“Yeah.” Frankie’s eyes lit up. “I made a ton of cash too. Got my first leather jacket out of it and started a savings account.”
The timer dinged on the oven, and Carmine jumped up. “Finally. Let’s eat.” Wineglass in hand, he headed into the kitchen. “I’m gonna take out the salad.”
Dutifully, we all followed him and helped set up the food on top of the large granite island. With Frankie’s sister Valerie, her husband, and their daughter away this weekend, there was less food than usual, but Jeannie still made more than enough. A tray of piping-hot lasagna and another filled with meatballs were placed in the center of the island, with the garlic bread on one side and the salad on the other.
“It smells delicious, Jeannie. Thank you for having me.”
In the weeks since Frankie and I had gotten back together, there had been a distinct freeze from both his parents. Nothing I didn’t expect, but I’d hoped by now, after seeing us together, they’d warm up a bit. No such luck.
“Frankie wants you here.”
And we don’t, was the obvious message. Instead of getting angry, I forced a smile.
Through the big kitchen window, I saw the flowers blooming in Jeannie’s garden and remembered how I helped her plant the tulips.
“The garden looks good, Jeannie. Let me know if you need anything. I can get you some nice flowers wholesale.”
“I’m fine for now. Thank you.” She handed Carmine his food.
“Aaron loves his job, and they’re so happy with him, right? Here. This is for you.”
“Thanks.” I took the heaping plate, and without a glance, set it down. “Yeah. I meet people from all over the city, which is cool, plus they’re teaching me stuff I never knew.”
“Always good to learn,” Carmine said, chewing his lasagna. “Keeps the brain healthy.”
Eyes on me, her stare dark and intent, Jeannie ignored her own food to concentrate on me. “And you’re still going to therapy, right? You gotta under the court order?”
Defiant, I set my fork down and lifted my chin. “Yeah. I’m not ashamed of it. I’m happy to go. I wanna work on my problems if it means me ’n Frankie’ll be better together. That’s what it’s all about in the end. Making me a better person who deserves a guy like Frankie.”
Equally defiant, Frankie took my hand and laced our fingers together. “Better get used to it. Me ’n Aaron are back together, and it’s gonna stay that way.”
Aside from the ticking clock over the breakfast table, silence ruled, and I waited, knowing Jeannie would have something to say in return. Carmine would go along with what she decided. He was part of the “happy wife, happy life” club.
“You know, when you came out to us, I’ll admit I was worried. I worried about your classmates making fun of you, or even worse, cutting you off and pretending you didn’t exist. As you grew older, I worried about a world where it was okay to hate someone because of who they love. But what I shouldn’t ever havta worry about is the man who supposedly loves my son treating him like he’s a piece of dirt.”
“Ma, listen—”
“No,” Jeannie cut him off and wiped at her wet eyes. “You listen to me. You’re my son. And I love you. It don’t matter to me if you like guys. But it has to be the right guy. A guy who’ll treat you like you deserve. I’ve seen you trying to change to be who you think they want. But you’re the best at being yourself, Frankie. Don’t never change for someone else. And don’t settle for anything less than the best, because that’s what you deserve.”
“Ma, stop.” Frankie slammed his free hand on the counter.
“No, Frankie, let her talk. I know she wants me to hear it.”
It had been a while in coming, but I sensed Jeannie had been waiting for the right moment, and that moment was now.
“You’re right. I do. I need to get it off my chest ’cause this ismy sonwe’re talking about.”
“Fine by me,” I said, hearing the challenge in my voice. “Let’s do it.”
Deep breath. This ain’t some punk on the street. It’s Frankie’s mom.
The adrenaline pumping through me drained away. Nothing ever got settled with fighting, and I blew out a frustrated breath, feeling the sweat break out over my body.
“No. Not at dinner.” Carmine’s fork clattered to the counter, and he glared at each of us from under his thick, dark brows. “I want peace when I’m eating. My mama always said no arguing at the dinner table. It’s bad for digestion. We finish and then talk.”
Biting her lip, Jeannie nodded. “You’re right.” Her gaze found mine. “I’m sorry.” She picked up her fork and began to eat.
A couple of years ago I might’ve thrown my fork across the table, said “fuck it,” and walked out. I didn’t let things go and always had to fight. Fight for my place, fight to show I was there.Look at me. Pay attention to me. I exist.Going to therapy taught me that I had choices. And those choices had consequences, the main one being my relationship with Frankie. Being sent to prison put me at a crossroads. I could continue to not give a damn, find guys I could bully, and remain stuck in my circle of nothingness. Or I could man up, grow the hell up, and take those bad decisions and learn that I was better than that.
