“You got some nerve…
“bringin’ her here…
“on my turf… ”
Andrew’s brows bunch,
confused but full-on grinning.
I press on, flicking my fingers at him:
“…Thisstunad, all huggin’ her then vanishin’ for twenty-four hours. Some wannabe Casanova with more fruit than follow-through, eh?”
Andrew's smile won't let up.
“Nah, you scary good at that—stop.”
I don't?—
“…You think you can just waltz back into her life with tunes…
“warm champagne, blueberries.
“In my city. On my rooftop?
“Disrespectin’ the family?
“…Fuggedaboutit.”
A laugh bubbles out of him,
fist over his mouth.
“… A real wiseguy, this one …
“No sufferin’. No cannoli. No apology."
Then he’s doubled over,
laughing and stunned and gone.
I lean in, breathless:
“She cried. 8:30.
“Washington Square.
“I held her thigh.
“With my foot…”
We lean in, laughing?—
same time?—
A crash collision.
Our foreheads smack so hard
