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“She love who?”
Our bedroom door opened to reveal my grandmother bearing the basket of Kate’s clothes, her sharp eyes darting between the two of us with the practiced eye of a seasoned parent.
“Our Father in heaven,” I said grimly. “Nonna, I’m going for a walk. Gonna light a candle for Daddy.”
I felt a double twinge of guilt at using the memory of my dead father and sacred prayer to distract my grandmother. Guess I was going to church for real.
It worked, though. Years of being the most well-behaved Zola kid paid off as Nonna’s expression softened and her shoulders relaxed.
“My good girl,” she said, balancing the basket on her hip to pat my cheek. “You want some money for the collection?”
More guilt thumped with every beat of my heart. I was definitely going to Hell.
“No, I got it,” I said as I edged around her. “Do you need anything from the market while I’m out? Or do you want me to run anything over to Nonno at the shop?”
“A butter knife,” Kate called from her bed, where she was applying another coat of paint to her nails. “You know, for spreading. Since you’re laying it on so thick.”
I sent her my very best “you’re gonna get it later” glare over my shoulder.
Kate simply cackled.
Thankfully, Nonna was too distracted by my request to process the idiom. Nothing pulled Sofia Zola’s attention better than the many tasks she had to accomplish in a given day.
“I need some more pancetta for the Bolognese,” she said as she set Kate’s laundry on my desk chair. “Tell Ignazio, not too much fat this time, okay? And if they are still having a sale on the good tomatoes, bring more cans.”
“You got it, Nonna. Love you.” I pressed a kiss to her cheek.
“My good girl,” she murmured again before I left.
I skipped down the stairs, ignoring my little sisters’ comments as I grabbed a jacket and jetted out the front door.
Michael was waiting on the sidewalk, eyeing a neighbor down the block who was clearly eyeing him back while he took his garbage cans in from the curb.
“You gonna punch Mr. Suarez too?” I asked. “I promise he wouldn’t care about my pink dress. He’s mostly blind. Those glasses are for show.”
Michael’s nose reddened at the end when he saw me. From embarrassment, maybe. But it was also cold, so who could tell?
“He was looking at me first,” he mumbled.
I rolled my eyes, then darted down the street and away from my house before one of my nosy family members thought about peeking out the front window.
“Come on, Rocky. I just told my grandma I was going out to light a prayer candle for my dad and to pick up some groceries. I’m not about to be a liar, so you can apologize on the way.”
ELEVEN
THE TIMES THEY ARE A-CHANGIN’
Lea
We made it three blocks down 187th before Michael finally got up the nerve to say something.
“Aren’t—won’t somebody see us over here?” he finally said. “Somebody you know?”
I glanced around the familiar shops and restaurants that made up the Little Italy of the Bronx. The sidewalks were already starting to get busy, even if it wasn’t quite eleven on a Saturday. Tourists came from all over to enjoy the food and culture here. But even with the hubbub, these streets were as familiar to me as my own house, complete with countless honorary aunties and uncles haunting the storefronts and shop counters.
But what did that matter?
“Why? Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?” I asked after I waved hello to Alfredo, Nonna’s third cousin, who owned a mozzarella shop.
