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Seventeen
Nora
Tender lovingcare in our world translates to two things: Calories and alcohol.
Trix supplied the wine by snatching a few imported bottles from her grandmother’s pantry while I easily ordered a few pizzas to be delivered to Melanie’s apartment the moment we arrived after the signing.
Melanie probably would have preferred to sulk alone but she’ll get her chance to do that. Her eyes occasionally slip over to the stack of unsigned books left over from the signing. Trix and I do our best to distract her from that. That’s future Melanie’s problem.
Tonight is tipsy pizza night and it doesn’t take long until the three of us are sprawled out in the living room with a few empty bottles and gnawed-on crusts.
I close the refrigerator door with a fresh bottle in hand, pausing for a second to admire the bunch of ribbons she has hanging from a magnetic clip beside the ice dispenser. There are six ribbons there, the newest pink edition hanging in the front with purple, green, gold, red, and silver following behind.
“Bitch, hurry up!” Trix shouts from the couch. “I’m drying out.”
I walk back into the living room and set the bottle down on the coffee table in front of Trix, who promptly snatches it along with the corkscrew.
Melanie has crawled from her spot on the floor to her work desk in the corner again. She sits in the chair and stares at her laptop with a sunken look on her face.
I scold her. “Hey. No, no. No work.” I snap my fingers. “Come back here.”
“I’m just checking to see if anyone is talking shit about me,” she says.
“No.” I look at Trix. “You were supposed to be watching her.”
Trix twists the corkscrew. “She gave me a dollar,” she says, popping the cork out.
I lower to the floor, plopping down to rest my back on the couch. “Well, whatever. I give up. Be sad.” I shove the end of a pizza crust into my mouth, instantly regretting it. I’m already very full but I can’t seem to stop munching.
Melanie groans and slinks back to the floor. “Fine,” she says as she settles on her cushion by the coffee table. “You’re right. You’re totally right. I should not dwell.”
Trix’s phone vibrates against the end table. Again. She ignores it. Again.
Melanie squints. “Okay, who the hell is texting you so much?”
“Booty call bodyguard, huh?” I ask.
Trix nods. “Unfortunately.”
“Ohh,” Melanie muses. “Booty Call Bodyguard. That’s a good title.”
I chuckle. “Still haven’t talked to him yet?”
“I will.” Trix picks up her glass. “Tomorrow. Papa’s lawyers are coming to talk to me so I’ll probably run into him then.”
“To Papa ‘Gento,” I toast.
They both raise their glasses and we all take a sip to the best damn mafia dad in the world.
Melanie chuckles behind her glass. “Remember the time he told Robbie to cut his fucking hair?”
“Well, to be fair,” I laugh, “it was longer than yours back then.”
Trix rolls a fist and gestures with it just like her father does. “Oy! Young man,” she says, immersed in an Italian accent. “You got nice chin there. Why you gotta disrespect it with that mane?”
Melanie grins. “He’s never let it get longer than his earlobes since.”
Trix’s phone vibrates again and we groan.
