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“My major,” our daughter said, rolling her eyes like we all should have known what was going on in her mind every moment of every day. Despite her being our most mercurial child with a mind that flip-flopped from one thing to another in the blink of an eye.
Of all our kids, I guess she was the one who was most similar to me. Ambitious, but a little directionless. Eager to prove herself, but not sure exactly how.
At her age, I was exactly like her.
And, well, she was also a little mini-me. Except she’d inherited her father’s golden eyes.
“Oh, that’s great,” I said, happy for her, knowing how much she’d struggled to make up her mind, feeling like she was behind all of her peers who’d gone into their senior year of high school knowing exactly what they wanted to be when they grew up.
This had been an easier age for our older boys. Who, despite really strong urging on our part to get them to go to college, to travel, to have normal lives, had long-since made up their minds that they were going to follow in their father’s footsteps.
And while, sure, the Lombardi family was still very progressive and open to female capos, I had to admit that I was glad our girl had never shown any interest in joining the family business.
“What did you decide on?” Elian asked when she didn’t immediately offer up the information.
“I want to go for political science,” she said, making Elian and I share a look.
“Really?” I asked. “What kind of career are you hoping to go into with that?”
“Well, I kind of want to be a political campaign manager,” she declared a little shyly, letting me know how much she actually wanted that. Her uncertainties were always loud. Her desires were quiet. It was another thing I related to a little too much.
This time, when our gazes met, neither of us could hide our wide eyes.
“What?” she asked, looking between the two of us. “It’s a real career,” she insisted, getting offended that we thought she didn’t do enough research.
“Oh, I know,” I agreed, not sure if I wanted to laugh or to cry.
“They make good money,” she said, chin lifting.
“Yep. Yep, they sure do,” I said, thinking of that fancy apartment I’d been living in when I’d been just a few years older than she was now.
“Why do you guys look like I’m saying I want to be a race car driver?” she asked. “It’s a safe profession.”
God, I really, really hoped so.
“Well,” Elian said, recovering a bit more quickly than I could. “We’re happy for you, sweetheart,” he said.
“But I’m afraid we might have to tell you a little story,” I said.
“What story?” she asked, head tipped to the side.
“About how your mother and I met,” Elian supplied.
“What? You guys told us how you met,” she said, pretty face scrunching up. “Outside of mom’s office at the time.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, sucking in a deep breath. “But we may have left out some key details.”
“What kind of details?” she asked.
“The ones about all the bullets,” Elian supplied.
“And the break-ins,” I added.
“Political corruption,” Elian piled on.
“And Bratva enforcers,” I said, wanting to laugh at the wide eyes our kids were all giving us.
“And I guess it all starts with the decision I once made to run a political campaign…” I said.
It had been one hell of a ride.
But, I decided as Elian reached for my hand, it had all been worth it in the end.