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“Absolutely not.” Saul’s at my elbow, taking it away. I complain but he’s firm and not listening.
“It’s full of dish towels,” I say, wiping sweat off my brow. Secretly, I’m happy he’s not letting me carry anything. It’s hot as hell outside and I’m having a hard enough time keeping up without lugging stuff from the truck.
“I don’t care if it’s fucking empty. You’re not working.” He gives me a hard look. “Let me and the movers handle it.”
I roll my eyes. The movers are five mafia thugs he needled into helping out. They’re mouthy, obnoxious, lazy, kind of funny, but the stuff’s getting from one place to the next at least. And Nana’s loving it: she’s sitting in the living room on a stool barking orders at the big, tough thugs, and they’re obeying her every command like she’s their own grandmother. Saul must’ve scared them shitless to get that level of compliance.
“Donnie, did you fucking let Molly pick up another box?” Saul barks at one of the thugs. He’s a heavy man, in his early forties, and is easily the most out of shape there.
He wipes a forearm across his face and gives me a sheepish look. “Must’ve snuck one, boss.”
“Don’t blame him,” I say, jabbing a finger at Saul. “I’m fine, okay?”
He grumbles, shaking his head, and Donnie gives me a friendly, thankful wink.
I find Jason with Nana. He’s repositioning the couch and moving end tables around as she tries to explain what she wants. “No, not like that. No, you have to jiggle it a little and get it wedged in—no, damn it, Jason, you’re going to break it!”
“Nana, I love you to death, but I’m about to give myself a fucking seizure just to escape this torture.”
I snort my laughter and tag him out. “Go carry stuff. The boys need help.”
He gives me a thankful look. Nana waves him off, shaking her head. “That damn boy’s going to use his epilepsy as an excuse for the rest of his life.”
I sit on the arm of the sofa near Nana. “Can you blame him? I mean, it’s a pretty good excuse.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know you’re right.” She sighs and her fingers twitch toward the cigarettes in her pocket, but she resists. “I hate moving.”
“We talked about this.”
“I know and we’re here, right? But I still hate moving. Now I have to get used to a whole new place.”
“A whole new place in a nicer neighborhood right around the corner from me and Saul. You have a ground-floor apartment. It’s perfect for the two of you.”
“Could’ve gotten us a damn house,” she grumbles.
“Nana, stop it. This is better than a house.”
She shrugs and starts badgering one of the guys as he wedges a nightstand through the door. He gives me a look and hurries into the bedroom just to escape her.
I head into the kitchen and start unpacking the dishes. I take it easy, only doing a few at a time, but Saul appears as if he can smell me doing manual labor.
“Cut it out,” I say, waving him off when he tries to intervene. “This is like putting the freaking dishes away, alright? Stop it before I get annoyed.”
He growls, clearly frustrated, but relents. “Nana’s on edge. Jason’s going to kill her.”
“Sounds pretty standard.”
“My guys are terrified of that old woman.” His grin is big and genuine. I love that look on his face. He rarely smiles like that, and a big cloud of pride blooms in my chest every time I witness it.
“She’s just jonesing for a cigarette.”
“Poor lady. Should I tell her she can smoke wherever she wants in here?”
“Nah, not yet. Let her suffer a little bit.”
“You’re evil.”
I shrug and wrap my arms around his neck. “A little bit. Do you like that?”
