Her jaw drops. Her face shifts. Even in the goddamn hospital bed she starts to sit up, like she’s ready to go fight him herself.
"Hey," I lean forward, placing my hand on her arm. "Don’t. Don’t do that."
"Giovanni, he—"
"I know," I cut her off quietly. "I know. But I’m fine."
"Did he—"
"It’s a long story," I say. "And not one I want you stressing over right now." Her lips press tight. I run my thumb over her wrist slowly. "It’s handled. I swear. Rava handled it," I add.
Something passes through her face. Surprise. I sit back in the chair, let go of her wrist, but not her hand. I stare at the edge of the bed, then at the window, then at the little blinking light on her IV. My heart is hammering.
God. This is stupid. She doesn’t need to hear this now. She’s recovering. She doesn’t need my drama. But still.Still.I’ve spent years feeling like I don’t have a mom anymore. Not really. She’s there, breathing, existing. But notwithme. And I miss her. I miss having someone to tell things to. Even the soft things. Especially the soft things.
I take a breath. Then another. Then I turn to her, lift my gaze. "So… I’ve got something to tell you."
Her whole body perks up. "You’re going to jail?"
I choke. "What the hell, mom?! No."
"Is Lorenzo going to jail?"
I start laughing. "Jesus—no!"
"Did you kill someone?"
"Mom—"
"Is it drugs?"
"No!"
"Oh god, did Lorenzo kill himself on accident?!"
I lose it. I bend forward, laughing into my palm. "Nobody killed anyone! Nobody’s in jail!" I look up, breathless. "You’re insane, woman."
She grins. A little proud of herself. "So what is it then?"
Christ. I feel like I’m fifteen again, about to confess some dumb shit about my first kiss. It’s ridiculous. Actually ridiculous.
"Well I can’t say it if you’re looking at me like that," I mutter. "Giovanni," she says. "You’re scaring me."
I exhale. Run a hand through my hair. Then I look her in the eyes. "I told Rava I love him."
There’s a long silence. Her fingers tighten a little in mine. Her eyes shine. Not with tears, but with some mix of panic and motherly instinct that doesn’t know which direction to go. She looks like she wants to hug me and shield me from the world in the same breath.
"Oh…oh, sweetheart. I—I’m so sorry."
My head jerks. My brows shoot up. "Wait, what? Why are you apologizing?"
"I just—I thought he was, you know…straight,after all. I didn’t want you to get hurt." I snort. Loud. Lean back in the chair.
"Trust me," I say, smirking. "He’s not. Not even close." She stares at me. "Andhe said it back," I add. "That he loves me too. Actually, he doesn’t just say it. He shows it. Every day."
Her hand is still in mine. I rub my thumb over her knuckles, gaze softening as I speak. I lean back in the chair again and rest my ankle on my knee. I glance down at our hands. Then look up at her again. "I don’t think you understand how good he is," I say quietly.
"He’s smart," I continue. "Like, scary smart. He remembers everything, and he notices shit no one else sees. But he doesn’t show off about it. He just…watches. And listens. And helps when no one’s looking." A smile creeps up my face before I even realize it. "And he’s beautiful. Ridiculously beautiful. Come on, you know that too."
