That earned me another slap on the back and thirty more seconds of handshaking.
"Cal," Stella's mother repeated. "Is that your Christian name or is it short for something?"
"Mom," Stella warned. "No one calls it that anymore. Not unless they work in a Catholic church."
"I'm only wondering because Cal seems like a nickname and I want to make sure I type the right thing into the fuckin' Facebook and the goddamn Google when—"
"Oh my god," Stella said, her fingers flying to her temples. Serina made noise about swearing in front of the kids but Christina only waved her off. "Mom, okay. First of all, don't say that. Don't do it either. Just have a normal conversation with us. Second, I, uh"—she glanced at me, her eyes wide as wine bottles.
I reached out, pressing my palm to the spot between her shoulder blades where her muscles were tight and bunched. "It's Pascal," I said.
Stella swiveled her head toward me. "How did I not know that?"
I dug my knuckle into her lower trapezious. "You never got around to taking a picture of my driver's license, I guess."
"This moment is," Sophia started, her arms spread wide, "simply delightful."
Christina reached for us, grabbing me and Stella by the hand and leading us toward the dining room. "Time for supper," she said. "We'll talk at the table." As she delivered us to our assigned seats around the oval table, she shouted to the rest of the family. "Come on, everyone. You too, Blaine. You can make that sour face at the table. Toby, you make a plate for the baby. Sophia, don't think I can't see you pouring another drink. Put the vodka bottle down. Switch to water for a bit. We don't need you face-planting in your spaghetti and meatballs."
I shot Stella an arched eyebrow. "Balls?" I mouthed. "That's your birthday dinner?"
"All about those balls, 'bout those balls," she mouthed back. "No sausage."
I dropped my forehead to her shoulder as silent laughs shook my entire body. "Don't worry, Stel. I'll give you plenty of it later."
"I should hope so," she said, feigning some indignation. "But I really do love balls."
And I love you.
I almost said it. Almost ripped that truth from my mind and thrust it into existence. But a pair of dogs chose that moment to attack the hem of my jeans and Georgia shrieked about requiring a different bowl and Sophia slammed a cabinet shut and I wasn't certain she'd believe me. If I knew Stella, I knew she'd look at this everyday chaos and laugh away my words.
Hell, if she said those words to me right now, I'd laugh too. I'd hear "I love you…for coming here. I love you for putting up with this crazy. I love you for letting me make songs about balls—and sausage. I love you for walking past that Mary on the Half Shell without batting an eye."
But wasn't that it? Wasn't that the heart of it?
So, I did. I said it. I lifted my head from her shoulder, stared into those dark chocolate eyes, and whispered, "I love you."
Her cheeks tightened, her dimples popped. And she laughed, just as I'd suspected. Hoped, even. "Good," she replied. "Hold on to that sentiment. You're going to need it."
She didn't speak them back to me and I hadn't expected that. But it wasn't bittersweet. No, that response was perfect. It was everything I needed from her.
"What can I getya to drink?" George called to us.
"Red wine," Stella whispered. "Red wine and no one gets hurt."
29
Stella
"What are you thinking about?"Cal asked, rumbly-grumbly as ever.
I glanced over at him as we drove back to the city. He had his arm on the lip of the passenger window, his head leaning on his palm. A smile played on his lips and his eyes sparkled with heat and I felt things. Big things. Really big things. Storage locker the size of Vermont things.
He'd told me he loved me. That didn't escape my notice. And he said it in that rumbly-grumbly way of his, a little bashful, a lot sweet. I just couldn't help myself with him.
But I said, "Nothing much. I have a busy week coming up. I'm due in New York for a few meetings on Tuesday and Wednesday." I looked at him again. I wasn't sure what I hoped to see there but he went on smiling and sparkling and making me feel things. "If everything goes as planned, McKendrick should be pitching next weekend."
"That will be a relief," Cal said. "For both of us."
