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Her back stiffened and she felt the sting of tears behind her eyes. She’d fantasized that he would smile and twirl her off her feet and promise to marry her when she told him of the baby. She’d even been silly enough to believe that their love—and this baby, this precious, precious baby—might put an end to the horrid feud that existed between their families. Love would conquer over hatred.
“You’re kiddin’, right?” he said when he saw the tears filling the corners of her eyes.
“I’m going to have a baby, Mario,” she said angrily as she’d climbed out of bed and threw her sweater over her head. “Your baby.”
He stared at her for several long seconds, the cigarette dangling neglected from his lips, the ash growing. “No—”
“It’s true! Whether you like it or not, we’re going to be parents!”
“Oh, God, Trisha, how could you do this?” he’d whispered, his dark complexion turning pasty white. He rubbed his forehead as if he were trying to erase the entire conversation.
“I didn’t do it. We did.”
“But are you sure?”
“I had a test at the free clinic.”
“Fuck.” He fell onto the mattress and cradled his head in his hands. “How could this have happened?”
“You know how it happened.”
“This couldn’t have come at a worse time. My old man’s—”
“For crying out loud, Mario. I didn’t plan it. Sorry if it’s inconvenient for you,” she snarled, hurting inside. The room shook as a great jet roared through the sky and Trisha felt like dying inside.
Jabbing out his cigarette in a tray, he looked up at her. As if finally realizing how distressed she was, he opened his arms and motioned for her to join him on the bed. “Come on, Trisha. It’s not the end of the world.”
“It’s a miracle,” she said, defensive of her unborn child. “A miracle.”
“ ’Course it is.”
She didn’t trust him and tears threatened to overtake her again. “You aren’t happy.”
“Sure I am” he said, though his voice sounded glum. “I…I was just shocked, that’s all. Hell, it’s not every day you get news like this.” He patted the bed beside him and she sat on the edge of the stained mattress. His strong arms surrounded her and she wanted to trust him again—to believe in their love. His breath, smoky and warm, teased her ear. “You want this—this baby?”
“Don’t you?”
“Oh, sure. Sure.”
She relaxed a little, though she wished she’d heard more conviction in his voice.
“I guess this is the part where I should ask you to marry me, huh?”
Sniffing back her tears, she nodded. “I think that’s the proper thing to do.”
“Hey, well, proper. That’s me. Okay, then I’m askin’. Trisha, will you marry me?”
“Of course I will,” she’d vowed, throwing her arms around his neck and tumbling into the bed with him. “I love you, Mario. I’ve always loved you and I will love you until the day I die.”
“That’s my girl,” he’d said, kissing her and patting the top of her head as if she were a child.
Two weeks later they’d broken the news to their parents and both Witt and Anthony had hit the roof.
According to Mario, Anthony had called his son a dumb fuck and forbade him from ever seeing Trisha again. If Mario wanted to fall in love and get married, there was always that nice Lanza girl who lived in the neighborhood; and if he wanted to be so stupid as to knock someone up, Mario should have his head examined. He’d been told to q
uit thinking with his cock and start listening to reason. Anthony had warned his son never to see Trisha again, and Mario agreed.
But Mario had broken that promise. The next week Mario told Trisha about the scene with his father. To Trisha, Mario had seemed spinelessly relieved.
