I gave her another half shrug. “Because we bought and restored an old farmhouse.”
“We did?”
I nodded. “We have chickens for fresh eggs every morning, and a goat because they like to eat grass, and we wouldn’t have to mow.”
“No cats, though, because I’m allergic.”
“Barn cats are a must because they keep the mice away.”
Antonia shuddered. “Our home sounds magical.”
“It will be because we’ll be together.” I held up our clasped hands. “Best friends forever.”
“The future spinsters of America.”
We both laughed until our sides hurt, and then everything turned serious again.
“I’m scared.”
“I know you are. Let’s go talk to my mom, Miri. She’ll help you.”
“Okay.”
Antonia drove her Ford Escort at a snail’s pace, telling me I had precious cargo, and she wasn’t going to be the one at fault if we got into an accident. As much as I appreciated her efforts, I wanted to go to her house and get this over with.
I wasn’t afraid of what Carmela would say. I was afraid of the look she’d give me. It didn’t matter how hard someone tried; you couldn’t mask initial disappointment. Even though I wasn’t her daughter, I’d grown up in her home, and she treated me like I was.
There wasn’t a parent alive who would be excited to hear that their son or daughter was having a child at seventeen. Well, I’d be eighteen when the baby came, which I guess made me an adult.
We pulled up in front of the two-story colonial. My heart jumped into my throat when I saw Renzo and Rocco throwing a football out front, while Carmela was on the front step, watching her husband and son.
To me, Antonia’s family was perfect. They never fought, they were always laughing, and they genuinely seemed to love each other. It was the kind of family I wanted and strived for. Carmela was the kind of mother I wanted to be.
Antonia got out of her car and met me at the passenger side. We walked together up the pathway, until we reached her mom.
“Hey, girls. Did you enjoy your outing?”
Antonia nodded. “Mama, can we go inside and talk?”
Carmela looked from her daughter to me, and as soon as I diverted my eyes, she knew I could feel the disappointment coursing between us.
“Come on. I just took some cookies out of the oven.”
We followed her into the house, taking off our shoes as we entered. The Bernardis had mauve carpet in every room, with a white-and-floral-patterned couch. Rarely would I ever sit on it, out of fear I’d spill my drink or something. Antonia and I would always put pillows on the floor when we watched TV with her family. To the right, after you entered the home, was the dining room. Their family table was large,seating up to eight people. The thinly crocheted tablecloth that draped over it had been made by Antonia’s great-grandmother back in Italy. If you sat at the table, you moved the tablecloth. That was the rule.
Off the dining room was the kitchen and breakfast nook. Carmela motioned for us to go sit. We did and then waited.
Antonia reached for my hand under the table. She held it tightly. I fought back the onslaught of tears waiting to spill over. Carmela came to the table with a tray of cookies and three glasses of milk.
She pulled her chair out and sat, the silence among the three of us palpable.
“Did you girls do something illegal?”
“No, Mama.”
Carmela nodded and looked directly at me. Her hand covered mine. “Are you in ...” She didn’t finish before I started nodding. She was up and out of her chair, and I was in her arms before the tears spilled over.
“I’m scared.”
