The current version understands that standing there was what she needed when I didn’t. I keep my eyes on Lucia and away from the reflexes that turn people into enemies when they’re near the ones I love.
“Why here?” Lucia asks suddenly. “This casino. This… place.”
“Because it’s not mine,” I say. “And it’s not yours. And it’s public. And because Elena likes the fries.”
The corner of her mouth twitches despite herself; Elena lifts her glass like she’s been caught. “They’re delicious.”
Lucia sips her water. “You look good,” she says to Elena
“I am,” Elena says, and the words are soft and careful. “And terrified. Both can be true.”
Lucia’s eyes drop to Elena’s stomach again. “How far along are you?”
“Thirty-five weeks. So just a few more left before this one comes along.” She pats her belly.
For some reason, it hadn’t occurred to me until now that this baby is Lucia’s sibling. Maybe a few decades apart, but no different than Caterina, Vito, and Nico.
“What are you having?” she asks quietly.
“We don’t know yet,” I say. “We want it to be a surprise.”
“A mistake, in hindsight,” Elena says, laughing. “I’m anxious to know.”
“I understand that,” Lucia says, then looks back at Nick. “We waited for Sofia and couldn’t for Charlotte.”
I can’t help the words. “How are they?” I ask, knowing it’s not my place. “Your daughters.”
Lucia’s posture shifts, an instinctive flinch, and then she settles. She moistens her lips. “Good,” she says. “Sofia’s four going on forty. Apparently, her teacher says ‘oh, honey’ when the students make a mess in class, so Sofia says it now, too. Head shake and everything.” The corner of her mouth lifts despite herself. “Charlotte tried riding the dog like a horse the other day.”
Nick exhales a laugh through his nose. “We intervened before any injuries occurred.”
I can see the pictures I’m not allowed to see: a little girl shaking her head, a dog resigned to all the antics. The ache is sharp and biting. “They sound…” I search for a word that isn’t too much. “Wonderful.”
“They are,” Lucia says, and there’s softness beneath the steel. She tips her glass, thinks better of it, sets it down. “And exhausting.”
“Exhausting is love,” Elena says gently. “I’m told.”
Lucia glances at her belly, then at me. “Do you have names?” she asks.
“We have fights about names,” I admit.
“Discussions,” Elena corrects primly.
“Fights,” I repeat, because teasing her is one of my favorite activities. “She wants saints. I want names that won’t get them picked on in school.”
“Says the man who named a son after a Roman general,” Elena mutters.
Lucia’s mouth quirks again.
“The server returns with a basket mounded in fries, steam curling up enticingly. He sets it down, leaves four plates, two ramekins of aioli, and disappears.
“Go on,” Elena says to Lucia, nudging the basket toward her.
Lucia studies the fries like they might bite, then reaches, drags one through the aioli, bites. Her lashes lower. “Okay,” she concedes, small and grudging. “That’s unfairly good.”
“See? Baby loves them too,” Elena says, grabbing her own fry.
I reach for one, and Lucia’s eyes follow my hands.
