“What did Lena collect?”
Aidan’s gaze turned distant. “Those ugly as fuck flower things.”
“Oh, shit, yeah, I forgot about them.Capi do manti?”
“Capodimante?” I corrected.
“That’s right. Porcelain stuff.”
My brow puckered. “How sad for her!”
“Yeah. Da was an asshole. That temper of his—” Brennan and Aidan shared a look when he broke off.
Simultaneously, they cleared their throats.
“Sorry, Camille.”
“Sorry, baby.”
I laughed at their puppy-dog expressions. “Three apologies are enough, and you’re not your father.”
Aidan scrubbed the back of his neck. “Hard to remember that sometimes.”
“It bothers each of you that you might be emulating him,” I reasoned, knowing that for all they loved their father, his specter would haunt them for the rest of their lives. “But unlike you, he didn’t give a damn about being hisrawself.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Brennan complained.
“At least you know what to buy your mother for Christmas.”
They stared at me in confusion.
“Jeez, men can be real slow sometimes. The porcelain figures!”
“Nah, she doesn’t like that stuff anymore.”
“How do you know, Aidan?”
“Well, have you ever seen any in her apartment?”
“No, but maybe that’s because she misses her old collection. It’ll be different if you guys find her some pieces. It’ll mean more to her.”
Brennan rubbed his chin. “You think she’d like that?”
“I think there’s no harm in trying,andI know she’s going on a cruise, so if she hates them, you won’t get a vat of mashed potatoes hurled at you over the dinner table.”
Both men laughed, but from the glance they shot one another, the second in as many minutes, I figured they knew I wasn’t wrong.
Lena might be getting older, and that red hair of hers might be more silver now, but the fire in her could burn the bravest of souls.
While they worked on sweeping up their mess, I made us coffee. With that prepared, I set it on the newly straightened table and chairs, then plopped the rest of the treats on top.
“Now, what were you two bickering about?” At my pointed looks, they also took their seats.
“Business, sweetheart?—”
“Don’t ‘sweetheart’ me, Brennan O’Donnelly.”
He grunted.
