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That gloomy thought poofs like a cloud when I hear the voice of the best Cassiano.
“Max! My favorite brother!”
I whirl around, searching among the faces until I find Alessio coming out of the kitchen. His arms are spread wide, and before I can react, he squeezes me into a bear hug. He can no longer lift me up like he used to when I was a kid. In return, I squeeze him right back.
“Alessio?” I pull away and grab his face, turning it this way and that. “It’s really you?”
His grin is infectious.
“That’s right.” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “Listen, if they didn’t disinherit me for leaving and not contributing to the family business, you’re in the clear.”
A few paces behind him, Leo sees the whole thing with a deadpan look on his face I’d love to sweep the floor with. The second he opens his mouth to say any shit about Alessio, I will.
Maybe he can smell the hostility radiating off me, because he turns around and goes back into the kitchen.
“Missed you, piccolo.” Alessio pats my shoulder and uses the motion to steer me toward the dining area. “I’ve heard things around here have been tough for you.”
I jam my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “The fact that you even heard about me is a shocker.”
“Well, you did break Leo’s nose. That kind of news travels fast.”
“Just don’t let me sit anywhere close to him,” I mutter.
I end up sandwiched between Alessio and Lily, Alessandro’s wife. Leo sits farther down with the rest of my nephews and nieces at a second table that I know is normally in Dad’s studio. The kids are the nicest of the Cassiano bunch, but they’re far more interested in their phones and tablets than in any of the adults. But hopefully they keep the eldest grandson of the family away from my face.
Mom and Dad finally appear from the kitchen. Somehow, their eyes are trained on me. My alarms go off, but for what? I have no idea.
Dad places a mutant-sized turkey on the table, close to his seat, where he can carve it comfortably. That’s the only American part of our Thanksgiving meal. Maria, Cossimo Jr.’s wife, pushes a gigantic Pyrex with lasagna out of the way so Mom can place her tray and?—
It’s tiramisu. Normally, the dessert comes last, especially for something like this that is best served cold. So I’m confused about why it’s out this early.
Mom clears her throat. The raspy sound is enough to halt all activity, which is another abnormal thing. Too many eyes turn to me instead of to her. When even my youngest niece looks at me, I confirm something’s up.
I glance at Dad. He stands beside Mom with his hands on his hips, lips pursed in a way that usually signals that he’s about to go on a deafening tirade.
Well, I did basically run away after hitting Leo. And after that, I went no contact. I suppose this is when I get what’s coming to me. I clasp my clammy hands below the table and wait.
“What happened on your birthday was a disaster,” Mom says, already making me flinch.
Dad picks it right up. “It can never happen again.”
“Family is family.” After forty-five years of marriage, it makes sense that they complete each other’s sentences. Especially to tell me off. “And family doesn’t hit each other. Or tell one another that they almost killed their mother.”
“Is that clear?” Dad first gives me a pointed look, then Leo.
“Yes.” I tuck my chin down.
“Fine,” Leo mumbles from his spot.
“Good.” Mom’s expression changes just a tad. Gone is the stern facade, but I have no idea what’s in its place. She wrings her hands with the apron tied around her waist. Is she nervous? Mom? My unflappable mother made of steel? “And now, we do a do over.”
Cossimo Jr. leans back, putting his arm on the back of Maria’s chair. “We get a do over.”
Mom waves a hand. “That. Massimo, we will pretend today is your birthday.”
I blink. Fast.
When I see no one’s laughing and saying gotcha, I realize they’re all serious. Expectant. Of my reaction. That’s why everyone’s been looking at me.
