Page 46 of Before We’re More Than Friends (When We Faced the Music #1)

Raina

O ne thing on my bucket list was learning how to cook at the same level as Mom. Or at least put together a meal without burning the house down.

The last time I’d cooked was when I wanted to help Mom make Easter dinner last year. It didn’t take her long to remember why we had a home chef.

But after the heck of a band practice we had this afternoon, I needed to distract myself. Packaging my orders hadn’t helped, thanks to Isabelle’s information sitting in my order queue. At five thirty, I gave in and headed to the kitchen.

This was completely stupid. I thought I’d be able to hold myself together at band practice, but when Oliver had picked “Impossible”—a song I may or may not have been listening to on my new playlist titled “when the truth hurts more than the lies”—that was it for me.

It’d been next to impossible to sing that song without looking at Dallas.

And even worse to make him cry afterward.

He was genuinely sorry. He was hurt that I’d rejected him. I had every right to be mad, but the cold shoulder I’d been giving him didn’t feel the same anymore. It made me feel like I was the one who was doing something wrong.

Gosh, why couldn’t any aspect of my life be simple?

After a few minutes of tinkering around in the kitchen, I decided my best bet was just cooking pasta.

It didn’t involve a knife and was one of the easiest things to make, which meant lesser chance of an accident.

Of course I quadruple-checked everything I did to make sure that nothing would go wrong, fighting the anxiety in my chest. Susanna would be proud of me for facing my triggers head-on.

Toward the end of my cooking session, Mom walked into the kitchen. Her mouth fell open. “Am I seeing this right?” she asked, blinking at the mess I’d made. I guess I took after my dad.

“It’s nice to change things up,” I said as I stirred the pasta, hoping I wasn’t killing it. “Wanted to do something special. No occasion.” Except for distracting the unwanted thoughts about a guy who had me wrapped around his finger like a wedding ring.

Stop thinking about him!

“This makes me so happy,” Mom said, clasping her hands over her chest. “Want me to help you?”

“You can make some garlic bread.” I checked my noodles before grabbing the salt and pepper. “It may be possible that this tastes like absolute crap.”

“We all start somewhere,” Mom said before taking garlic bread out of the fridge.

A minute later, Arielle strolled into the kitchen. Her eyes widened once she took us in. “Are you both cooking?”

I nodded, stirring everything into the pasta. “Just finishing up.”

She frowned. “How come I wasn’t invited?”

“I just joined in a few minutes ago,” Mom said. “You can still set up the drinks for us. ”

“Okay.” Arielle skipped over to the cabinet and took out a box of Italian tea mix.

Mom turned on the music from her phone, and the three of us sang together as we finished up our perfect dinner. When we were done, we set the table and sat down. As always, Mom said a short prayer in Italian before jumping in.

I took a bite of my pasta, happy it didn’t taste terrible. No, it wasn’t as seasoned and sauced up as Mom made it, but it was good for a start and went well with Mom’s garlic bread and Arielle’s tea.

“You did a good job, Raina,” Mom said with a smile. “I’m very proud of you.”

My cheeks warmed as pride welled in my chest. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, I thought it would taste like rubber,” Arielle said.

I rolled my eyes. “I’m glad you have so much faith in me.”

“You know,” Mom said, “I’ve always loved sharing a little bit of Italian culture with you guys, even if it’s Americanized.” She sighed, her eyes drifting off to space. “It reminds me of when I was little.”

“You never taught us how to speak Italian like Nonno taught you,” Arielle said as she sipped her tea. “I kind of want to learn it.”

“Didn’t we take that Italian class in eighth grade?” I asked.

“And it sucked. I don’t want to be graded based on learning a language.” Arielle played with her straw. “I want to have fun with it and pass it on to my kids. Keep the tradition going.”

“I’ve thought about that a few times,” Mom said. “How I haven’t passed on the stuff my parents passed down to me.” Both Nonno and Nonna moved from Italy to America when they were teenagers.

“Why haven’t you?” I asked.

“Well.” Mom sighed. “You know how I was before I met your dad. Drinking and sleeping around while my parents had their financial issues.”

“You mean sleeping as in going to bed, right?” Arielle asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Um.” Mom’s cheeks turned bright red as she bit her lip.

Arielle gasped. “Mom!”

I failed to hold back a snort.

“I thought you already knew I was a wildcard,” Mom said with a giggle.

“But your dad came along and changed so many things. I didn’t have to drink myself sick to numb the pain.

He helped me become the woman I wanted to be.

” She wiped her glossy eyes. “I wanted to stay in the new version of my life forever. My roots only reminded me of the pain of the past. So when things fell apart with my parents and my own marriage started getting rocky, I went back to numbing myself sick.”

“Mom,” Arielle said, reaching across the table to squeeze Mom’s hands.

“I know.” Mom stared at the table. “And I feel disappointed in myself. I’ve let the people I loved the most down.” She swallowed. “But I’m going to change that. I’m going to embrace the good part of my roots and be there for my family. Though I’m nervous about tomorrow.”

“Me too,” I said, reaching for her hand as well.

She looked up at me, her eyes widening. “So you’re going?”

I nodded, looking down at her hand. Despite being in her mid-forties, Mom’s body had barely aged. Her hands were soft and warm, not a wrinkle in sight.

“Have fun,” Arielle muttered, picking at her pasta like it was made of rubber. “But I still know where I stand.”

Late Sunday morning, I spent longer than I usually did getting ready.

Gosh, it was like I was going on a date or something.

But what else did I do when I was about to see my dad after the longest we’d ever been apart from each other?

Sure, it had only been short of a month since he’d gotten arrested, but so much had changed since then.

Way too much for my liking.

Except the changes Mom was making and how close the three of us had become. I could’ve lived without the rest of it.

When I went downstairs to join Mom in the living room, I was surprised to see Arielle sitting beside her on the couch, all dolled up with her usual red-and-pink makeup. She was wearing what looked like a new red top, jeans, and red flats.

“Going on a date?” I asked Arielle as I joined her.

She scoffed. “I wish. I’m going with you.”

My mouth dropped. “Really?”

She nodded. “Maybe it’ll be easier for you and Mom if I came along.” She looked at Mom, who smiled at her and held her hand.

I smiled. “I’m glad you’re coming.” And I was proud of her for taking this step. I knew she was doing this for herself, not for us. We were all working our way toward forgiveness.

The drive didn’t take long, but as soon as April Springs Correctional Facility came into view, anxiety filled the pit of my stomach.

I’d been telling myself all weekend that it wouldn’t be as big as I was making it out to be in my head, and I’d thought I had my nerves under control once we got in the car, but the reality of the situation washed over me again.

We were meeting our seven-figure father in federal prison .

We checked in and sat in the visitation room, where other people were meeting with prisoners.

A woman and a little girl hugged a man in a khaki uniform, all three of them crying.

It reminded me of the videos I’d watched of kids spending a day with their parents in prison.

My heart twisted, and I looked away, tears pricking my eyes.

What was in those videos was now my reality.

The visitation officer sat us down and gave us instructions before leaving us. My leg bounced as I sat in my chair, my stomach flipping over. What would it be like to see my father wearing a khaki prison uniform? The only uniform I’d seen him wear was a suit and tie.

How did we end up here when we had everything?

“How are you feeling?” Mom grabbed my hand, her rings brushing against my skin.

“Like I’m going to throw up,” I muttered.

She gave a short laugh. “Me too.”

I glanced at Arielle, who sat on Mom’s other side. She stayed silent, her tan face as pale as a ghost. Seeing this rare occurrence when she was nervous made my insides twist. Even she couldn’t keep her usually collected facade in this situation.

Mom squeezed both of our hands. “We can do this.”

I smiled, even though I didn’t believe her.

A few minutes later, the officer brought a man out. I first didn’t recognize him with his khaki uniform and his blond head hung low, but once his blue eyes met mine, a flurry of emotions crashed over me. I nearly fell out of my chair, and Mom pulled me forward, her grip firm.

“Hello, ladies. I’ve been looking forward to this day.” Dad beamed as he sat in front of us. “I’ve missed you.”

“We’ve missed you so much,” Mom said, extending her hand.

Dad held it, and the two of them exchanged endearing smiles. The block of ice in my chest softened. They still loved each other. They always would.

Dad’s light eyes went to mine. “You look beautiful, Rain. ”

My cheeks flushed. “Thank you, Dad.” I wanted to say that I missed him, but I was still too stubborn to utter the words.

Dad’s gaze bounced to Arielle, who was playing with her bracelets. “You look beautiful too, Ells.”

Arielle looked up and gave him a small smile. “Thank you.”

“Dang, I don’t know where to start.” Dad let out a soft chuckle. “I feel like I’ve missed so much.”

You have. The world didn’t stop spinning when you were locked behind bars.