“It’s OK,” she continued, “I know you can’t help it. Pop was the same way. That’s why Ma never worked. He wouldn’t allow it, he was the provider.”
“Pop was great, Nat,” Mikey said, eyes welling. “Please don’t speak ill of him.”
“I wouldn’t. You know that... but it’s true.”
“Why do you say this? Where is this coming from?”
“Ma and I talk a lot, now that you’re away more—with George. She loved Pop too—we all did, Mikey—but he had a different point of view. He was from a different generation.”
“What are you getting at, Natalie?”
She looked at him with soulful eyes. “You’ve replaced him, Mikey. Ma was ready to move on when he died, but she can’t... because you haven’t.”
* * *
Throughout dinner, Mikey was unusually quiet. George and Sophia made small talk about family, and food, and traditions. Natalie engaged when prompted, but Mikey’s comments were limited mostly to smiles and nods.
After, as they had their tiramisu and coffee, Sophia said, “George, this meal was lovely and your restaurant is beautiful. Natalie and I would like to thank you for inviting us down for the holiday.”
George smiled, raising his coffee cup in a toast. “Here’s to family. Who knows? Perhaps this is the beginning of a new tradition for all of us.”
“If that is true—” said Sophia, “—then Christmas dinner is at our home, in Baltimore.”
“Deal. If I don’t have to cook, I’m even happier to be there. What do you say, Mikey?”
Mikey looked at George. “What?”
“We were just suggesting that if we do Thanksgivings here, we could do Christmases in Baltimore.”
“Yeah. Sure. That sounds fine.”
“Babe, are you OK? What’s wrong?”
Mikey turned to his mother. “Ma, do I remind you of Pop?”
“Every day—” she answered, no hesitation, “—like a gift from God. Why do you ask?”
“How do you think he would feel about this—about George and me?”
She smiled. “He would have loved George. I’m certain of it.”
Mikey raised his eyebrows and cocked his head.
Sophia laughed. “OK. It may have taken more than a Thanksgiving meal... but he would have come around. We knew you were different, Angelo... at a very young age.”
“I could have told him. I never told him. I never spoke the words.”
“You were young—barely a teen when he died. He knew though.”
“Do you think—” Mikey began, “—he would... be proud of me?”
George reached out and squeezed Mikey’s hand. Mikey held firm but kept eye contact with Sophia.
She smiled. “Of course, he would. You work for the United States Postal Service. He would havelovedthat.”
Mikey shook his head. “That’s not what I mean, Ma.”
“Do you mean because you’re gay?”
