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She leaves me there with my jaw hanging open. Are these people determined to make me cry tonight? I don’t fucking cry.
Though the women in my life seem hellbent on making it happen at this dinner.
“All right, dinner is ready! Everyone sit!” Mom commands, and everyone shuffles into the dining room.
I make sure Gabrielle is seated next to me as I pull her chair out because, knowing my family, they’ll try to steal her away, and I need to be able to hold her hand for the entire meal. Cass is on my other side, with Patrick on the other side of Rebecca’s high chair in between them. Mom and Dad take the heads of the table, Nonna is on Gabrielle’s other side, and then Warren, Alana, and Evan sit across from us.
“Honey, this looks delicious. I don’t even usually go for Mediterranean food, but my stomach is rumbling just looking at this.” Dad winks at Mom across the table, and she blushes.
Decades together, and they’re still more in love than most couples I’ve seen. It’s what I’ve always aspired to when I considered whether I’d ever get married.
“God, I think hummus might be one of my favorite food groups,” Cass gushes.
“Same. A little garlic, a bunch of cut up peppers, and leave me alone with it.” Gabrielle giggles, scooping some onto her plate.
“I never thought I’d meet someone who loved this kind of food more than August.” Alana sighs, and I know she misses the waitress who has worked at the restaurant since high school.
“How is Auggy doing?” I ask, genuinely curious about how she’s fairing at college.
August is doing an accelerated program at her university, where she attends throughout the year in trimesters instead of getting the summers off so that she’ll be able to graduate in three years. When a full tuition scholarship came through in the nick of time before she graduated high school, the usually sullen and downtrodden girl had brightened like someone finally getting their shot.
“Her first semester went amazingly well, and every time we talk, she seems like a different person.” Warren beams, pride glowing from him.
He was somewhat of a role model to August, also having a dark past that he rose above.
“I miss that girl, but watching her spread her wings is a beautiful thing.” Mom clears her throat as if this is making her emotional.
“Why do you guys like her more than me?” Evan rolls his eyes.
I can’t tell if he’s joking or not, but it isn’t like he understands our bond with August. He was mostly gone while she was working at the restaurant for the last couple of years.
“Because we do.” Alana ends the discussion with a smug smile.
We all serve and help each other get a little bit of what is on each dish, and then the table goes silent as we chow down.
“Holy wow.” Patrick groans, nodding at my mom emphatically.
A while back, we made our parents promise that Sunday dinner would be anything other than Italian food. You know, since we eat it practically every other day of the week. Whether we cook it at home or takeout, it just can’t be what we serve in the restaurant.
“I think you need to open another restaurant,” Gabrielle compliments my mother.
Mom chuckles. “Over my dead body. My hair is already gray from all the years I put in at this one. No, we’re good with one. But thank you for the vote of confidence.”
The conversation then devolves into the best meal any of us have ever eaten. Cassandra wins when she pulls the Hollywood card and tells us about an Oscars after-party dinner she was once invited to.
“Gabrielle, did Liam ever tell you about the time he got drunk on wine coolers and accidentally locked himself in the barn?” Evan gleams an evil smile, butting in with his tattletale little antics.
Beside me, Nonna snickers, and everyone around the table starts to laugh. My littlest brother found me in the morning, passed out in my underwear in the hay. Which is something I definitely didn’t need my girlfriend to know about.
“Did I ever tell you all about the time Evan fell off the roof trying to sneak Jill Mareno out his window?” I fire back, not one to let my little brother get away with shit.
Out of all my siblings, Evan and I have the most tension. I love him like crazy, but he’s a little asshole when he wants to be. Which is always. Being the oldest and the youngest means we have this weird competition that neither of us ever seems to define.
“Evan Ashton!” Mom gasps, not prepared for it to come out that her baby has a bad boy streak.
Evan points a finger in my direction. “Not fucking cool, dude.”
“Language,” Dad warns him.
