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Our wedding will be in another week. I talked it over with Mia, how I don’t want to wait too long. By then I’m hoping to be closer to her, closer to Luca.
Mia had been a bit reticent at first, worried we didn’t know each other enough, but given that we have my father’s service, she eventually accepted. She thinks she is as close to ready as she’ll ever be and I know she wants something happy to take our minds off these times, I suppose. Plus, we’ve been spending so much time together that I think I’ve gotten her to trust me, at least a bit.
When we arrive at the cemetery, we walk up toward the casket, which is already closed.
Nico parks and follows us there. Marisa is already there, crying into a handkerchief that had belonged to my father.
Mia stands next to me as we wait for everyone to arrive. Everyone shows up pretty quickly, and there’s a lot of us. There’s plenty of Riccis, including family and friends. But there is also Mia’s parents, and a few representatives of the other famiglias, the Gallos, the Barones, the Espositos. Most of our men are also here paying their respects.
This is a day of peace between famiglias. A day to show our respect for a man who lived and died for his family.
And I’m glad that we’re having the ceremony outside, because Papa wouldn’t have wanted it in a church.
He and Mama hadn’t married in a church, and although he was what you might call a lapsed Catholic, we never went to Mass.
Luckily, I’d greased a few palms and was getting his ashes buried in the Catholic cemetery.
Marisa made the sign of the cross and both my uncle Roberto and my cousin Leo went up to say a few words. I look over at Marisa, who’s all broken up, and make my way through the crowd to her.
I lean down to speak to her. “You should say something,” I say hoarsely, tears caught in my throat.
She shakes her head, looking up at me with watery green eyes. “I can’t, Dante.Youhave to.”
I take in a shaky breath and Mia pats me on the shoulder, having followed me over. I swallow down more tears, thinking I’m going to be nauseous after a while of this, and head up to the microphone that the priest has set up.
“My father was a hard-working man,” I start. “But that’s not why we’re all here today. We’re here to celebrate his life, just like he’d want. He wouldn’t want us all to mope around.”
The crowd tittered through their sobs.
“He was a fun-loving guy,” I continued with a shaky smile. “He wouldn’t want all of you crying. He loved my mother, he loved me, and he loved all of you in one way or another,” I say, looking directly at Marisa. Maybe my father had never married her, but she was part of the family nonetheless. “But more importantly, Enzo loved life, and we should all celebrate that. So, I invite you all to come to a wake at Denny’s bar.”
“What are we, Irish?” my uncle Roberto groans, but he’s joking and I smile at him.
Denny, the owner of the bar in question, steps up. “First round free for everyone here,” he says, and for some reason, that’s when I break down crying.
I guess because it’s over. I guess because I’ve done all I can do and it is what my father would want, a celebration. A party.
I cover my face with my hands, crying, and Mia comes to me, taking me in her arms and sitting me down away from all the people.
“It’s okay to be upset, Dante. He’s your father,” she says, and I take in a shaky breath, trying to hold back the tears.
I wipe at my face. “I’m okay,” I say.
“You’re not,” she says, looking at me pointedly. “But that’s okay. We’re going to get through this.”
I lean against her, taking more of her strength, and a spear of guilt spreads through me.
The guilt is gone by the time I throw back a fourth beer at Denny’s, though, and Mia is drinking her fruity rum runners right along with me. Uncle Roberto sings one of my father’s favorite Italian operas in a truly horrific accent, having forgotten much of the Italian he was taught as a kid, and we all laugh at him.
It’s a party, all right, and by the end of it, I’m well and truly drunk, and even Mia is stumbling in her heels.
Nico’s stayed veritably sober and he drives us home as I fight tears again, the alcohol hanging over me in a haze.
My father’s gone. He’ll never have a party like this again, and it’s Luca Lorenzo’s fault.
I manage to keep it back, though, and it’s helped by Mia being there, by her taking my hand.
“If you want to be alone tonight,” she says softly, but I shake my head, taking her into my arms when we enter the mansion.
