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“Yeah,” the blonde replies. “Really great. Take care.” She waves as she and her friends walk away. I’m so startled that I don’t get the chance to wave back. I’m used to being ignored or picked on. Compliments are foreign to me.
They feel amazing. Those girls just made my day.
Emilia gives me a bright smile. “Maybe things are looking up.”
Maybe they are.
* * *
Emiliaand I leave the shop and head for the car when a man’s voice calls out to me. It’s Henry.
I don’t know how to respond as he walks over with a huge grin. Emilia steps back to give us some space. “Hi,” I finally say after standing there for a long moment.
“How have you been? I was hoping for another dinner get-together if you’re down.”
How do I tell him Leo and I are getting married, so there won’t be any more get-togethers? “Leo and I getting married,” I blurt out. I guess that’s one way to do it.
He frowns and takes a step back. “Oh? When did this happen? We just had dinner last night.”
“Last night,” I whisper. All I want to do is get out of here. This is the most awkward conversation I’ve ever had.
His eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. “Last night?” He whistles. “Wow, Leo wasted no time.”
“What do you mean by that?”
He pauses before saying, “Nothing. I just never knew Leo had it in him to get married.” He squeezes my arm. “Happy for you two. I should get going.”
I watch him walk away, uneasiness in my gut. I’m not sure why, though, so I push it to the side and join Emilia in the car.
“You ok?” she asks, starting the car. I suggested driving here myself, but Emilia told me she was pregnant, not dead.
“I’m fine.”
My eyes land on the receipt in my hand. I bought the dress, but it won’t be delivered until next week, which id when the wedding is taking place. In all the commotion of buying a dress, it only dawns on me now that my mom wasn’t here to join me. She wasn’t there for Gemma either, but that was because Gemma was kidnapped. With Emilia, she bought her a dress to marry Marco in. Yes, I had Emilia there with me, but I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to have the kind of relationship with my mom where her helping me pick out a wedding dress doesn’t feel like a chore. Where she doesn’t always forget about me. Where she actually tries to be my mom instead of treating me like a burden.
A memory comes to me.
It was soon after the twins were born, a year after Dad died, and I was in the living room with a book about Michelangelo when Mom came into the room, carrying Lucia and Luca in each arm. She set them down on their playmats on the floor and spoke to them in a baby voice.
Antonio and Cecilia, who were thirteen and eleven at the time, came running through the house, laughing, when Antonio ran into a vase on the side table. It dropped to the ground, crashing into tiny pieces. The twins began wailing.
Mom looked up. “What are you two doing?” She hurried over to them. “What happened?”
Cecilia pointed at Antonio. “He did it.”
Mom sighed and ruffled Antonio’s hair. “Just be more careful next time.” Antonio never got into trouble like the rest of us, even though, I swear, he caused the most trouble after Gemma.
The two of them nodded and ran off. “I have to clean this up,” Mom muttered to herself. She looked back at the babies, and the sheer exhaustion on her face made me put my book down and ask her if she needed me to watch the babies for a moment.
Mom looked startled to see me, like she hadn’t noticed me sitting on the couch, even though I was there first. “Francesca. Uh, yes. That would be great.” She hurried into the kitchen to grab a broom.
I kneeled beside Lucia, who was still crying. Luca had calmed down by then. “You’re ok,” I told Lucia, picking her up and rocking her. She only cried harder in my arms. I was tense because I wasn’t used to carrying a baby around.
I wasn’t watching Luca as he scooted on his belly toward the wall socket.
“Luca!” Mom screamed as she came back into the room, dropping the broom and running over to him, lifting him up before he could stick his finger in the socket. “Oh my god.”
I turned toward them, feeling horribly guilty. “I’m sorry. I was trying to comfort Lucia.”
