“You told me you were,” she says. “You told her,” she adds, tipping her chin to the ceiling like Nonna’s upstairs somewhere. “You said it at the church with your eyes. You’re here for the funeral. Then you go.”
The key in my pocket feels like a rock. “I said I was here for the funeral because I thought that was all there was. Then Angelo read a will.” I swallow. “This is not a weekend job, Mama.”
“I know,” she says. “That’s why the will is stupid.”
“Don’t,” I say.
She looks ashamed immediately. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean… I know why she did it. She wanted you to have a choice. I wanted to take the bad part off the table.” She scrubs a hand over her face. “Look at me. I’m getting emotional because I’m tired and you’re pushing.”
“I’m pushing,” I echo, bitter. “Because a Conti just climbed our stairs.”
“He’s climbed them before,” she says, and then catches herself. “Not often,” she adds, softer. “He doesn’t like to be seen. He’s quiet.”
“He’s… nothing like I expected,” I say before I can stop it.
Her eyes flick to me, sharp. “What did you expect?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Louder.” It sounds stupid when I hear it. I’m not about to say the other part out loud—the part where my body noticed him before my mind did. “He was respectful,” I add.
“He always has been,” she says, and the words make something uneasy turn in my stomach.
“I hate this,” I say, because I need to plant one true thing. “I hate all of it.”
“I know,” she says. “Me too.”
“I’m coming tomorrow morning,” I say.
“No,” she says, immediately. “You’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
“This is mine.”
“It’s ours,” I counter. “On paper, in practice, in blood. You don’t get to cut me out.”
“You don’t need to sit across from that man.”
“I already sat across from him,” I say. “Well, through a door. That’s not the same, but it’s close enough to know I won’t faint.”
She shakes her head. “You’ll make it worse.”
“How?”
“You’ll ask questions he doesn’t want to answer. You’ll push. You’ll light a match.”
“Or I’ll hear what I need to hear,” I say.
“I am not a child,” she snaps.
“Neither am I,” I snap back.
“It’s not numbers I’m worried about,” she says. “It’s men like him who like to test people.”
“You said he was fair,” I say.
“So far,” she counters.
“Tomorrow, I will be here. I will sit in that chair and listen. I won’t play lawyer. I’ll keep my mouth shut unless you want it open.”
