We Have Till Dawn

“When are youse leavin’?” Pop asked, never taking his eyes off the TV.

“Still three weeks to go,” Anthony replied patiently.

I was less patient. Pop had asked the same question the last four Sunday dinners. I guess it proved that we didn’t leave New York very often, because us going to Nashville next month was a huge deal to Pop.

“Nicky, get me another beer, will ya?”

“Yes, sir.” I got off the couch and trailed into the kitchen where Nonna and Gideon were finishing up the preparations for dinner. Okay, Nonna cooked, and Gideon listened to her talking about…something.

“Try this, tesoro.” Nonna held up a spoon. A regular spoon. At some point, she must’ve found out that Gideon was uncomfortable tasting from the wooden spoon used for stirring.

“Oh, that’s delicious.” Gideon wiped his mouth. “Best marinara I’ve ever tasted.”

“You’re so sweet!”

I shook my head, more than a little insulted. “Nonna, he gets to sample, and I don’t?”

“Pshh-taa!” She completely waved me off. “He helped me buy the ingredients earlier this week. Were you there? Huh? I don’t think so!”

I mock-scowled at Gideon, who looked way too smug, and then I opened the fridge to grab another can of beer.

Dinner smelled amazing. I was so hungry. Practically starving. Gideon and I had been to four freaking open houses today, and nada. I’d thought they were all beautiful houses, but Gideon, man…so goddamn picky. It had to be perfect. And when he listed his reasons, it was impossible to be annoyed with him. Big kitchen so we could cook together and host dinners, rooms for future children, a master bedroom close to aforementioned future children’s rooms, preferably close to a good school too, there had to be some type of yard…

At this rate, we were never finding a place.

“Where were we?” Nonna mused. “Oh! Right, you were wondering about staying at home. So, I gave up my job, and you know—best decision I ever made. I got to watch my babies grow up. That’s time you can never get back.”

I paused in the doorway and wondered why they were talking about such a thing. Was Gideon thinking about being a stay-at-home dad? He’d mentioned being willing to walk away from it all before…

“And Frank—God rest his soul—” Nonna made the Sign of the Cross, referring to my grandfather, who died years ago “—he worked hard for us. Never complained.”

Funny how dead people became saints. Nonno had been a funny old dude who’d once taught me how to cheat at street craps, and he used to sneak beers to Anthony—oh, and one more thing. He’d loved to complain!

I lifted a brow at Gideon.

Nonna was still rambling, so Gideon smiled faintly and shook his head at me, indicating he’d tell me later.

Fine. Just ignore me, then!

I went back to the living room and handed Pop his beer.

“We’ve been replaced, haven’t we?” Anthony asked.

“Yup.” I sat down with a sigh. “I’m a little jealous.”

Pop laughed gruffly. “You poor schmucks.”

“Uh, yeah.” I widened my eyes at him.

“Bah!” He waved me off too. Great.

I rolled my eyes and folded my arms over my chest. I supposed there was nothing to do but watch the goddamn Weather Channel with Pop and Anthony while Gideon got to try the marinara and the meatballs and maybe even dessert. She was making her lemon ricotta crostata with cherry sauce today, and it was one of my favorites.

Bored, hungry, and a little moody, I leaned back and let my eyes wander. Nonna’s apartment hadn’t changed much in the last two or three decades, from the floral patterns on the wallpaper and the lace tablecloth on the coffee table, to the yellowing pictures on the walls and the old TV. Much was homemade or hand-me-downs or stuff she’d bought at flea markets, and despite that, coming here was invaluable to me. Even more so lately, because her home had always lived and breathed family, and it was something I wanted to capture in my future home with Gideon.

“I’m telling you,” Pop exclaimed, “that storm’s coming here. Mark my words! Maybe it’ll flood again.”

Anthony and I exchanged a look.

After Hurricane Sandy, Pop thought every rainstorm was gonna turn into a biblical event with its destruction. We felt a little bad for him, so we didn’t say anything, but it was getting tedious. He was obsessed with checking the weather.

“Mangia!” Nonna finally hollered. “And I don’t wanna find any empty cans and glasses in the parlor later!”

First real Italian word I’d taught Gideon. When he heard mangia, and he heard it a lot nowadays, it meant eat, eat, eat. All the eating.

Pop pushed mute on the TV, and we abandoned the living room with our sodas and beers.

We were met by a fresh waft of garlic from the bread coming outta the oven, and my stomach snarled with want.