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“Lorena Rose!” My second eldest brother, Armone, shouts from the foyer, causing me to roll my eyes in response.
Nobody calls me by my full name but him and he only does it to agitate me.
I stand up and walk into the kitchen, pausing tokiss each of their cheeks. The eldest, Carmelo, is tall like my father. Like the other three, he was blessed with thick, dark and unruly hair and dark eyes to match. They're pretty much carbon copies of my father, but they all have something unique about them. Carmelo is tall and wise, Armone has a very buoyant sense of humor, whereas the third eldest, Amelio, has the biggest temper, and the youngest brother, Claudio, is charming beyond belief. However, each and every one of them are players. The number of random women I have seen wrapped around their arms have surpassed the hundred mark and for a while, it grossed me out. Now however, it fills me with envy.
Because, while my brothers are attractive playboys, I am the odd, lonely, disabled girl. The girl with the red brown hair and the overly bright hazel eyes. The skinny, petite waif with poor eyesight. It's safe to say that the only men I've ever known are my family members.
“Smells delicious, little one,” Claudio says, patting my shoulder as he pours a glass of wine, my eyes drifting to the long outline of his dark hair.
They all call me little one. It doesn’t piss me off, but rather fills me with warmth. It makes me feel special. Because even in my lonely world—to them, I am special.
“Thank you. I have most of the table set up, but can you pull the pot from the oven and set it on the table? There’s some Pinot Grigio on the table already,” I say, Claudio following my instructions immediately.
He’s the easiest to get along with, always sweet and polite. I feel safe with all my brothers, but he’s always had a way of calming me the best.
“Boys, come on,” I holler, grabbing my glass and walking into the dining room.
We take our spots at the table and say our prayers, wishing for health and safety as always. I hold my brothers’ hands a bit tighter than usual, the nerves from earlier still not completely dissipated.
As we eat, the boys chatter about their newest romances, and the loneliness stretches inside of my heart. After minutes have passed and they realize I haven't said much, Amelio sits back and speaks to me directly.
“Car told us that you heard some shots and became frantic. Wanna talk about it?” he asks, his silhouette sipping wine as I sigh and swallow my food.
“Not really,” I say, but I should’ve known they wouldn’t listen anyway.
“Tough shit. What’s the matter?” he says, calling my bluff as I play with the food on my plate.
“I just… I haven’t seen papa lately and I guess I’m just anxious,” I say, the room silent as I speak.
“Maybe I just miss home.” I regret the words instantly.
“You know why you can’t go back there, Lori. It’s not safe for you.” Carmelo scolds, sounding just like my father.
“I know. I didn’t say I wanted to go back. Just that I miss it.” I whisper, swirling the wine in my glass as I bite my lip.
“I guess I’m just lonely. I hear you talk about these women, these companions, and I can’t help but wish for something like that for myself. To have someone to come home to—share my life with.” Armone’s hand rests over mine when I fall silent.
“You’re only twenty-two, little one. You have all the time in the world. Trust that you will find someone someday. You’re beautiful, intelligent, and have many talents. Any man would be lucky to call you his,” he says earnestly, my heart sinking at his words.
“I have two talents and a disability. I think I may be off the market for good.” I wallow in my own self-pity now.
“You are special and a prize, Lori. Don’t tell yourself otherwise,” Armone says, patting me comfortingly as I smile at him.
“Enough of this loneliness talk, where’s the cake?” Amelio asks, everyone erupting with laughter as we finish our meal.
“How are you ever going to have a wife if that’s how you speak to a woman?” I tease, reaching to pour myself a glass, but retreating when Carmelo brushes me off and does it for me.
He hates when I try to be self-sufficient in his presence.
“Who said I speak to every woman like that?” Ameilo teases. “And who said I want a wife anyway?” I roll my eyes at him, getting up as Claudio clears the plates from the table.
Carmelo takes the tiramisu from my hands before cutting into it as I walk it into the dining room.
I stare at all four of them, the outline of their laughing figures filling what little vision I have.
“What?” Armone asks.
“Promise me that you’re being safe. I don’t know what I would do without any of you.” I whisper, the men falling silent and all but confirming that something did happen today.
