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“Are you sure that’s all?”
“Look, M. I know Dante and his brother, Elio, are tough businessmen. As I’ve said, it’s up to him to talk to you about it. I won’t speculate.”
“Ugh! You’re no help.”
“Sorry, babe. You’re going to have to navigate this pothole all on your own,” she winks.
“That’s it. I’m downgrading your best friend status. I want my airfryer back.”
“Indian giver,” Gina giggles, hugging me tightly. “You’ll figure it out. You’ve made it this far on your own. You’re a tough chick.”
“Yeah, sure. Hand me that bottle of aspirin, will you? The price tag has come off.”
I want to know more about Dante before I decide to move in with him. It’s only natural. But I find myself all thumbs when I want to ask him personal questions. Is it my guilt over Angelo that’s muddying the waters?
The truth is I’d love nothing more than to be a family, living in a home together—Dante, Angelo, and me. Like we’re supposed to be. Ah, hell! This is driving me nuts.
* * *
“Nanna!”
Angelo throws himself around my mother’s leg. He adores her and the feeling is more than mutual. It’s a beautiful thing, watching the relationship between a child and its grandparents. I catch myself being almost jealous at times when I see them together.
My parents worked throughout my childhood, so I didn’t get to enjoy them the way that Angelo does. I guess that’s just the way life goes. I’m thankful for our closeness now that they’re retired and I’m an adult. My parents are so dear to me.
They were so supportive when I told them that I was going to be a single mother. It took me some time to tell my mother who Angelo’s father is. I don’t know what she’s going to say when I share my latest news with her.
“My little munchkin. Oh, my goodness! You’ve grown so heavy,” my mother groans, picking up her grandson and popping him onto her hip.
“I eat all my veggies, Nanna,” he grins proudly.
“That’s a very good boy. Why don’t you go find grandpa? He’s in the garage.”
“Okay,” he smiles and runs off as soon as his little feet hit the ground.
“What’s the matter, Mia?” my mother asks after she hugs me.
“Why do you ask?”
“Come on. I know that look. I am your mother, you know. You used to get that same look when you did badly on a test and tried to hide it from me. Fess up.”
“You’ve become much tougher since you became a grandmother,” I chuckle.
“Come, let’s have some tea. I baked your favorite. Apple pie.”
“You always know just how to get me to spill the beans, don’t you?”
“So, you are hiding something. I knew it. How big of a slice of apple pie are we talking, here?”
“Just bring the pie dish, the tub of cream, and a spoon.”
“Hmmm. I’m almost afraid to ask.”
My mom and I walk, arms linked, to the kitchen. She smells like Jasmine and Vanilla. I could find her in a crowd if I blindfolded.
“How’s Dad?”
“He’s fine. He and Bill are working on another model train out there in the garage. The place is a minefield of miniature locomotive parts. But it keeps him busy so I daren’t complain.”