Even after months apart, her father hasn’t bothered to contact her. He really just washed his hands of her, preferring to pretend she never existed than to clean up his act and beg for her forgiveness. At least my dad never did anything to hurt me. He may have been a selfish prick at times, but he never did us any long-lasting harm.
“Mybambini,” my father says as he walks toward us with his arms outstretched like a proud papa and not an ex-con.
He’s wearing a new suit, no doubt having planned to make his grand entrance during the wedding without clueing the rest of us in on his release date.
My mother’s behind him, glaring at us. We aren’t running into our father’s waiting arms like she did, and she’s not too happy. I love my mother. There’s no other person on the planet I adore more than her, but man, she doesn’t seem to have a grip or any willpower when it comes to my dad.
I turn around, glancing over at Lucio and pretending my mother isn’t giving us the evil eye. “Is he serious?”
Lucio doesn’t answer back. Just shakes his head, at a loss for words.
Papa clearly didn’t get the memo about our not being overly thrilled about his return. The fact that our mother is asking for us to hire him on at Hook & Hustle—which means telling us, because there’s no saying no to Betty—just adds another layer of complication. It sure as hell doesn’t help in the feelings department either.
Vinnie’s the first one to grab my dad, almost lifting him off the floor in a giant bear hug. “We missed you,” he tells him, like he’s speaking for all of us.
Which he’s not.
I remember a time when I felt like Vinnie. But after the third, or maybe it was the fourth, time we went through the prison release celebration bullshit, I became jaded.
Who wouldn’t be?
Saying goodbye to my father over and over again because he can’t follow the law gets tiring after a while. When all my friends’ dads were attending Father-Daughter dances at school, I had one of my big brothers at my side because my dad was doing hard time for some stupid shit he easily could’ve avoided. But he always chose crime over his family.
“Jesus,” Papa says to Vinnie as soon as his feet touch the floor again. He gazes up at his youngest son and grabs him by the shoulder, squeezing his muscles. “You’ve grown.” My father practically beams with pride.
There’s a smart comment on the tip of my tongue about missing Vinnie’s last growth spurt. Angelo elbows me, knowing I am about to open my big mouth and probably say something I’ll later regret.
Vinnie was in high school when my father last got popped and sentenced to seven years hard time. Papa missed so many milestones. He wasn’t there when Vinnie won the state championship or became Illinois Quarterback of the Year during his senior year. Both of which were things we celebrated as a family, minus my dad.
While my dad was away, Vinnie had a big growth spurt, adding a good six inches to his then-already six-foot frame. He’s a monster. Wide. Muscular. And everything a star football player should be.
“He’s a big boy,” Ma says. “Wait until you see him play.”
My papa’s staring at Vinnie with wide eyes. Maybe surprised at his size or sad at everything he’s missed. The reality of the time he’ll never get back has to hit him square in the face when seeing a full-grown man standing in front of him, instead of the teenage boy he left behind.
“I’ll be at every game,” my father promises.
It’s hard for me not to roll my eyes. This happens every time he gets out of the joint. He’s full of promises. He means well and probably thinks he’ll follow through, but he’s always pulled back into the criminal world and away from us.
Lucio leans forward and whispers, “Are we doing an over-under this time?”
The last two times he came out of prison a changed man, we bet on how long it would be before he ended up behind bars again. This time won’t be any different. So far, Angelo’s two for two, always nailing the exact amount of time before my father is arrested again.
“Years or months?” Angelo asks in a hushed tone.
“Years may be too optimistic,” I tell them. “I give him six months.”
“I say a year,” Lucio replies.
“Nine months, tops,” Angelo adds.
I’m not the only jaded Gallo kid. We know my father all too well and aren’t fooled by his false promises anymore. Vinnie, though, he’s still too innocent and hopeful to let our sourness seep into his system.
My father closes the space between us, arms outstretched like we’re having a grand homecoming and couldn’t wait to see him again.
I used to be a daddy’s girl a long time ago. There was a time when I’d leap into his arms and squeal with delight. She’s gone now, but the reality hasn’t quite caught up with my father.
“Look at my kids. So grown. So beautiful,” he says.
