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He turns the sausages over with a careful hand. The smoke billows, and he covers the grill. “Is that what you’re doing? Taking care of her?”
“I’m trying my best.”
He nods, apparently needing a moment to consider that. “If you’re going to be with her, you make sure it’s serious. I know how much time athletes spend on the road. Baseball especially.”
The thought of cheating on her is so ridiculous I almost laugh, but I school my face into a neutral expression. “It is serious, sir. I love her. I’d never hurt her like that, I wouldn’t even think about it.”
He grunts again. “Mia’s always been a special girl.”
I nearly sigh with relief. Finally, someone who recognizes that. “Yes, she’s amazing. She’s the smartest person I’ve ever met, I swear she runs—”
“She’s always resisted what’s best for her,” he interrupts. His brown eyes, the same shade as hers, sear into me like a brand. “Things have never been easy where she’s concerned. A good kid like you, keeping her in line—she needs that. I’m glad she finally has it, so don’t fuck it up.”
For a moment, I just stare at him. If I thought Mia’s brother and asshole cousin got me pissed off, it’s nothing compared to this. By his tone, he’s completely serious.
He thinks she needs to be controlled.
He thinks that’s part of my duties as her boyfriend.
I stuff my hands into my pockets, so I don’t clench them and clear my throat. Part of me wants to rush inside, grab Mia, and leave right fucking now, but I can’t. Her family is important to her, even if they clearly don’t know a thing about her or what’s truly best for her. If I have to get through this with a smile on my face, I will, but I can’t let it slide completely.
“Respectfully, sir,” I say, “it’s not my job to keep her in line. I love her, I support her, but I’m not her keeper.”
He slaps me on the back, startling me, and bursts into laughter as he points at me with the tongs. “I like you, kid. Fire in your belly.”
I blink. Whatever I had been expecting, it wasn’t that. “I just—”
“I’m sure she’d try to bite your head off. She’s as crazy as her mother sometimes.” He shakes his head, gesturing with the tongs. “I love that woman, but she’s goddamn stubborn. Mia’s sister, she takes after my side of the family. A softer touch, you know? Mia, though? Mia’s all Pancheri.”
“Hey,” someone half-shouts. I think he’s one of Mia’s uncles on her mother’s side; he has graying hair at his temples and more crow’s feet than I can count. “What did you say about us Pancheris?”
“Enough for him to understand the situation with Miss Mia Pancheri,” Tony calls with another bark of laughter. “Come here, you old bastard, meet her little boyfriend. He’s Jake Miller’s kid.”
“The Reds player?”
I swallow down my sigh and raise my hand in a wave. If I’m anything, it’s not little or a kid, but I have a feeling that no matter what I say, it’ll get twisted, so the best thing to do is ride the current. I don’t understand all the dynamics at play in this family, clearly. “Yep. How’s it going, sir?”
53
MIA
Walkinginto the kitchen sparks a kaleidoscope of memories.
Working on homework at the kitchen table while Mom prepped dinner, Food Network playing on the television.
Shrieking at my brother when he pulled on my hair on the way to grab something from the fridge.
Stealing bites of antipasti before taking it to the dining room during dinner parties.
Laughing with my sister over crushes, ice cream bowls in hand.
Stomping upstairs to change when I tried to alter my Catholic school uniform too boldly and got a scold from Nana.
Hugging my dad goodbye as he gave me the keys to the car.
Sitting quietly with Nonno as he drank espresso and read the paper, a box of pastries open on the counter between us.
Some of the memories are jewel-bright, but others are dark and sharp enough to cut. Kitchens have a special place in all kinds of families—they certainly hold a lot of significance for Sebastian, who developed a passion from food alongside his mother—and mine has always been the center, the proverbial hearth. For all my family’s faults, the food is always impeccable. I’m sure my mother was at the Italian butcher yesterday, buying sausages and mozzarella, bread and rice balls, olives and marinated mushrooms. She’s been on a first-name basis with the guy who owns the store since before I was born.
