He revealed it, stroking his thumb over the face. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s my comfort keyring, though. Since I can’t carry the big one around.”
“I actually have a collection at my apartment, back in New York,” I told him. “I’ve got a lot of the anniversary editions. They’re still in their boxes.”
Isaiah gasped. “No freaking way.”
“Yesfreakingway.”
“Did we just become friends?” he asked, laughing.
We didn’t even need to mention what we were, because we both just knew.“Maybe we’ll need to set up play date,” I said, and there it was, the confirmation we were littles.
He raised his hand and I high-fived him.
***
The dining table was long with two fancy candlestick holders and a cream with gold trim table runner going down the entire length of it. I sat beside Rocco, Isaiah sat across from me beside Santo, and their Mom and Nonna each took an end of the table.
Dinner made me feel like I was part of a family, in a way they depicted on TV shows and movies. It was the type of atmosphere that made the world around me glow. I didn’t want it to end, or any of the small talk to stop. It was all fun, nobodymentioned me being a federal agent, and nobody talked about what was going on with their other brother. It was all nice—but maybe that was the red wine.
Rocco turned to me, his finger beneath my lip, pulling my mouth open. “I like it when your lips look all red and swollen,” he whispered, leaning in for a kiss.
I couldn’t see my own lips, but since I’d seen how Isaiah’s and his mom’s lips looked, I could tell they were nice and red. Rocco was drinking scotch and large glasses of water—I hoped, otherwise I couldn’t see him getting up from the table.
“Do they taste any different?” I asked, puckering my lips for him.
Everyone was in their own conversations, doing their own thing as we finished eating the amazing pasta dish with sauce and the additional carbs of the bread. But I couldn’t help thinking of my mom, who was alone at home, probably forgetting to eat again, and maybe Rocco had the same thought or he was reading my mind.
“Before we head to the restaurant for tonight’s game, we should take something over to your mom,” he said. “I’ve already had some boxed up for her.”
My jaw clenched as I smiled at him. How could I have come all the way to Boston, trying to find a reason for work to let me stay, only to end up falling for the guy I was supposed to be getting dirt on. “She’ll like that, I think.”
“Oh, I know she will,” he said, winking at me. “Mom said she’ll even throw in a jar of the homemade gravy for her.”
“She’ll never use it,” I whisper, trying not to offend anyone who listened. “Not on purpose, but she’ll just forget.”
His mom chimed in. “It could be used as a soup,” she said. “Warmed through, add in some croutons maybe. It’s versatile.”
“I’m not,” Santo shouted with a loud boom of his voice.
It appeared everyone had been listening in. Maybe they were just being nice, trying to make sure they knew I couldn’t get away with whispering to anyone—and again, I wanted to remind them I wasn’t going to even try. It was evident they had someone on the inside, and Isaiah pitched all the positives to their bookies, rackets, and whatever other money laundering operations they had going on. And even though this seemed like public knowledge, nobody cared.
Rocco left the table with Santo for a moment after that, leaving the four of us behind where we mostly complimented the food and how nice the house was, then Rocco’s mom tapped her knuckles on the table for my attention.
“So, how long have you been in the agency?” she asked.
“Right, you’re in the FBI.”
“It’s not glamorous, or dangerous,” I said. “I’m an analyst. I have a desk job, mostly. I went through training, sure, but I’m mostly at a desk, looking throughstuff.” I shrugged.
“Rocco tells me you’re here for your mom,” she said. I didn’t know when he’d told her, but I hated people knowing. It was a vulnerability I didn’t want to show, my underbelly, exposed to the entire family. Even if I was forced to flip for whatever reason, just knowing that they knew about how much my mom needed me would have me rather bite my tongue off than say anything. In the quiet, as I panicked in thought, she offered me a sweet smile. “I think that’s sweet. My sons all come home, every weekend. And when they don’t, or they miss a week, then there’s trouble to pay.” She smiled, but I knew she was serious.
“That’s why Tomaso is where he is,” their nonna said.
We’d all had a little to drink now, and that had made a lot of lips loose.
“Being partnered to someone in this family can be a tough job,” Rocco’s mom continued. “It’s not for the weak. ButI know neither of you are weak. Isaiah mellows and evens out Santo, and you—well, I’m still trying to figure that out. Rocco has always been, well, Rocco.” She paused, where I thought she might’ve mentioned him being adopted, but she never did. Nobody ever mentioned it. “I don’t suppose you’re going to quit?”
I shook my head. “Not right now,” I said. “Honestly, I love my work.” It was almost a confession of what I’d tried to do, but she probably already knew. I don’t think Rocco kept anything from his mom, unlike me. I kept a lot from her. “And it’s tied to my health insurance and stuff, so I’m trying to keep it.”
