The Beginning (The Life 1)
“Just eggs Ma.”
“Move out of the way, Miss. Sophie, I got it; you sit and have your cuppa.”
Ma knew better than to argue because, for all that Sheila is a five-foot-nothing black woman in a house full of Italians, she is not one to be messed with. Even Pop stays out of her way, and that’s saying a lot. “Sheila, you need to stop it though with these guys. Pretty as you are, I’m sure you can find some nice professional man to settle down with.”
“Girl, you know I love me a thug.” I snorted orange juice out of my nose and kept my head down. Ma laughed with pure glee, and I know deep down that this is one of the reasons Sheila is still here long after the twins were old enough not to need her. And why Pop had found a new job title and a way to keep her around. He’d do anything to hear Ma laugh like that or see that look in her eye.
Gianna flashed into my head at the thought, and I tried shaking it off like I’d been doing since I woke up this morning, and she was the first thing on my mind. I felt heat in my cheeks and have no idea why. It’s not like my mind had gone beyond what could be considered decent.
“Did he hit you?” The two women almost jumped out of their skin when pop’s voice came from around the door leading into the kitchen before his head did. I didn’t flinch since I’d heard him coming and sensed his presence outside the door seconds before he spoke. Sheila squealed and jumped a foot in the air before settling down again.
She waved the spatula she’d been ready to use to turn something on the grill at him. “I told you about listening in at doors Draco Russo? You’re like to give me a dang heart attack.”
“I wasn’t eavesdropping. I came down here to ask Gabe why he’s bothering his sisters and overheard you talking. I told you the last time…”
“No, he didn’t hit me; what do you take me for? Now sit down and have your breakfast. Where are the girls?”
Just then, the twins came traipsing in, looking pleased with themselves. Who knows what the heck they’d said to Pop, but he seemed too preoccupied with Sheila’s antics to harass me. The girls leaned over to kiss ma’s cheek before doing the same to Sheila’s and sitting down at their places. The noise level went up a couple octaves, and conversation went in ten different directions at once, as is to be expected when teenage girls are involved.
I’m not sociopathic, narcissistic or any of the other fucked up things you might think I’d be. I know, I’ve checked. I’ve been self-diagnosing since I became a young teen. But it never ceases to amaze me how I could so easily disengage from any given situation. Like right now, I’m here in the kitchen with them, but I’m not, and no one has ever caught on.
It’s not so much that I’m not a part of all this. As far as they know, I am. I smile where it’s needed, nod at the correct time when spoken to, and can even jump back into the conversation without missing a beat. But I know that it’s all fleeting. I don’t feel any way about it; it is what it is. I could hear them loud and clear, but it’s as if their voices are coming from a long way off.
The shit used to scare me when I was younger. That’s why I started searching for answers to explain just what the fuck I am. It’s also how I learned to control myself and tame whatever it is that might be flowing in my blood from the monster. “What are you two having for breakfast? Cardboard on toast?” That’s what Sheila calls the egg white omelets the girls are into these days. Egg whites with vegetables and fresh mozzarella. Me, I like yellow in my eggs.
“We have to watch our weight, our birthday is coming up, and we have to look good.” That sent the conversation in a whole other direction which had Pop smiling at me while the women did their usual, going off on a tangent. Just another morning in the Russo household.
I realized that no one else ever comes in here when we’re eating, none of the other staff, I mean, though I could hear them moving around upstairs. In fact, the only time they’re ever around us while eating is when Ma reads some crap in a magazine and have all of us dressed to the nines just to sit in the formal dining room to have an eight-course meal. Then Sheila puts her subordinates into service.