“Yes, sir,” he said, nodding to Mike and Rickey. “They’ll drop it off the second you text me that everyone’s asleep.
“Good. Thanks. Have a good one.”
I slipped inside, relieved as the rush of heat greeted me and on edge from the argument I could hear from my spot next to Maggie and Mateo.
“Sorry,” I told her, touching her shoulder when I sat. “Had to take care of something.”
Mateo sat in his mother’s lap, his big eyes getting wider as he watched Antonia and Dante bickering across the table.
“Are they…always like this?” Maggie asked, leaning closer to whisper in my ear. She smelled like wine, sweet, delicious, and a little like lilacs, making me want to nibble on her neck right here at this table with my idiot siblings irritating everyone.
“Always,” I told her, grabbing Mateo’s hand when he reached for my finger. “Antonia is protective of Dario. She’s still pissed at Dante, but she loves him too.” I grabbed a glass of wine, my finger still in the baby’s death grip. “Even if he is an asshole.”
Mateo giggled when Antonia threw part of her roll at Dante, and he retaliated by flinging a strawberry at her head, making her yelp.
Her face went red and blotchy until she screamed with a loud, “Bafangu!”
Not exactly something a kid should ever say around their parents, no matter how old they were, especially not around a crowd of people on Christmas Eve.
“Antonia Maria Carelli!” Mama shouted, slamming her fist onto the table. “Enough!”
My sister and Dante straightened, both instantly looking down at their plates as Pops stood, resting a hand on Mama’s back. His expression shifted from a frown to a smile as he gazed around the room.
“I’m so happy my wife got to speak for me earlier, but I’d like to say something too…if you wouldn’t mind?” Our family and friends clapped, their attention shifting instantly from my stupid siblings to our father. Next to me, Mateo reached, his small arms outstretched, and I took the hint, grabbing the kid to hold him in my arms.
“Okay,” I told him, my voice in a whisper, “as long as you remember the dimples shit doesn’t work on me.”
He went for my crucifix again, and I let him, stretching an arm around the back of Maggie’s chair. She leaned back, resting against my chest, her hand slipping onto my knee like it was habit, something I didn’t think she meant to do.
It didn’t bother me, didn’t seem to bother her either at first. Then she glanced down, her eyebrows shooting up like she’d only just realized what she was doing.
Yeah, she wants it.
When she started to move away, I grabbed her hand, holding my fingers over hers to keep her there. “You’re good,” I told her, smiling when I spotted how her chest heaved the closer I leaned toward her. “I don’t mind if you don’t.”
She looked up at me then as my father went on about his family, this town, and the importance of friendship and forgiveness. All I could think of were those big brown eyes and the touch of her hand as she stroked the inside of my thigh. Then Maggie bit her lip, those top teeth dragging along the wet skin.
And I realized for the first time that night, there was something I wanted for Christmas too.
