Giuseppe’s hand is firm at my back, and on the other side, Antonio’s fingers are still laced through mine.
We reach the cars in a strange, stunned silence.
My chest feels hollow. I just scooped my parents out of my life.
It isn’t painless, but I know I’ll survive.
“Sugar,” Lucia declares the moment we step into their house.
She presses a hand to her chest and inhales, looking very much like Antonio when he’s quoting Shakespeare to prove a point.
“The sugar will balance out the bad taste.”
No one argues.
She marches toward the kitchen with purpose, moving like a first responder arriving at an emotional scene.
Exhausted, I sink onto the couch.
Antonio leans into my side immediately.
His dad settles into the armchair across from us, his expression thoughtful.
“Everyone did very well,” he says. “You and your sister stood up for what is right.”
He gives me a kind look.
“That takes courage.”
I brace for the turn—for the subtle repositioning of praise so it doesn’t quite belong to me. The turn doesn’t come.
Giuseppe’s eyes crinkle with tender amusement when he looks at his son.
“You defended your boyfriend very passionately.”
Antonio blushes, although he’s unmistakably pleased.
Lucia returns with a plate piled high with biscotti, chocolate, and pastries.
“Mangia,” she commands.
With a stern look, she presses a sugar-dusted pastry into my hand and remains standing until I take a bite.
Giuseppe said I did well.
Lucia wants me to eat sugar.
Neither is trying to improve me or shrink me into something more manageable.
No one is negotiating or questioning my worth.
The simplicity of it makes me dizzy.
Antonio turns toward me.
“Are you okay?” he asks softly.
My first instinct is automatic—of course I am.
