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“I don’t think she was having a hard time breathing in the Impala,” my father says.

“Dinner is ready down the block.” Mom makes a face. “Whenever you two are otherwise not engaged. But hurry. My stuffed shells will dry out and dinner will be ruined.”

“We’ll be there shortly,” I promise her, and roll up the window.

My mother, father, Mauro, and Joe leave the garage.

I gather the keys and go to open the car door when Angelo pulls me close. “Is there someplace we could go?”

“I…I…”

“There’s no one upstairs. They’re at your mother’s about to sit down for some dry shells. They won’t even miss us.” Angelo kisses my neck.

I make a face. “Too weird.”

“What about right here?”

“In the car? Hell no. The car is a cathedral. I think we should wait.”

“That’s a terrible idea,” Angelo says.

“I know. It’s awful. Brutal! There’s the basement at my mother’s, but they’d be overhead.”

“I can’t.” Angelo shakes his head. “Worse than a landfill.”

We laugh. We kiss. The thickness of our jackets makes them feel like medieval suits of armor that keep us from each other, from our bodies, which ache to be one.

“Wait. I know a place,” I whisper.

Angelo unbuttons my jacket. He kisses my ear. My legs turn tomarmellata; I melt into him like hot butter.

“I’ve never been there,” I say breathlessly. “It’s a Motel 6 on Route 11. It’s off the Jersey Turnpike. Somewhere.”

“I don’t need directions. I have a GPS.” Angelo’s voice is husky; his heart is racing.

Angelo kisses me. There’s a knock on the window. Angelo and I separate quickly. I rub the fog on the window. My father stands with his back to the car. “I see nothing,” he says loudly. “Your mother sent me for the Parm wheel.” He goes into the house through the garage.

“Why do you keep your cheese in this house?” Angelo asks.

“Storage. We can always use more refrigerator space.”

Angelo nods. “So Motel 6 is dead?”

“For now.” I give him a quick kiss on the cheek.

We pull on our jackets and get out of the car. Dad comes out of the house with the half wheel of Parmesan cheese. He grins.

“Oh good. We can walk together.” He hands Angelo the wheel of cheese.

I hit the automatic garage door remote. We walk out into the dark, the three of us, my father, my would-be lover, and me. We take the turn down North Boulevard.

“Mom ironed the dollar bills. We’re going to have a big night of Uno,” Dad says.

“What is that?” Angelo nudges me.

“It’s a lot of fun, Ang,” my father offers. He must like Angelo; he’s already shortened his name.

In the distance, we can see Mom on the porch in her house slippers and dress. “Joe, go back. Get the nut bowls!”