Somehow my hands are shaking even though I know it's a joke. Obviously. But something about him kneeling there, goofy as hell, with his crooked smile and eyes only on me and calling ME a Fontana… I swear my heart does a somersault.
He takes my hand. Slides the ridiculous duck ring onto my finger. It's too small. He forces it past my knuckle. I blink down at it. A yellow duck. Just staring at me like "quack, bitch, you're a fake Fontana now."
I exhale. And try to laugh it off. But Gio's looking up at me. He hasn't stopped smiling. And it's funny. It'sstupid. But also weirdly satisfying. Lorenzo gives Gio a playful shove in the back.
"Wow. My cousin really just proposed with a duck ring. You are so ghetto." Gio's still kneeling while still holding my hand, proud of himself. He just shrugs. "You say ghetto, I say cute."
Marco casually steps between them. He slings an arm around Gio's shoulder. "Let's not disrespect the emotional gravity of this moment," he says. His voice suddenly sounds like he's in court. Everyone goes quiet. Marco straightens his back, about to deliver a closing statement.
"As a certified attorney in three jurisdictions—"
Lorenzo cuts in. "You'renot." Marco ignores him. "I hereby state that this duck ring represents a legally binding emotional contract, under Article 47 of Public Displays of Devotion."
I squint at him. "What the hell is Article 47?" Marco doesn't miss a beat. "The 'Shit That Makes You Go Aww' clause. Look it up."
Lorenzo groans. "Gio is unwell." Marco points at him. "Gio is romantic." Then he turns to me, places a solemn hand on my shoulder. "You two are now spiritually married in my heart. May the duck bless your union." Gio nods, serious all of a sudden.
"Thank you, Tree Guy. You're officially my lawyer. I might actually need you soon." Marco smirks. "My fee is one lemon pie per emotional breakdown."
Gio says, "Perfect. You'll be rich by the end of the week." I look down at the stupid little duck on my finger. I'm never taking this off. I don't care if it turns my finger green. I don't care if Gio forgets our fake anniversary and never mentions it again.
I don't care if I have to walk into a job interview one day and the recruiter asks, "Sir, is that a duck?"
Yes, bitch. It is. And it's love. I'm not taking it off if we fight. I'm not taking it off if we move to different countries. Hell, I'm not even taking it off if I lose the actual finger. I'll glue the ring to my damn stump. This duck is staying with me. Because Gio gave it to me, and it means absolutely everything.
…
Hours have passed. We're all barely hanging on… on this wobbly ass wooden bench. Lorenzo's absolutely gone. He's holding a half-empty wine cup with his legs stretched out, talking to the stars. "I miss Noah…" he sighs dramatically. "That bitch… his stupid face…"
I'm leaning on Gio's shoulder. My head's right where it belongs. I can hear his heart beating if I stay still enough. His bag's stuffed to the brim with all the plushies he won for me. He looks like a six-year-old crime boss.
I smile into his shirt. "Hey, Lorenzo," I mumble. "When I come back, whenever that is, I'll try to bring Noah. He's got no one in Canada. He's like me."
Marco perks up. He and Lorenzo had been drinking beer and wine like it was water. His eyes are soft and blurry. "Wait…guys, is this Noah guy…fruity?"
All of us turn. Daisy's whole body jolts. "YES. YES HE IS. RAVA. BRING HIM TO ITALY. PERMANENTLY. PLEASE."
I blink, laughing. "Okay okay. Jesus. I'll try. He'd actually kill it here. And the tattoo studios wouldn't know what hit them."
CRACK. The bench dies. We all hit the ground.
I think my soul left my body for a second. "My ass!" Daisy cries. Marco groans. "That's it. I'm filing for worker's comp. My ass is gone." And then Gio and Lorenzo start laughing.
Loudly. Same time, same pitch. It's almost like they're family. I look at Gio, who's wiping tears from his eyes. He points at me. "Look what your fat ass did. Whole bench gone. Total collapse."
I gasp. "I'm suffering from success." Suddenly, "Sara Perche Ti Amo" starts blasting from the speakers across the place.
It's exactly like the last time. Lorenzo shoots upright.
"STAND UP NOW MOTHERFUCKERS. WE'RE NOT MISSING THIS." We all stare at him. He points a dramatic finger toward the speakers. His eyes have gone wide.
"THIS IS TRADITION. THIS IS CULTURE. THIS IS THE ITALIAN NATIONAL ANTHEM!"
Daisy's still holding her ass. "…I kinda agree."
"EVERYONE'S DANCING EXCEPT US!" Lorenzo shouts. "WE’RE GONNA BE EXCOMMUNICATED FROM ITALY."
He disappears into the crowd of tipsy middle-aged dancers. Gio and I exchange a look. He shrugs, grinning. "He's got a point." And then we're all scrambling to our feet. Marco nearly trips over the destroyed bench.
