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“Oh wait. I have to get her outfit.” Mrs. Milano runs up the stairs and comes down with the smallest rhinestoned leotard in a clear garment bag. I see a set of ballet shoes in one of the pockets of the bag, as well as a pair of light pink tights. She thrusts it at my chest. “Here. She needs to be there at five. Hair and makeup done.”
“I’m sorry?”
“It’s just a bun and some eyeliner. We may be there beforehand. Lulu’s labors are fast. Just like mine.”
“What’s fast? Like, an hour?” I flip my wrist to glance at my watch. I’ve already had Gia for forty-five minutes. That suddenly feels like enough.
“Within twelve to eighteen hours.”
“I give you credit, Dom.” Mr. Milano pats my back as they file out the door.
“Oh wait.” Mrs. Milano laughs. “Gia! You’re going with Mr. Mancini.”
“Yay!” She runs to the door, her bag of cookies swaying in her hand. She jumps off the first step. “Where are we going?”
“A salon?”
Mrs. Milano laughs. “Oh, don’t stress. It doesn’t need to be perfect.”
I stand dumbfounded on the stairs while the Milanos walk down the sidewalk to wherever their car is parked.
Gia smiles up at me. “Where to?” She slides her small hand in mine, leading me down the stairs.
I glance at my watch again. It’s only eleven-thirty in the morning. “You hungry? My ma is the best cook in Carroll Gardens.”
She shrugs, her stomach probably full from all the cookies.
I bite into mine, the sugar the only positive thing about what just transpired. “Let’s go.”
We walk down the sidewalk toward my parents’ place. We’ll just consider this a little practice for Ma before she has any real grandchildren.
