, it was about the baby part, wasn't it?" I got worked up a little, suddenly didn't understand a thing anymore.

"Benjamin, it couldn't have saved her."

"How do you know? She didn't do it, did she? Why didn't she do it?" I couldn't touch my food anymore. I felt like I didn't know the full story, but what I did miss, I couldn't figure out. Was it just the gap in my heart that wanted to be filled? Or had they really held things back for me? "I would be so angry if-"

"Campione, don't be." Papà said quickly, wanting to reach for my hand but I quickly stuffed it underneath the table. "Don't be angry. Please. The doctors told us it wouldn't have saved her. The cancer was already everywhere."

"Were you sick? Did you have cancer? Ovarian cancer, to be specific?" I turned to Salomé.

"I did not have cancer, no. Just a bad infection." Salomé answered quietly.

I thought about it for a while. I couldn't understand why God did not want to save Mamma, but other women, he did. And no, this certainly wasn't personally directed towards Salomé.

"I bet you wish I was a girl then. I bet you'd rather have a daughter." I mumbled out. I wasn't sure what I was fishing for, but maybe, somehow, I wanted her approval. Wanted her to say, despite all of the things I had done, I had said, including the outbursts, that she liked me as a child. Even though I could not see her as my mother yet.

"Oh, Benjamin. You are everything I wished for. And I hope you believe me when I say that, because it's the truth."

 The months after that, had been a little more calm. Salomé had spoken the truth: I could wake up slowly on Saturdays, eat breakfast in peace and spend the day with friends or with Papà and Salomé without caring about the other children. I didn't have to lock the door anymore when I wanted to take a bath, or when I had to take a wee. Yes, I still locked it in both cases, but it was more of a principle thing.

On Sundays we went to church, where Unc Teddy was still the pastor. Papà allowed me to sit next to Nolan, and funnily enough, Amelie went to the same church. Soon enough, she came to sit with us, too. I wasn't allowed to sit behind Papà, it irritated me that he felt the need to watch me, to see if I behaved, but I let it go when I realized that Daniel, Nolan's dad, did the exact same thing.

Slowly, I started to grow out of my Sunday outfit. They had consisted out of my black clarks, beige trousers and a white button up for the longest time, only the sizes changed throughout the years. I hadn't given it much thought, other than that Mamma loved that outfit on me. Though, when I stood in front of my wardrobe one day, I realized that I started to grow interested in the sense of fashion.

I remember sitting down in front of it, staring at the uniforms for school, the sweaters I would throw over my head once I returned home, along with the denim trousers, or shorts for summer, with t-shirts and prints.

Mamma had always taken an interest in the way she dressed. She didn't follow the trends, she would simply wear whatever she wanted, but she did like to follow the Italian fashion, taking inspiration for her own outfits. I think that's why that started to grow within me too. She had always wanted for me to dress well, no matter what. No tracksuits for me, if I wanted to play, Mamma had a blue overall that I could throw over my nice clothes.

I used to hate it, but now I loved it. I remember using the computer to search up some outfits that men in Italy would wear, printed them and walked up to Papà. "Can I choose something like this for the Sundays?"

Papà had looked up from the typewriter, where he was writing a new book. He took the paper from me, glanced at it. He chuckled a little. "Why?"

Frowning, I took the paper back from him, staring at the knit sweater with a v-neckline, beige, with black trousers underneath it. "Why not?"

"Well, you're only fourteen.."

Salomé had heard us, she stretched her hand out to me. "May I see, Benji?"

I handed her the paper, felt a little embarrassed by the fact that Papà did not seem to understand the fashion choices.

"I think this is really lovely. Some men just don't understand, do they?" Salomé winked at Papà, handed me the photo again. "I have an idea. Did you make any plans for Saturday? How about I take you out for some shopping?"

I couldn't help but crack a little smile. "Can I buy this outfit? For church?"

"I don't see why not." Salomè had given me a warm smile, while her hand laid upon my hair.

On Saturday, we went to the shops. In the car, I had turned rather quiet. I realized I was dealing with a bit of identity crisis. Everyone told me I had Mamma's Italian, olive colored skin, her Italian manners and temper, but at the same time I was starting to forget Italian words because I couldn't speak Italian with anyone, and she wasn't there to correct me with the pronunciation. Besides that, my accent was as British as ever, and the last time I made cornetti's myself with Mamma's recipe, they tasted like cement.

And then there was the cowboy obsession. With all the videos and movies I had watched, the articles I had read in a magazine, it was all in either America or Canada. I couldn't make sense of myself anymore.

So, when I thought I had found the outfit and stood in front of the mirror to check it out, my mind went blank. I didn't know if I liked it or hated it. I didn't know if I was British, Italian or Canadian. I didn't know if I was Benjamin, Beniamino or Cowboy. I just stood there, staring at myself, not knowing anything.

Salomé had been walking around the shop, looking for more outfits, so before she could see me, I rushed back into the changing room. I closed the curtain, undressed myself, but before I could take off the trousers completely, I burst into tears, not understanding myself anymore.

It was a moment later when I heard Salomé. Her voice was soft. "Benjamin? Can I come in?"

I hiccupped a yes, couldn't care less about the fact that the trousers were hanging halfway down my knees. I buried my face in my hands, my elbows resting upon my knees. She sat down beside me, waited for me to calm down a little.

"What's going on, sweetheart?"

"I don't know." I was too embarrassed to look at her, so I either kept my face in my hands, or looked away. "I feel lost."

"How so?" Salomé wrapped her arm around me, and I leaned against her, staring at my fingers.

"I feel lost without Mamma, I suppose." I mumbled out, wishing I was a turtle, and could turn into a little shell.

"Can you tell me a little bit more about it?" Salomé laid down the clothes she had found for me, putting all of her attention on me.

"Well.." I tried to search for words, but somehow, they never got to me. I took off the trousers, laid my sweater on top of my lap, playing with the fabric. "I don't know who I am. I'm a British boy who makes angry hand gestures to which my peers laugh at who wants to be a bull rider. Does that make sense to you?" I glanced at Salomé, who smiled warmly.

"It makes perfect sense to me."

"How so?

"Because you're a boy born in Britain, with an Italian mother and love for cowboys."

How did that not sound as weird as it felt in my head? She made it look so simple. "Isn't that strange?"

"Why would it be strange?" Salomé asked. But I didn't know how to answer that. After a moment of silence, Salomé reached for my hand, holding it softly. "You know, Benjamin. I told you about how I moved around the world for years, yeah?" I nodded. "At some point in my life, I didn't know who I was too, or where I belonged. But then I remembered that I was simply Salomé, a girl who loved a full English breakfast as much as I loved dancing with the people in Nigeria, as much as I loved cooking with ingredients I had never heard of in my life. Or eating scones with an enormous amount of jam and clotted cream." She winked at me, to which I laughed a little.

"You're not to be identified by all of that. You're God's child, who gave you the ability and space to enjoy the things around you, around the world. Isn't that just wonderful? How boring would it be if you were bound to the country that you were born in? Committing to the stereotypes of drinking tea with milk all day long, and eating fish and chips for dinner for the rest of your life?"

"Doesn't sound too bad to me." I laughed sheepishly. "So.. I can wear Italian clothes in England while I fantasize about bulls?"

"I can't see why not." Salomé smiled warmly at me, sensing more. "And what else?"

"Well, besides all of that.." I nibbled on my lowerlip, not entirely sure how to say this. I didn't want to hurt either of them. "I, sometimes, want to embrace my Italian roots, but then I feel strange because no one shares it with me. Mamma did, but Papà and you.. I feel like a stranger sometimes."

"I understand that." She answered, brushing her thumb over the back of my hand. "But I hope that you know and believe that we will only encourage you to embrace it. And besides that, I don't think you realise how your Mamma influenced your Papà with her Italian roots. I don't think he has ever wished me goodnight in English before, or when he drops something, spills hot coffee over his hand, I hear words that I'm glad I can't translate." She winked at me again, it made me feel so warm. So seen, that Papà still had the traits he had when Mamma was still around.

After that, I put on the outfit I had worn moments before, and let Salomé adjust the clothing and admire it on me for a while. It was one of the warm and safe memories I had made with her. One of the memories where she felt like a mother to me, how badly I did not want to admit that.

On the Sunday that followed after, I came downstairs with my new clothes, glancing at Papà for approval. When Papà turned his face to me, I thought I could see slight wetness glazing his eyes for a moment, but he blinked quickly and held my arms. "My goodness. My little Beniamino, all grown up." He pressed a kiss to my forehead. But the reason warmth spread throughout me, was the fact that he called me Beniamino.

When the service was over, and coffee time had arrived, Amelie handed me a glass of lemonade, Nolan handing out the biscuits. Amelie's eyes had raked over my outfit. She whistled cheekily. "Belissimo!"

"What? He looks like a forty year old man!" Nolan had grinned, pulling at my hair. I had shoved him away, secretly feeling warm at Amelie's word. The fact that she remembered when I had taught her some Italian words last time. The fact that she knew what it meant to me, because of Mamma.

"Forty?" Amelie frowned, eyeing Nolan from the top of his head, all the way down to his toes. "Puh. Have you seen your outfit? You could work on it." Amelie giggled loudly when Nolan shoved her away, mumbling something under his breath.

"Grazie mille, Amelie." I had told her quietly, when Nolan's attention was on his little sister, who begged for another biscuit, Nolan scolding her in annoyance.

"The truth, Cowboy."

- 

sorry for the late update. I made a document with my (almost) completed novel, and then Word decided not to save it, so I have to do it all over again ):

Anyway, what do you think of this chapter? Benjamin and Salome bonding?

Do you understand Benjamin's struggles?

Let me know your thoughts xx Jo