She looks a little confused by that, and I realize it was the wrong thing to say. Maybe she thinks I’m suggesting she and I are family? I’ve got to get my fucking boot dislodged from my mouth before I say something that can’t be taken back.
“Shush. I’d better see if Vito and Evan need me,” she says softly.
“Wait.” I stand and put a hand on her arm. She turns to me, and I set the cup of coffee on the chair. “I’ve been telling you not to hide from me, and I’ve been hiding from you. No, maybe from myself.” I scrub a hand through my hair and shake my head. “I never should have let you leave yesterday without talking.”
“Yo.” My brother’s voice echoes through the store, and I wince. He’s calling out to Evan to hold the ladder, and I realize this is not the time or the place to have this talk.
“Can I see you?” I ask. “We need to talk.”
She nods. “Why don’t you come to my place after dinner? Or you can call me.”
I feel like the tiny voice she’s using means she’s afraid I’m going to let her down, break her heart. That maybe the phone option was a way to let me off easy—or maybe make it easier on her.
“No phone,” I say. “I want to look you in the eye and be real with you. Even if it’s not easy. Can we do that?”
She nods again, and a wave of absolute pain washes over me. I don’t want sad Chloe. I don’t want her braced for the bad news that isn’t going to come. I want the spunky, awkward, sweet woman who demanded hugs from my self-serve comfort bar. Maybe she’s become the comfort bar for me now.
“Can I kiss you?” I ask. “A hug, anything? I don’t like how we left things. I want to make it right.”
She parts her lips and grins. “Are you trying to proposition me in my own store? My aunt will turn over in her grave.”
“This isn’t about sex,” I growl and tug her to my chest. I hold her against me and breathe in her hair. She smells different today, like a vanilla candle with something tropical, maybe pineapple. I don’t care if she smells like the city dump after a fire. Once my arms are around her, I’m sure I never want to let her go.
* * *
“Latterature’s gota kick-ass security system—bam!” Vito pounds against the dinner table, making the plates and flatware clank.
“For fuck’s sake, V.” Benny nearly spills the glass of red wine he was pouring and shoots our brother a dark look.
Ma and Pops glare at Vito, but then my ma nods. “I’m glad. That robbery…” She shakes her head and shivers, then makes the sign of the cross over her forehead and heart. “I’ve got a daughter who works on that street and a future daughter-in-law, God willing, to be concerned about.”
When she says future daughter-in-law, all eyes at the table fly to me.
“Oooooh,” Benito teases. “Did Ma’s matchmaking finally work on you, Franco? I call dibs on best man.”
Vito’s about to start his bullshit when Gracie speaks up. “She’s talking about me, you dumb fuck. Chloe and I are very happy together, thank you very much.”
Pops holds both hands as if surrendering. “I love my children whether they are gay, straight, or whatever.”
All four of us kids look at my dad with expressions that range from shock to amusement. He shoves his reading glasses onto his hair and shrugs.
“What’s whatever?” Ma asks, looking incredibly concerned, like she’s ready to run out and make sure whoever this person is, they are happy and content in their life. That’s one thing I can say about Mario and Lucia. They are unwaveringly supportive. When Vito wanted to marry a stripper, all they cared about was if he was happy.
My dad lifts his silver brows and shrugs. “Whatever they want to be, as long as they’re happy.”
I polish off my pasta and salad as they start to bicker about happiness, then get up to clear my plate. I’m in the kitchen rinsing my dish under the faucet when I feel a hand at my back.
“Son.” Ma stands behind me, her eyes worried and her lips drawn. “You’ve been very quiet tonight. And I notice Chloe didn’t join us for family dinner. I’ve been almost sick all evening thinking I did something to come between you two. I shouldn’t have shown up the way I did today. I’m sorry, baby. I…”
I turn and face my mom, but all the fire has gone out of my frustration and anger at her meddling. Now I’m just curious.
“When you first tried to set me up with Chloe…” I say, leaning my ass against the sink. “Why? Why her, Ma? Is she just someone who was there?”
My mom is quiet for a minute. She’s wearing a new color lipstick today, which is unusual. I make a note to ask her about it. It’s a softer color, and I don’t remember her ever wearing light colors. Ma’s usually bold and dramatic in everything she does, from nails to hair to lips.
“You know Ann and I were very close,” she says, and I nod. “And I don’t know how to explain it. I just had a feeling, Franco. When I first met Chloe, I knew she was supposed to be part of our family. I never considered anything but introducing her to you. Not Benny or Vito. I just thought she would be perfect for you. It was like I could see it, and I never questioned it. But I’m sorry if I came on too strong or brought you any trouble.”
Ma looks genuinely apologetic, but none of this is really her fault. That falls squarely on me.
