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“Hey, guys. What’s going on?” I hugged Adriana and gave Dante’s shoulder a squeeze.
Adriana sighed, giving Dante a gentle smile. “Dante’s a little upset.”
“That’s understandable,” I said, hoping I sounded the right amount of sad for being at a memorial dinner for my father-in-law.
Dante lifted his chin defiantly. “She’s making us move to Chicago.”
I frowned at Adriana, and she pursed her lips.
Dante glared at his mother, his cheeks a vibrant shade of red. “I don’t need a new dad. I don’t want to live with Grandma Salvo. I want to stay here with my friends.”
“Dante,” Adriana reprimanded, her voice quiet but stern.
His head dropped, his chest rising and falling rapidly. The kid was in turmoil, and Adriana looked at her wit’s end.
“Why don’t I take Dante to get a drink from the kitchen?”
“Thank you. I need to check with Rosa on something.” Adriana patted my arm as she passed.
“Let’s see if she has any of those Frostie Root Beers.”
Dante glumly wiped his nose. Arm around his shoulder, I maneuvered us through the crowd, relieved when we reached the hallway. Caterers zipped past us as we entered the kitchen, trays piled with dainty hors d'oeuvres that I hoped I would get a taste of later.
I sat Dante at the kitchen table and went to the fridge, praying Rosa had stocked the damn soda. Behind trays of food ready to be served and prepared was one lone root beer. “You’re in luck!” I popped the lid off and set the glass bottle in front of my mopey nephew. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”
“No.” He picked at the edge of the label, slowly peeling it from the bottle.
Sitting across from him, I snagged a puff of some sort from a tray. “Did you know it was my birthday last week?”
He looked at me in disbelief, his hands stilling. “It was?”
“Mhm. And can you believe I forgot?”
“No way.” He leaned forward, his face softening. “How’d you forget?”
I shrugged, innocently eating what ended up being a crab puff. “I guess with your uncle in jail, I’ve been a little scatterbrained.”
Dante nodded. “Things haven’t been great. I’m glad Grandma Salvo is better, but I don’t want to live with her in Chicago. I've been stuck up there all summer while my friends have been doing camps and whatever."
“I’m sure your mom is doing what she thinks is best.”
The nine-year-old rolled his eyes with a scoff. “You mean what she thinks is best for her?” he mumbled, finally taking a sip of soda.
“Hey, now. That’s your mom.”
He scrunched his face before exploding. “It’s not fair! I’m going to have to change schools and lose all my friends. All so she can marry Dr. Wilson.”
“I—”
Dante slammed down his soda and pinned me with a serious look. “It was supposed to be her and Marco, not some doctor in another city.”
I was out of my depth. So out of my depth.
“And I won’t be a Moretti anymore.” Dante’s eyes welled up, his lower lip trembling as he sucked in a deep breath.
“Oh, honey.” I opened my arms, and he jumped right into them. Rubbing his back, I shushed him. “You'll always be a Moretti. There’s no getting away from us.” I held him until his tears stopped, and he was no longer hiccupping. “You ready to go out there?”
Dante shook his head. “I think I’ll go up to my dad’s room. Can you let my mom know?”
