“I don’t know how you did it, Angelo. I can’t imagine raising two kids without Mia,” Mike says as soon as the kids and my parents are out of the bar.
I shrug. “You don’t really have a choice, but it wasn’t easy. I had my head up my own ass, consumed by grief for a long time, but somehow, we made it through it.”
“It didn’t get lost on me that Tate called Tilly Mom. How do you feel about that?” Joe asks.
“It’s bittersweet, but as long as my kids are happy, I’m happy. Tilly loves them as if they’re her own.”
“Going to have more?” Thomas asks.
For some reason, I feel like I’m being interrogated. No longer are they hurling insults back and forth; now they’re all focused on me and volleying questions back and forth.
“Whatever Tilly wants.”
I’d have half a dozen kids if it made Tilly happy. Whatever the woman wants, she’ll get. Putting up with me isn’t easy and becoming part of my family, one she didn’t help create, is something I’ll always be thankful for.
17
Tilly
“That’s it. I’m moving in here. I’m finally home.” Izzy stands near the fountains in the middle of Macy’s on State Street. She gazes up at the escalators and numerous floors and spins in a slow circle. “This must be what heaven’s like.”
Suzy snorts. “You’re being overly dramatic.”
Izzy points upward. “How many floors do we have at our Macy’s, Suzy?”
“Two.”
“This store has seven.” Izzy grabs Suzy’s arm. “Seven.”
“You two can stand here all day gawking and arguing, but I have some serious shopping to do.” Max steps onto the escalator and gives a small wave. “I’m heading to the shoe department, and I may never leave.”
We follow behind Max, because everyone loves shoes, and there’s no better place in downtown Chicago to feed a shoe addiction than Macy’s on State.
“I don’t have any room in my suitcase,” Race whines as we make our way to the second floor.
“Babe,” Izzy says with a hint of laughter. “Ship the shit home.” Then Izzy’s eyes widen as she reaches down and grips my hand while she cranes her neck upward. “Oh my God. They still have the Walnut Room?”
“Yeah,” I say like I know what I’m talking about, but I don’t have the slightest idea why the Walnut Room is a big deal.
“Ladies, we’re doing lunch and drinks first. Seventh floor,” Izzy tells the group. “If we eat now, we can shop until we drop.”
I’m already exhausted, and we’ve barely stepped foot in the store, let alone shopped for hours. But I’ve learned quickly this isn’t a group you say no to, especially now that they’re family.
Within minutes, we’re seated at a large table in the center of the Walnut Room. It’s a grand space with dark wood and wrought iron.
“It’s just as I remember it,” Izzy says, holding her menu but not bothering to look at it. She’s too busy taking in the timeless beauty of the restaurant.
“It never changed much over the years,” Bianca says, glancing around the space like Izzy. “My father always brought us here the day after Thanksgiving.”
“Mine too,” Izzy says quickly. “We always took the train downtown and spent all day shopping, with lunch at the Walnut Room to see the Christmas tree.”
I can’t imagine growing up near a store like this or near a big city. The town I grew up in had very few stores with a small city center. The shopping was dismal at best, and the restaurants didn’t require more than jeans as proper attire.
My parents’ idea of a day after Thanksgiving shopping spree was a few hours in Kmart, waiting for the next blue light special. We didn’t have fancy department stores or swanky restaurants within a hundred miles of our small Georgia town.
“Do you miss Chicago?” I ask Izzy.
She shakes her head. “A small part of me still feels like this is home, but I could never leave the blue skies and sandy beaches for all the traffic and cement.”
