As their nonna’s head was turned, I watched him dip his finger into the large pot and lick it clean. She gave him a whack with a wooden spoon, almost chasing him across the kitchen to me.
She welcomed me with a hug and a sniff at my neck. “You smell like Santo,” she said.
“I do?”
Rocco smirked at me. “So, he hasn’t ruined you yet.”
His nonna gave him another whack. “Quit it,” she said.
“You quit it,” he said, rubbing his elbow.
As she raised it to whack him again, he apologized to her.
“But in all seriousness, you two are together?”
I nodded and incorporated a slight headshake as well. I didn’t know. I needed Santo here to moderate whatever was going on. “I’m his assistant.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” she said, giving my cheeks a pinch before asking me the same question their mom had. It was nice to be seen, although they thought—probably wished—I had European in me since they were heavily influenced by their Italian history. Luckily, I loved pasta. Who didn’t love pasta?
Before it got more intense, Santo came up behind me and laid an arm around my shoulder. “Nonna,” he said. “You’ve met my boyfriend, Isaiah. Isn’t he just adorable?”
“I was just saying that to him,” she said.
I looked up at Santo, and in that moment he kissed me, with the gentle slip of his tongue in my mouth right in front of his family. It was cold, the taste of alcohol on his breath. I wanted more of it—the tongue or the alcohol? Both, probably.
“Well, the two of you are just adorable,” his mom said. “And I hope you’re nice to him.”
“I will be,” I let out.
She chuckled. “Think she was talking to Santo,” their nonna said. “You’ve got a sweet soul.”
“I do?” I looked at Santo for reassurance.
“You do,” he whispered back. “And I will. I’m in the process of getting him to move in with me.”
“The process,” I repeated with a snicker. “We’ll have to give it some time first.” I felt at my wrist and realized why everyone was saying we were together already. It was true, I suppose, but I hadn’t realized how visible the bracelet was—or the signal of Santo’s ownership. It made me feel warm inside, protected for the first time in my life, more than what I thought a family’s protection was supposed to feel like. My own family trauma was in competition, trying its best to spin negativity on the family I was walking into.
“You all best get washed up,” his mom said. “The lasagna’s almost done, just need to finish the sides. And of course, fresh focaccia.”
Santo continued to squeeze his hands on my sides. “Bring an appetite?” he asked.
I nodded. I wanted so desperately to call him Daddy right now, to pout and snuggle my head into his chest with the way this entire family made me feel warm.
“And someone get Tomaso on the phone for me,” she said, her voice turning sharper. “I wanna hear from him why he’s decided to forsake the family.”
“Ma, just call him,” Rocco said with a sly smile.
“Yeah, because he’ll answer that,” Santo snickered.
Their nonna tutted, pulling her glasses on the metal chain up from around her neck. “Anyone know where my phone is?” she asked. “He’ll never turn down a call from me. He knows I’m not scared to give a boy a spanking or two.”
Santo’s hand dropped to my ass, pinching it, and startled me into a light hop-jump.
I was mostly still nervous about portion sizes and getting all my food finished like Ronnie had been laughing about. It turns out, she didn’t plate too much for me. Think she saw the size of me and could immediately tell just how much my stomach could handle. She’d made quite the spread, but apparently it didn’t compare to her Sunday spread, which was what that sauce was on the hob for. There was laughter at the table, andwe ate at a table. These weren’t TV dinners, and we weren’t waiting for Vanna White to turn the letters on Wheel of Fortune. All of this was forcingcomparisons, which told me I really preferred this way of living. We left with food in Tupperware containers, and even a jar of the magic tomatogravyas they called it. Santo drove us back in a fancy sports car from the family garage. He hadn’t touched another drop of alcohol since we arrived, so I felt comfortable with him driving—even if he was a bit of a speedster and I had to hold onto the edges of the seat while balancing the warm food on my lap.
This was living. For the first time, living, and not stressing about getting assignments in or job hunting. I was living. Santo’s kisses quite literally breathed life right into me. He was giving my life CPR, and I was waking to see the world in color for the first time.
***
