“Oh God. I can’t tell who that is,” she said from her crouch in the kitchen.
“Leave it,” Tony growled in frustration.
“I can’t. What if it’s important?” She ran her fingers through her rumpled hair and sighed. “Why does this always happen to us?”
“Because your friends and family are rude. They should call first.”
The doorbell rang again, followed by a knock. “I’m going to answer it. Put your shirt on.” And she disappeared.
Tony leaned his back against the couch and mouthed an expletive into the darkness. There was a message in this, wasn’t there? Ma would say God was trying to tell him something, but damned if Tony could ever figure that sort of thing out. Maybe God didn’t want him messing with Trish any more than Angie wanted him to. Why did Tony find it so hard to do what other people wanted him to do?
A deep voice ripped through his wonderings. He couldn’t make out the words, but he was sure they were being said by a man. Standing, Tony crept into the kitchen and crouched beside the refrigerator, holding his breath for the best chance at sound.
“I’m sorry. It was impulsive. I shouldn’t have come. You’re obviously ill…or something,” the man said.
“No, I…Stu, I’m sorry I didn’t call you back. I was...”
“Sick. I can see that,” the man said. “Why don’t you head back to bed and I’ll call you in the morning.”
Despite the dread rolling in his stomach at the overly familiar words, Tony nearly laughed. The guy was a douche bag. Trish wasn’t sick, but Tony would happily take her back to bed.
“Maybe I can bring you some chicken soup and a bottle of pinot noir. How does that sound?” the man asked.
How did it sound? Awful, Tony thought, and then the dread in his gut ripped through his chest cavity like the bottle rocket he and Vin once put in Angie’s birthday pinata. A teenage Tony lost privileges for a whole month because of that.
He wasn’t coming out the loser tonight.
Tony stepped into the center hall before Trish answered the man. “Hey, babe. Everything okay?”
She spun like a demonic top, eyes wide, face red, hair escaping its band, and then her jaw dropped, probably when she saw Tony hadn’t put on his shirt like she’d asked. He would’ve felt bad for shocking her if he wasn’t blazing non-verbal threats from the center of his eyes at the stuffed suit on her porch.
“Oh, I see,” said The Suit with a side part in his hair.
“Stu, I…” she turned to The Suit and then back to Tony again. “Can you give me a minute?”
Tony nodded, never taking his eyes off The Suit, never taking one step outside of the hall.
“Not necessary,” The Suit said, shuffling backward off the porch. “It was good seeing you again. Hope you feel better soon. Tell your mother I said hello. Enjoy your evening. Again, my apologies.”
There was nothing worse than a grown man babbling.
When Trish called out a good-bye and shut the door, Tony meant to relax, mission accomplished and all that, but then she turned on him with the same shock from before.
“What was that?” she cried. “What were you doing?”
“Helping you.” Okay, now he wasn’t so sure, but it seemed like a good idea five minutes ago. “That guy’s a jerk.”
“You don’t even know him,” she yelled.
Tony flinched at the hurt in her voice. Obviously, The Suit was someone important. Tony didn’t like the feel of that. “I know all I need to know about him from that conversation. Ill? He thought you were sick?”
“Because I’m a mess.” She pulled her sweatshirt away from her body, and then plowed hands through her unraveled hair. Strands kinked in spots where braids had been.
“Oh yeah? Well, I think you’re beautiful, no matter what you’re wearing.” He grinned. “Although I prefer you naked, which you would be right now if that moron hadn’t barged in. But you know what? I’m glad he stopped by, because now maybe he’ll go out into your world and let everyone know we’re busy, and they shouldn’t stop by without calling us first.”
She gasped and backed against the door. For a moment he thought her legs were going to give out, so he walked to her. “What? What’d I say?”
“Don’t,” she said, lifting her palms, signaling for him to stop before he reached her.
“Why?”
“You’re making this too complicated.”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“Yes. It’s always what you’re doing.” She clenched her fists. “There is no
“Why? Because of him?”
She froze, mouth as wide as her eyes. Tony didn’t know where he was going with this line of questioning, and he didn’t know why he wanted to go there. He didn’t want
“You should go,” she said, stepping aside from the door.
“I should.” But he didn’t. He stood there, staring at her flushed face, wishing to God he could say or do something to make this right. And in a few silent seconds, he knew there was nothing he could do.
Stuffed suit, side part, proper talker Stu—Tony nearly choked as the name flashed in his brain—that guy was right for Trish’s world. Tony was wrong. Oh sure, he was good enough to make her baby, but he wasn’t good enough to be her man. Not that he wanted the job.
“Why aren’t you going?” She stared back at him, arms folded across her chest, like she was trying to cover her heart or wished he would cover his.
“I need my shirt.”
“Then get it.”
He nodded and made his way through the house to the family room, littered with pieces of their evening. Pizza box. Beer bottles. DVD case. His shirt. Why did this suck like a breakup? They were never together to be pulled apart. He was acting like a girl. So what if he didn’t get laid? Big deal. There were more mermaids in the sea.
“I’ll call you.”
He grabbed his shirt off the floor, and then turned to see her standing in the kitchen. Soft light from a nearby pendant sparkled in her copper hair. She was wringing her hands and looking so lost, he wanted nothing more than to hold her until they forgot every unpleasant thing.
“I’ll call you about the table and Nonna’s concert,” she continued. “If…you still want to do those things.”
What was he supposed to say? He nodded, shrugged into his shirt and pushed past her despite the urge to draw her near. Holding her wouldn’t change anything. In fact, it would probably only make one thing clear.
Tony wanted more than a baby with Trish, but that was out of the question.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Tony glanced around Nonna’s dining table at the somber faces sucking pasta into less-than-talkative mouths. Sunday dinner didn’t feel like Sunday dinner anymore, what with Nonna wasting away at the end of the table and Angie barely talking to him.
Today was the day of the car presentation, and Angie didn’t even ask him to wipe down the leather. No biggie, he thought as he sucked a piece of spaghetti into his own quiet mouth. Nonna didn’t notice his workmanship. There was no way she could’ve seen a detail through all those bittersweet tears.
While Ma and Aunt Connie took Nonna to lie down, Tony helped his other aunts clear off the table. He was looking forward to their chatter about shopping and thick-headed men, but it never came. They talked about Nonna getting sicker, and Tony couldn’t wait to get away. The minute the last dirty plate hit the laminate counter, he set out in search of Vin.
