and turn to face the living room.
Paola’s eyes light up before a word ever leaves her mouth, the memory playing in her head—“Any woman walk in the Astor cryin’? Five minutes with Andrew, she’s smilin’ again, swearin’ he fixed their whole damn life.”
The Astor?
Aunt Lisa’s mouthing ‘here we go’over her wine. “He always played the part,” Paola keeps going. “Whatever you needed him to be, he’d show up. Not always a good thing, but”—she lifts her glass, makes a tiny toast to the air—“that’s my boy.”
“The Astor?” Aunt Fran blurts. “Oh, God—Tony, remember? He used to make us sit through three-act plays in the lobby—he’d play every role. Hero, villain, romantic lead, all in one.”
I catch his eyes the second he catches mine.
Both of us stuck in the same memory at the Astor.
He played every role the night he left me standing in Astor’s lobby too.
Hero for showing up.
Villain for walking out.
Romantic lead between.
Aunt Lisa stops in front of him as she’s passing by, pinches his cheek. “Well, would you look at this face. All moody, broody, and romantic. Eyes like a wet dog.” She pats his cheek twice. “We wasted him. Shoulda dumped him in Hollywood before puberty hit. Coulda played in those Nicholas Sparks movies.”
Uncle Tony lifts his beer, muttering under his breath but loud enough for the room. “At least the little shit woulda beenuseful. Paid off someone’s mortgage. Workin’ a bar? Only thing he’s coverin’ is the tabs when assholes skip out.”
Paola cups her mouth, says it loud enough for the whole damn room—“Oh, he could play romantic. Trust me.”
Then she grins at Andrew, like?—
don’t make me start.
Maria leans over, smacking Paola’s thigh. “Could? He is,” she says. “Me l’ha detto una volta—if he ever fell in love, he’d take her to the Astor roof. Said it was the only posto big enough to hold a feeling?—”
Andrew jerks taller, eyes wide.
Hand slashing at his throat fast?—
“Ma. Stop. Please. That’s—no.”
“Che? It’s sweet,” she laughs, waving him off.
But I heard it.
I’m still hearing it.
‘If he ever fell in love,
‘he’d take her to the Astor roof.’
And there’s a standoff inside me.
My heart’s holding a love letter.
My brain’s holding a gun.
They’re both yelling over each other?—
Stay.Run.Stay.Run.
