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Rocco
“Don’t welcome her to the family, Marti.” I squeeze my grandmother’s hand. “She’s a potential business partner.”
“Or wife,” she coughs out the word.
I arch a brow. “Business partner.”
“What does this potential business partner look like?” She skims the palm of her hand over her hair. “Is she pretty?”
Beautiful. She’s captivatingly beautiful.
I keep those words to myself and smile. “You’ll see for yourself any minute.”
Her gaze darts to the entrance of the restaurant. “I’ll cook her dinner.”
I look down at the empty bowl in front of me. Marti served me a healthy portion of risotto as soon as I sat down.
Food wasn’t what I came here looking for, but I ate it.
I’ll always eat what my grandmother cooks for me because I know damn well that a day will come when I won’t have that privilege anymore.
“Dessert,” I suggest. “Everyone loves your tiramisu.”
“Your mama loved it most of all.” Her smile softens. “She ate it almost every night when she was pregnant with you.”
I’ll never tire of her stories about my mom, even though I’ve heard each of them thousands of times.
“You miss her, yes?”
She’s asked me that question already twice this week. It comes up multiple times every week.
My answer is always the same. “Very much.”
“She’d want you to be happy, Rocco.” A long sigh escapes her. “She’d want all of her boys to be happy.”
We all are. Luke, my youngest brother, is a fireman. Nash runs his own ad agency. None of the Jones men are headed down the aisle, but there’s still hope. Marti clings to it. She’s always telling us that she wants to see at least one of us in a tuxedo taking our vows before she takes her last breath.
“Happiness comes in many forms.” It’s my standard line for her. It never appeases her, which is why her response to it is always the same. She counters with a comment about true love and how nothing can replace it.
“What about that form?” Her hand lifts in the air.
I turn in the direction she’s pointing. Standing in the doorway of the restaurant is the woman I haven’t stopped thinking about.
“That’s her,” I whisper. “That’s Dexie Walsh.”
***
“Your Rocco’s grandmother?” Dexie narrows her eyes. “You’re Martina Calvetti.”
“Marti,” my grandmother corrects her with a soft touch of her hand to Dexie’s chin. “You’ll call me Marti.”
“Marti,” Dexie repeats it back slowly. “I had no idea that Rocco was related to you.”
“He’s my daughter firstborn. He’s my Gaia’s son.” Her hands leap to the middle of her chest. “God rest her beautiful soul.”
Dexie’s quiet for a moment before she looks to me and then Marti. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“It was a long time ago.” Marti drapes her arm over Dexie’s shoulder to comfort her. I’ve seen it before. My grandmother puts everyone’s needs before her own; regardless of how well she knows them. “Time doesn’t lessen a mother’s loss, but it pushes me forward. I have a family to love.”
