Page 31 of Bittersweet

“And yourparents?”

“We’re okay, but they’re closer with my other siblings. Nonna and Nonno are the ones I call if I need a hand with Coco. I’m so damn lucky to have them in my life.” And thank fuck I do. In the last four years, I’ve leaned on them more times than I cancount.

“Family means a lot to you, doesn’t it?” Romy cocks her head to the side, as if she’s trying to wrap her mind around theconcept.

“Yeah. More thananything.”

We continue in silence. Coco flits from one pumpkin to another, pointing to the odd contender for her perfectpick.

“What about you?” I finallyask.

“Does my family pickpumpkins?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Are you guysclose?”

“Kind of,” she says. “I’m an only child. I see my parents every month for dinner, so I guess we’re close, butsometimes. . .”

“What?” Iprompt.

“Sometimes it just feels like they want me to be someone I’m not. Someonebetter.”

“Better?” How could anyone want more thanher?

“Yeah. You know? More successful. More . . .skinny.”

“Are you kidding me? You’reperfect.”

“Don’t. Please.” She holds up one hand to stop me, then pauses beside one particularly big pumpkin and stares at it. “They also wish I was moremarried.”

Oh.

Is marriage not on her agenda, just likekids?

Maybe. Maybe it’s another reason why we would never work as acouple.

I add it to another list, this one notably shorter than the group of things we have in common. This one is full of deal-breakers.

It’s a list of reasons Romy and I will neverwork.

End ofstory.

And it’s in my best interest to end this weird pumpkin-picking session now, before I forget that. I don’t know what I was thinking when we first walked into this field. We can’t be friends. With a woman as intoxicating as her, I could never be just friends. “Listen, this is weird. Awkward. Why don’t you go back and wait at the car, andwe’ll—”

“Daddy! Daddy! I foundit!”

I look ahead, away from the woman who’s somehow captured so much of my heart. Coco stands beside what has to be the biggest pumpkin I’ve ever seen. It spans the width of my shoulders and is as high as my midthigh, or maybe even bigger. How the heck am I gonna carry that thing back to thecar?

“Are you sure it’s not a smaller one?” I’ll need some kind of crane to move that thing outtahere.

“No, Daddy. This is the one.” Coconods.

“Christ, help me,” I mutter, scrubbing my hands over my face before turning to Romy again. “Seriously, why don’t you go? I’ll handle thismyself.”

“Let’s get it!” Romy cries. She doesn’t meet my gaze, racing toward my daughter with wildabandon.

I stare after her. What is shedoing?

“Come on!” She turns back, a wide smile on her face. “You’re going to be leftbehind!”