Noah raises both eyebrows. "There's more secrecy in this house than a Vatican vault."
"I'm sorry," I cut in, "are we not gonna circle back to the fact that my mother just casually brought up Gio like she's part of the group chat now?"
She lifts the bowl. "I just wanted you to give him this." I look at her hands. "...A bowl?"
"Not just a bowl," she says, gently. "Pies. His favorite. The ones he used to inhale when he was little. We used to make them together. With his dad..."
Her voice softens. "Before he passed, obviously."
Right. Sometimes I forget how much Gio loved his dad. Swear to God, he acted all tough with the rest of us, but the second his dad showed up, he shifted. Completely. Let himself be excited. Didn’t try to hide it, didn’t tone it down. He became someone else. Like the armor dropped for a second. And I think that’s what makes all of this worse.
He knows what it’s like to have a dad who sees you, who roots for you. He had that, until he didn’t. There is this moment, just a second, where none of us know what to say. Not even Noah. And that says a lot.
I step forward and hug her, wrapping my arms around her smaller frame. "You didn't have to do this," I say into her shoulder. "It's not like we're—I mean, you're acting like we're married or something."
She pulls back just enough to flick my forehead. "Oh, shut up. I was taking care of him before you even figured out you liked him." My jaw drops. "Okay wow. First of all, rude. Second, accurate but...rude."
Noah shakes his head, grinning. "I'm surrounded by clowns." But I see the way his grin drops a little when he looks at the bowl. "Gio's dad...?"
Mom nods. "Yeah. Many years ago. Suicide. He doesn’t talk about it much, but...I know it still sits heavy. Poor baby."
I look down at the bowl in my hands. Pies. Like some kind of portal to a childhood memory he probably doesn’t bring up anymore. I still remember them coming over to our house to talk business, and Gio sneaking up to my room with like five pies stacked in his tiny-ass hands, half of them already sliding off.
Sometimes he’d drop one, and he'd just look me dead in the eye and go, "I dropped it on purpose. So you could eat it." One time he was eating so fast that he literally choked, I freaked out, tried to help him, but he went, "Don't you dare touch me."
So I let him choke. For like ten minutes. Sit there watching this stubborn little idiot cough up pie crumbs and pride. Noah’s voice cuts through the quiet. "So…if I eat one right now, is that, like...disrespectful to his trauma or—"
"Don't you dare touch one," I snap, hugging the bowl like a dragon with gold. "Jesus," Daisy says. "You're already acting like his husband."
I groan. "Someone get me a veil."
My mom just smiles and kisses my cheek. "I’ll be downstairs. Try not to kill each other." She leaves, and I look at the bowl again.
Gio doesn’t know it yet, but he’s about to get handed a tray of love disguised as pie. And maybe a little of my heart too.
But...you know. Casual.
We finally make it to the top of the stairs, overloaded, when my dad steps out of his office, looking up from a folder with his usual stern-CEO-of-this-household expression.
He gives us all a once-over. "Heading out?"
Noah, with a bag on each shoulder and a drink already in his hand, gives him a thumbs up. "Just embracing our identities as dehydrated beach rats."
My dad’s eyes land on me. "Rava, before you go, don’t forget you still have to sign those documents for the next meeting. We need them sent out by tomorrow."
Before I can answer, Daisy steps in like she’s ready to throw hands. "Oh my GOD, dad. Let the man enjoy one summer day without reminding him of corporate doom!" My dad rolls his eyes. "It’s not—"
"Let him live!" she says dramatically. I stifle a laugh. "Okay, okay, we'll talk later. It’s fine." I adjust the bowl of pies under one arm, holding three bags. "Wait," I say suddenly. "Before we leave. We need a photo."
Everyone freezes. "Seriously," I say. "Who knows when we'll get this idiot back in Italy again." I jerk my head at Noah. He puts a hand on his chest. "Wow. Emotional damage."
"Stand together," I say, and turn to my dad. "Can you take one?" He looks a little surprised, but nods. "Sure."
He steps back, raises the phone, and then his face changes. He’s not looking at the screen anymore. He’s looking at me. "Why is Gio calling you?"
Everything inside me drops. My heart slams into my ribs. "What?" I croak. He turns the screen toward me.
Incoming Call. Gio. Fuck.
