It’s probably instructions for the dog or something. I shouldn’t expect, or even hope for, anything meaningful. She meant more to me than I probably meant to her. There’s no way I could compare to her family, not when they are this freaking amazing. But we did bond over gossiping about our neighbors.
The couple with the brown door across the street from Nonna’s are swingers and have a constantly rotating pool of partners. And the lady with the yellow rose bush buys all her desserts at a bakery in Hoboken but passes it off as her own at the neighborhood block party. Nonna thinks she’s a lying bitch but did ask for the bakery’s address.
Nonna also used to tell me all about her grandchildren. Some were hers biologically, others she adopted along the way. She was most worried about Donny—she said he seemed lost in the world. And Izzy…
Wait a minute…
Now everything is starting to click, and cogs in my head turn and lock into place. A few years ago, right around the time I started walking Kingston, Nonna was all in a tizzy. Her granddaughter was finally coming home after ten years. Apparently, she ran away when she was sixteen and pregnant, and her return home was exciting. The prodigal granddaughter and Nonna’s great grandson were back where they belonged.
“Nonna was proud of you,” I blurt out.
Izzy dips her head and blushes. “Why? I didn’t do anything special?”
I shake my head. “According to Nonna, you ran into a burning building to save your boyfriend. And she’s super excited for your upcoming wedding.”
She smiles, but sadness falls across her eyes. A major event Nonna won’t be there for. The table falls silent. I said, “she’s” as in present tense. But Nonna… sigh… stupid grammar.
The woman with light brown hair leans in. “I’m Katya. I’ve only read about Nonna in files. I’m a newbie here, my first Vice Night.”
I glance around the space, and I can’t figure out what the vice is. Hanging out? Drinking?
Katya picks a leather booklet from the other table, which is storing their purses and stuff. “Do you do Karaoke?” she asks.
Alana whispers, “This is the vice.”
Izzy brings a glass of water to her lips. “My brother is snorting coke off a stripper’s tits, but my vice is far more embarrassing since none of us can sing.”
I wonder what the other grandkid’s Vice Night will be. Stories about Nico were my favorite. Nonna had the most stories about him. Some were heartbreaking. Like the time he found a baby bunny in the backyard. He ran inside to get a bowl of water for it, and when he came back, it was already dead. Then, about ten seconds later, a hawk swooped down, knocking him over and carrying the carcass off with it. Others were heartwarming. Like the time he drove home from college, through a snowstorm, to shovel her walkway. Nonna said her husband once had hundreds of employees, and any one of them could’ve done it, but Nico was already on the case.
Over the years, I’ve built up Nico in my head. He’s an untouchable demigod with great abs and a biting sense of humor. He’s sweet and sensitive and cares about family more than anything else. Have I been crushing on an imaginary persona for a little while? Definitely. Will I be going to Nonna’s funeral to pay my respects and try to slip Nico my number. Yes, yes, I will.
I should definitely use her funeral to get laid. Nonna would’ve wanted it that way.
“What will Nico’s Vice Night be?”
All four women look at me like I’m insane. Alana whispers, “Who’s Nico?” Waverly and Katya frown and shrug.
“OHHHHH.” Izzy slaps her head. “I haven’t heard anyone use that name in years. Nico’s vice is probably dragging Thiago out to all of his businesses and forcing Thiago to watch as he works on spreadsheets.” She giggles into her glass, but everyone else is still super confused. When she sees no one else is laughing, she says, “Nico is Joey’s middle name.”
My heart drops. What the hell?
Waverly laughs. “He’s probably going to be super grumpy while doing payroll.”
Izzy supplies the rest of the information as understanding moves through the group. “Yeah, Joey’s mom didn’t want him to be called Junior after his father, and Nico sounded cooler. When his parents died, everyone started calling him Joey to keep his parents’ legacy alive. Only Nonna still called him Nico.”
I’m trying to understand this whole process. “But Joey tried to kill me today.” My super sweet, kind-hearted Nico would never do that. Ever.
“Also sounds right,” Waverly says into her wineglass.
But nothing about this is right. How could Nico and Joey be the same person? My fictional image of a man I used to daydream about, think about while I was getting my vibe on, is Joey?
And I need to see him again? And often?
Shit.
A purse starts buzzing and singing on the other table. Katya leans over and grabs it to hand it over to Alana. After digging through her purse, she pulls out her cellphone. Her expression doesn’t change as she says, “We have a new client.”
“Who?” Kayta says.
