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“Oh, no. Now you’ve got me worried.”
“It’s okay. It’s not the end of the world.”
No, but it’s a close second.
“I’ll get you father. Have a seat in the living room. I’ll be right back.”
I go ahead and take a seat in my favorite spot. I love to look at the photos on the mantelpiece. They chart my growth as a human, from playschool all the way through highschool and then my graduation.
Mom has photos of Angelo on there too. His baby pictures are front and center. He was so damn cute when he was a baby. His black hair was always poking out in different directions.
Mom returns a few moments later with Dad by her side.
“Hey, poppet. How’s my girl?”
“Hi, Dad. I’m okay. How are you?”
“Fine. What's this I hear? Mom says you want to talk to us about something. What’s wrong?”
“Sit down. I need to tell you something.”
My parents take their place, side by side, on their favorite sofa. Seeing them like this I have a sudden flashback of when I snuck out one night and crashed into the fence with their car. It left a nasty dent in the fender. When I got home they were in this very position, waiting to rip me a new one. Oh, how simple those days were.
“Go ahead, baby. We’re listening.”
“It’s about Dante—about what he does for a living.”
“He mentioned that he’s in finance. Right?” Dad asks.
“I guess that’s one way of looking at it. But it’s a little more complicated than that, I'm afraid.”
“What is it, Mia?” Mom urges me.
I take a deep breath. There’s no sense in delaying this. Best to just rip off the old bandaid and get it over with.
“Dante is in the mob.”
There! I said it, and suddenly I feel weightless. Unfortunately, I’ve just handed the burden to two people I love very much. They stare at me in horror.
“What?” Mom whispers.
“The mob? As in the mafia?” Dad asks with a deadpan expression.
“Yes.”
Dad leaps to his feet and starts pacing. Mom starts sniffling. Great. This is a bust.
“I don’t understand,” Dad says. “What do you mean, he’s in the mob? Are you sure? How did you find out?”
“He told me.”
“This can’t be right,” Mom says softly, shaking her head. “He’s such a nice man.”
“He’s a goddamn criminal, Catherine!” Dad yells out.
“Calm down, Arnold. You’re going to give yourself a heart attack. Besides, you’re the mafia movie buff. This is karma, isn’t it?”
“Please, guys. Calm down,” I plead, well aware that this is all my fault.