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In a flash, the boys are upon him like a swarm of very small, very sticky locusts. Dante is suddenly buried under a pile of giggling toddlers. It’s a sight that makes my ovaries do a little dance, even as my brain screams ‘not yet’ in horror.
“Alright, troops,” Dante announces in his best Don voice, somewhat undermined by the child hanging off his neck like a demented koala. “Let’s move this party to the garden. I hear there’s ice cream out there.”
A chorus of excited squeals erupts as Dante marches toward the garden, his giggling entourage in tow.
Enzo watches with relief, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He offers me a weary smile. “I swear those boys listen to him more than they do to me.”
I laugh, patting Enzo’s shoulder sympathetically. “Don’t worry, I’m sure that’ll change . . . in about sixteen years. Or whenever they decide to stage their first coup.”
Enzo groans good-naturedly, and we share a chuckle that’s equal parts amusement and existential dread. As we follow the parade of mayhem out to the garden, I see that the event planners have brought to life exactly what Sophie and I wanted for the twins’ first birthday and Dante’s thirty-second: one part Sesame Street, one part ‘The Godfather’, and all parts utterly amazing.
I find Sophie in the kitchen, her dark hair swept up in an elegant updo that makes her look even more radiant than usual. She’s in the middle of what looks like a delicate negotiation with the curly-haired twins, Aldo and Celia, trying to get them to eat their vegetables. The elaborate birthday cake on the counter seems to be both the carrot and the stick in this particular battle.
“Just a few more bites, sweethearts,” Sophie coaxes, her voice a mix of sweetness and determination that I’ve come to admire. “Then you can have cake, I promise.”
I sidle up next to her, grinning at the scene. “How’s it going, Supermom? Need me to play good cop or bad cop?”
Sophie’s eyes light up when she sees me. “Addy! Thank God you’re here. I was starting to wonder if Dante had whisked you off for some ‘private celebrating’.”
We share a laugh, both of us all too familiar with Dante’s tendency—and let’s face it, mine also—to misbehave in public. “And speaking of missing in action,” she continues, “what’s this about Kira not coming? I was looking forward to having her spin something perfect for our dual theme.”
“Triple theme,” I correct, “if you count the mommies’ corner. But yeah, Kira got a last-minute gig in Fiji. She was invited to some reality TV dating show to ‘treat the couples to a good time’.”
As if on cue, the music changes to something upbeat.
“She would have had to fly for that,” Sophie muses, and I can see her connecting the dots.
“Yes, she had to. She was going to have to break the fear at some point. But I don’t think she’s by herself.”
“No, it would seem not.” Sophie’s smile widens, and I can tell she’s thinking the same thing I am. “It just so happens that Sal has conveniently taken a week’s leave of absence.”
We share a look that speaks volumes. Everyone and their blind grandmother can see the attraction between Kira and Sal. Despite Kira’s initial giddiness over him, she’s now playing it cool, insisting that they’re “just friends”.
I sigh, hoping that whatever is truly going on between those two isn’t too complicated. Knowing Kira, we’d be lucky if we find out they’re dating before the wedding invitations arrive.
Just then, Nico sweeps into the kitchen, exuding his usual mix of suave confidence and fatherly warmth. I watch as he plants kisses on Sophie and the twins before turning to me with open arms. I step into his hug, grateful for how close we’ve become.
Once I got beyond his Don persona, I realized Dante is right about him. They are polar opposites yet also the same. Nico has Dante’s warmth and humor on the inside, while Dante embodies all of Nico’s ruthless intensity once you scratch his playful surface. It’s a complexity I’m still unraveling.
“Addy,” Nico says, holding me at arm’s length, his hands gently gripping my arms. “Thank you for doing this for Dante. He never takes the time to enjoy the spotlight—it’s like trying to get George to take a bath.”
I chuckle. George is even fatter now, what with the twins' habit of feeding him the bits of veggies they don't want. Sophie has had to keep him on a strict meal plan.
“I know, Dante is always too busy looking out for everyone else.”
“True, but so are you, too, Addy,” Nico points out. “You’re just like him.”
A flush of pride warms my cheeks at the comparison. Being likened to Dante feels like a high compliment. I duck my head, trying to hide my pleased smile.
“Speaking of,” Nico continues, his eyes twinkling as if he caught my reaction, “you might want to head outside. There’s about twenty Power Rangers there, and a few have been asking for you.” He nods toward the garden.
“Twenty!” Sophie and I exclaim in unison, sharing a look of ‘what the hell?’
“Give or take,” Nico shrugs. “I thought you wanted them here?”
“I did, but I only mentioned the party in passing to a couple of them, not really expecting so many to turn up.” The Power Foundation, now affectionately called ‘Power Rangers’ by Dante and the rest of the men, now supports close to fifty women.
This turnout is unexpected but heartening.
