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“Shut up!” Matty glared at his younger brother.
“Your father saidenough.” Heather opened the door and grabbed the bag holding her casserole dish. “Come on, Nanny and Grampy are in the house. Danny, bring the bag of books in the back. They’re for your mother.”
Her steps were brisk, her heels clicking on the wide brick walkway. The boys followed. Danny stayed in the car for a second and relished the silence. He and Heather had been married for thirteen years. They’d had trouble on and off, but the past year or so had been rough. If he was being honest, rough was an understatement. They seemed to exist in a constant state of low-level antagonism that had become the norm as they lived increasingly parallel lives.
But Danny wasn’t about to bring his marriage troubles to the table for Sunday dinner. Grabbing the books, he paused and looked at his childhood home. Green shutters popped against the white clapboards, and defiant crocuses peeked through the rapidly retreating snow. Three generations of the Padovano family had lived in this Brooklyn house.
When he was kid, Sunday dinners with the family were an annoyance. His mother had insisted on them, and God help you if you missed one. Now? Anyone who missed one was still in hot water, but Danny was glad that his own sons had the opportunity to have that kind of larger family gathering as part of their childhood. He hoped when they were grown, they’d appreciate the tradition the way he did now. Maybe start it with their own families. A pang of guilt touched him. He had grown up in a very happy home, and he understood they weren’t growing up in the same.
Inside, he dropped the bag behind the door and went into the kitchen, where his mother was holding court.
“Danny!” Deb Padovano greeted her son with the enthusiasm of someone who hadn’t seen him in a month, even though she’d seen him at church not an hour before. Danny kissed her proffered cheek.
Across the kitchen, his sister, Maggie, chopped vegetables as if it was a punishment. And for her, it was. She hated cooking and every Sunday got roped into becoming their mother’s sous chef. Heather swept in, moved the casserole from the counter to the microwave, and started to clean the dishes in the sink. Danny managed two steps towards the door before his sister spoke up.
“Ma, aren’t you going to make Danny help?”
“Oh no,” Deb answered. “I have all the help I need with you girls.”
Before long, the whole family was settled at the big oak dining room table. Danny’s father, Richie, sat at the head while his mother sat to her husband’s right. Next to her, Maggie and her daughter, Cole. Danny’s family rounded out the group of guests. They said grace, adding a special prayer for Danny’s younger brother, Joey, who was in the Army, and tucked into a huge meal and some lively debate and conversation. After, they retreated to the family room. A cardboard box rested next to one of the chairs.
Cole’s curiosity was piqued. “What’s in the box, Grampy?”
“Eh, old photos and books,” Richie said.
“Cool. Can I look?” After an affirmative nod from her grandfather, Cole pounced on the box. Lucas joined her.
While the youngest generation of Padovanos rooted through the box like it was buried treasure, the adult conversation settled on the topic of college. Maggie said Cole was looking, and her top choice was Stanford. But, Maggie told them, she’d also tossed around Boston University and USC. Danny cringed, the ringingka-chingof dollar signs echoing in his head. At least Maggie only had to figure out tuition for one.
Danny watched his niece. Petite, her hair was shoulder length, and she absently brushed her bangs out of her eyes. Although she was smiling, her expression still looked studious. In a few months she’d be seventeen, and she looked like a young woman now—not a little girl. It made him feel old. It seemed like just yesterday he was playing hide-and-seek with her in the backyard.
Tommy gave a handful of photos to his parents. “Look at Daddy in these pictures. And Aunt Maggie!”
Deb beamed at her grandson. “You look just like your father when he was your age.”
“Check this out!” Cole said. “It’s your high school yearbook, Uncle Danny.” She flipped through the pages. “I bet there’s some great pictures of you in here. Whoa… You really did go out with a rock star. Man, you have wicked street cred.” Cole’s dark eyes were huge, her smile giddy.
Danny’s meal turned to mud in his stomach as Heather lanced him with a glare.
“It’s nothing,” he said.
Cole rolled her eyes. “Your high school ex is the lead singer of The Kingmakers. Yeah, no big deal or nothing. I mean, look at that photo!” She held out the yearbook.
Splashed across one page was a picture of Danny and a pretty girl with dark hair. The background was the high school football field. He was standing behind her, arms around her waist, and they were both smiling. On the opposite page, there was a picture of them dancing at the prom. Her arms were around his neck, his hands resting on the small of her back while they gazed at each other—deliriously, stupidly in love.
Danny felt his heart constrict.
“That was a long time ago,” he said, defensiveness souring his voice as he felt the weight of Heather’s stare.
Cole, oblivious to his discomfort, continued blithely on. “This is the coolest thing ever. I mean, she’sfamous.And the two of you had a thing in high school. You know, this would be perfect for my paper—”
“—Your what?” The mud in Danny’s stomach turned to concrete.
“My paper. For school. I gotta write a research paper on someone famous from New York. Doing it on Lauren Stone never crossed my mind. But I could interview you about what she was like back then. That would for sure get me an A!” Cole was beaming.
“Don’t waste your time.” Deb looked like she’d smelled bad cheese.
“Waste my time? Nanny, she’s, like, a star!” Cole’s voice was one octave below a squeal.
