“We didn’t. I decided I wanted to have dinner with my family tonight. Hope said you’d be late.” Her eyes move from me to Everett. You can always count on Nonna not to miss a thing.
“I need to talk to Mom and Dad first.”
“Dinner will keep.” Her eyes don’t leave the boy.
What’s the point of pretending? “You can take the time to get to know your grandson while you wait.”
Nonna's face lights up, but worry is hovering behind her eyes.
“I’d like to tell Hope.”
“You know she’ll handle it just fine.”
She’s made of strong stock. “I know. But I still want to be the one to tell her.”
Nonna nods. “You can call me Nonna, Everett.” She reaches an arm out to him. “Do you like biscotti?”
A small part of the knot unwinds.
“Your parents are in the library ‘reading’.”
Ewww. “I’ll knock first.” Very loudly. How can a couple who’s been married as long as they have still act like teenagers?
Is it wrong that I want to be like that in fifty years?
“Come in,” Dad shouts through the thick door.
Neither of them bothers to put the books down that they’re reading. Nor does Mom climb out of Dad’s arms.
Will they be this warm and loving after I tell them my news?
How can Mom smile and live like everything is perfectly normal when her son was out there on the streets, barely surviving? That just doesn’t feel right.
Mom fought to save me. She’d do anything for me. Anything for Milia. My heart won’t let me believe that she wouldn’t do the same for any child. But DNA doesn’t lie.
“Did you want to talk about something? Nonna came for dinner. It should be ready in a few minutes.” Dad’s easy smile slowly changes.
How do I do this?
Fiona said to let her tell him. Mom gets one chance to tell the truth. My eyes move to Mom. “Everett came for dinner.”
“Do you think that’s wise? That boy sounded a little unstable.” Dad’s answer is perfectly reasonable.
“Not unstable. Confused. That can happen when children endure traumatic events. I’m sure he will be just fine during dinner.”
Stop lying. The words manage to stay in my head. You don’t know what Mom has been through. You need to be kind. Patient.
My patience ends where her safety begins. My eyes move to her, and I will her to tell the truth. “Shall you tell him, or will I?”
“Tell me what?” Dad’s voice sounds confused.
“It’s better that he hears it from you than he hears it from me.” Please.
Please, just admit the truth and let us protect you.
Mom stares at me with confusion.
She’s never been that good of a liar. I could tell from the first time I walked in her apartment door that she loved me, no matter how much she tried to push me away. “Mom. Please.”
