We Have Till Monday

August nodded. “I think that goes for many places. My sister Tilda lived in New York a while before she moved to Chicago, and the first time we went up to visit her, our mother thought Brooklyn was a mafia stronghold like it was during the Murder, Inc. era.”

I grinned a little. “When was this?”

He squinted in thought. “I’d say…’77? ’78, maybe?”

A far cry from the thirties, but we’d still had some shit going down back then. I remembered when Castellano was gunned down in ’85. Mostly, I remembered Nonna swearing up a storm about it.

“I suppose I grew up in the remnants of it,” I replied. “It was drilled into my head that I wasn’t allowed to visit certain clubs and restaurants. Pop could suggest a joint for Friday night dinner, and Nonna would go, ‘No, no, can’t go there, the—whatever pazzi—runs that place.’ But other than that, it was minor shit. Similar to what we see in all bigger cities today.”

August’s eyes flashed with amusement. “I do like it when you use slang.”

I wiped my hands on a towel and furrowed my brow. Had I used slang?

“Pazzi,” he said.

Oh. “It’s what Nonna calls everyone who’s either batshit crazy or lives on the wrong side of the law—”

“Daddy!” Camden yelled from upstairs. “Are you busy?”

Today was not the day he learned not to yell either.

I smirked at August’s sigh, and then he hollered back, saying if Camden had something on his mind, he had to come down here.

The boy stomped quickly down the stairs and ran toward us with nervous excitement written all over him.

“I have gifts for you!” He hurriedly left two little packets on the kitchen island before he spun around and made another run for it. “See you at dinner—I’m too shy to see your reactions!”

“Baby!” August called. “Aren’t you supposed to clean your room?”

“That’s the thanks I get,” Camden huffed, already out of sight. “Just call me when dinner is ready!”

Hurricane Camden was something else.

Why wouldn’t he wanna see our reactions? Had the evil genius pulled a prank on us?

I leaned over the island and snatched up the two packets, and I couldn’t help but grin. He’d wrapped the gifts in Christmas paper. One said Daddy; the other had my name.

“Here.” I handed him his.

Under the Christmas wrapping was a regular envelope dotted with not entirely dried glitter glue. When I opened it, a familiar-looking bracelet fell out on the countertop, as did a piece of paper. I unfolded it and read the note.

You’re one too.

And I think you’re so amazing and hot and kind and funny.

You made me change my plan.

Love, Camden

I couldn’t really muster a smile for the adoration I felt sweeping through me. It was the same heaviness I’d felt earlier. For each second I spent with August and Camden, it became increasingly difficult to explain away this vacation as a “bit of casual fun.” Nothing was casual anymore, and the attachment I’d formed for them was anything but fleeting or shallow.

“That sweet boy,” I heard August murmur.

He stood slightly behind me and inspected his own gift. It was another beaded bracelet.

I picked mine up off the counter and read the… My forehead creased. “He must’ve given me yours by mistake, ciccio.”

“Hmm?” He glanced up from his bracelet, confused. “What do you mean?”

“It says Daddy on this one.” I showed it to him.

He frowned and peered closer, resting his chin on my shoulder. Then he let out a breath and tilted his head to rest his forehead against my neck.

“That’s not a mistake.”

But it— Before I could finish my thought, he held up his bracelet, and in the same multicolored beads, it said Daddy.

You’re one too.

I swallowed hard.

He couldn’t mean…

August inched away again and leaned back against the other counter, his hands gripping the edge of the surface, and he hung his head.

Fuck. This was too much. For me, for him—I wasn’t sure. No, I was. It was too much for August. While my heart slammed into my rib cage, my feelings growing and cementing quicker than I was ready for, I felt a sense of dread too. Camden couldn’t view me as a Daddy. It was wrong. It was sweet fucking agony. It was August’s domain. I was the guest.

I couldn’t apologize, though. I had nothing to apologize for. And I wanted to keep this memory. Even though it wasn’t mine to hold onto, I was ready to defend it. To steal it away. Camden made me this little bracelet. It was for me. August couldn’t take that away from me.

Something was over now. I felt it. A line had been crossed in August’s world.

As I waited for him to say something, anything, I clutched the bracelet like Nonna clutched her Rosary beads. Such a small, insignificant thing, yet it carried more meaning than I could put into words.