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Gianna puts the call on speaker, and it rings several times.
I hope he takes the call from the unknown number.
“Hello?” he says, sounding uncertain and nervous.
“Dad? It’s me, Milo.”
“Oh God, son.” He’s immediately sobbing. “It’s so good to hear your voice. You scared the hell out of us.”
“Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be sorry. How do you feel?”
“Um, good, I guess? Jason has me wearing some sort of device to keep my head still.”
“Can you move your hands and feet?”
I wiggle my fingers and toes. “Yeah, why?”
For a long, long moment, my dad is completely silent until more sobs echo through the phone. “We weren’t sure you’d be able to.”
“Oh.” The implications of that are almost too big for me to handle. “Really?”
“It was a very, very long night, my boy. Everyone was there. The entire family.”
I can picture what a mob scene that must’ve been.
“Everyone who knows you and the rest of us has brought food. The outpouring has been incredible. You’re very well loved, my dear Milo.”
“That’s nice of them.”
“We don’t want you to get too tired,” Gianna whispers.
“Dad, I have to go, but I’ll see you later?”
“We’ll be there. Jason told us he’ll call the minute we can see you.”
“Okay.”
“We love you so much,” he says, barely able to get the words out. “So damned much.”
“Love you, too.”
Gianna ends the call and uses a tissue to wipe tears off my face that I didn’t know were there. “Sounds like you have a very nice family.”
“Yeah, they’re amazing. You know the restaurant Giordino’s?”
“Of course. Who doesn’t? It’s one of my favorites.”
“My aunt and uncle own it. We’ve all worked there at one time or another.”
“I wondered if you were related.”
“My dad’s brother, Vincent, and his wife are the owners. Which do you prefer? Italian or Cuban?”
“I love them both, but I’m partial to the Italian side.”
“Me, too, but don’t tell anyone I said that. We can’t play favorites.”
