Aidan’s in there as well when we go in, and looks so genuinely delighted to see us all that I relax about another fifty percent.
“How is he really?” Aidan whispers to me at the table, halfway through dinner. Luca is caught up in conversation with Aidan’s parents, and everyone else is listening to them.
“He’s…” I give a little sigh. “I don’t even know, A.”
Aidan pats my knee under the table comfortingly, and tactfully changes the subject when Luca, across the table from me, glances at us. But the warmth in Luca’s eyes makes me smile back at him. I’m glad we came tonight. Luca is completely at ease in this homey environment, much more than I am. Our Donovan family dinners were never so full of laughter or chatter, not when I was a kid. But Luca, who grew up with only his loving older brother and his doting Nonna, must have had a lot of meals like this. Aidan’s mother fusses over him all through dinner, making sure he has double helpings of everything, and Luca accepts, even welcomes her motherly care.
At the end of the meal, Mr. O’Leary is the one who stands to clear the plates, and I’m struck with the desire to contribute to the family feel of the evening. “Let me help clear up,” I say, springing up as well. “I can stack the dishwasher, too. Aidan’s taught me well.”
“You certainly haven’tlearnedwell,” Aidan says stoutly, but his father laughs.
“By all means, come on and help,” Mr. O’Leary says. “But I prefer to wash the dishes by hand. Gives me time to think. Come on through, boys. Yep, you too, Aidan.”
There’s something about the way Aidan’s dad called usboysthat puts a lump in my throat. But when I see the mass of dishes in the kitchen all my warm-heartedness flies away in an instant. “What have I gotten myself into?” I mutter to Aidan, my eyes wide as I take it all in.
“Won’t take long,” Mr. O’Leary says. “Not once we get started.”
“I’ll dry,” I say quickly. “I just had my manicure the other day. Don’t wanna ruin all that good work.”
Mr. O’Leary looks slightly puzzled, but Aidan just laughs. “Finch is less dangerous on drying duty, anyway,” he assures his father. “Trust me.”
“How long have you lived here?” I ask as we work, because there’s only so long I can talk baseball before I get picked as a faker. I’ve never even watched a game, but Aidan and his father are pretty…investedin the Red Sox.
“Oh, a long time,” Mr. O’Leary says, glancing around the room as though seeing it for the first time. “Nancy and I have been talking about downsizing, but we had a lot of moments in this house, and I’m not sure I’m ready to let that go. Aidan, go check around the place, would you? Any stray mugs that haven’t found their way back here. Might as well do the lot while we’re at it.”
“It’s a nice place,” I say, after Aidan leaves the room. And I mean it.
“Not really,” Mr. O’Leary says with a smile. “But it’s home.”
“Itfeelsnice,” I substitute. “It feels…warm.”
The sloshing and clunking of plates in the soapy water is almost soothing, and I try to pick up the pace in my drying. It takes a second before I realize Mr. O’Leary has been studying me. “I was sorry to hear about your father’s death, Finch,” he says after another smile. “I know it’s never easy to lose family, no matter how estranged they may be.”
I dry the plate in my hands for a few more swipes than it really needs. “No,” I agree at last. “It’s not. Pops and I…we weren’t close—not like you and Aidan. But that just made it worse in a way.” I clear my throat. “And I’m sorry about your brother, Mr. O’Leary. I knew him a little, when I was younger. He was—he was always decent to me.”
“Not so decent by the end,” Aidan’s father says, steel in his voice. “Jim made his choices. I can’t forgive him for some of them. Not when he put my son and my wife in danger.” I give a non-committal murmur. What is there to say, after all? I think we’ve finished bonding over our familial losses, but it turns out Mr. O’Leary isn’t quite done. “Were you…” he starts.
“Was I what?”
“Were you closer with your mother than your father?” He’s stopped washing the dishes now and is looking at me curiously.
“Yeah,” I say. The lump in my throat is back and I have to give a little cough. “Yeah, I was closer to my Mom.”
“Nowshewas an interesting woman,” Mr. O’Leary says, and starts washing dishes again with vigor. “From New York, originally, isn’t that right?” Surprised, I nod. She grew up next door to Tino Morelli, which is how they knew each other and, later on, mademe. Mr. O’Leary goes on, “But she made Boston so much her home that I bet you could ask anyone else where she was born, and they’d say right here.”
“How…” I frown, confused. “How come you know about my Mom?”
“Ah, Finch. Everyone in town knew your mother back in the day. She was a force to be reckoned with, even before she married your father. And she was greatly admired for the way she turned her life around.”
I put down the plate I’m drying on the kitchen table and give him my full attention. “What exactly do you mean, Mr. O’Leary?”
Chapter Thirty-Two
FINCH
He hesitates. “Oh—well. I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
At that moment, Aidan comes back into the room with three mugs dangling from his fingers. “Found these, Dad.” He sets them on the sink and picks up his abandoned dish towel. Only then does he sense the tension in the room. “Uh,” he says doubtfully, looking between his father and me. “Is everything okay?”
