“I look perfectly presentable. Even lovely.” Her voice was a command. “Is this not appropriate for the dinner?”
“It’s fine. I just assumed you’d wear one of the outfits I bought for you.”
“If you want something to dress up, buy a Barbie doll.”
“I just asked you to look nice.” Super. That did not come out the way he intended.
“I do look nice, Lorenzo,” she growled. “You have one second to switch your tone and drop the topic, or I’m going to leave, or kick you.”
“You look nice,” he said. “Don’t go. Sorry.”
“Apology accepted. What is this dinner, anyway?” she said, fishing her iPad from her bag. “Do you want me to take notes? I gather it’s a doctor thing?”
“It’s a family thing.”
She looked up. “Oh.”
Right behind her were four of the remaining cookies. He wished he’d thrown them out so she couldn’t see he’d eaten eight.
“Um…why do you want me at a family dinner?” she asked.
“Because I hate them. Family dinners, not the humans involved.”
“You don’t hate family dinners.”
“Actually, I do, Winnie, and who would know better? You or me?”
“I would,” she said. “Lorenzo. I know you feel like you don’t fit in. But you do. Or you could. You’re a truly good person. You should tell them about rescuing that little boy."
“Absolutely not.”
“Why? They deserve to know that version of you. You’re the one uncomfortable with it. It’s easier for you to be distant than to be…vulnerable.”
He remembered when, two summers ago, he’d seen Dante’s smashed-up truck during a pileup on Route 6, the panic that had shot through him at the thought of his little brother, hurt. His brother had been fine, but for those few seconds…
“I’m fairly sure I didn’t hire you for a personality analysis,” he said to cover the fact that she was absolutely right.
“Yet you get it for free. Maybe I should ask for a raise,” she said, and there was a flash of her smile, that mysterious dimple.
He sighed. “You’re not completely wrong. I do feel uncomfortable with them, and I wanted you to come tonight so you can be a buffer. You can talk to me so I don’t have to engage.”
“No, thank you.”
“You work for me, Winnie.”
“Yes, but I’m not a wind-up toy who does everything you command. This is your family. I’m your personal assistant, not your bodyguard. What’s the worst that could happen? Your sisters will hug you? You might have to hold a baby?”
He rubbed his forehead. “I just…” He stopped because he didn’t know how to explain. He hated that, not knowing.
“Just what, Lorenzo?” she asked, and her voice was a little gentler. She sat at the counter and gestured for him to do the same. He did.
“I…don’t disagree with your assessment. I’m uncomfortable with them. I’m not—” he made air quotes— “one of them.”
“Because you grew up with your grandmother, not them.”
“Yes. And because I’m far more intelligent?—”
“No, no. Shut that right down. You’re not. You’re just differently intelligent, okay? When we talk about emotional intelligence, you’re a three, and they’re all tens.” She looked at him another long minute, and he shifted. “Why don’t you tell them how you feel? At least get a little closure on that front.”
