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If Luca Delmonico is all smiles and warmth, Bianca is the other side of his coin, a cool, quiet confidence that radiates stability. And in some ways, that makes me more comfortable than the ease with which Piper’s dad immediately accepted me. I was used to wariness, expected it, even, because that’s how I am, too.
So, I shake her hand, and the way she grips my fingers like a vice tells me she’s sizing me up. From the way her eyes scan, head to toe, I know that she’s analyzing me as much as I’m analyzing her. Pin straight dark hair, so in contrast to Piper’s. Dark eyes. A narrow nose that I knew Penny had.
“Fitz Westfall.” I nod to her, then her husband to her side. “It’s wonderful to meet you all.” I gesture around me, and as I speak, feel Piper’s hand slip back into mine, immediately settling me a fraction. “Thank you for having me.”
“Had to get you here for the interrogation,” Bianca says dryly, and her tone reminds me of Freddy.
“Here, here!” Nolan jeers behind me, and he’s raising a beer in his hands in agreement with Bianca’s sentiment. This.Thisis why I was nervous to come tonight. Not just because I’d be seeing Piper’s parents again, truly meeting them for the first time - but doing so with all of these other people watching, like a spectator sport. I suppose the baseball game was round one; the hospital, round two; and the day at my pool, round three. Round four introduced several new players.
“Down, girl,” Luca coos, putting an arm around his wife’s waist and pulling her close, nuzzling a kiss into her cheek as Bianca bats him away, and it’s all I can do not to laugh. Of all the things I expected from tonight, learning that Piper’s parents were the two of us in reverse wasn’t even on the bingo card, but the way she gives my fingers a squeeze tells me she’s thinking the same thing.
“He brought an offering.” Brett finally makes his way into the kitchen with my bag, presumably having chased his kids through the house. “Well, several.” He hands the tote to Luca, who takes it, fishing out the bottle of wine first.
“Good start,” Bianca says, taking it from her husband and turning to dig in a drawer. “I presume you drink, then.”
“Yeah, Westfall.” Nolan steps up next to me, holding out a beer, cap already off. “You drink?” I take it from him, letting him clink the neck against his still-full bottle. Piper mentioned he took it easy during the season, and he’s back on the road tomorrow for another three-game series in Miami. Luca sets another bottle of wine, this one a white, on the counter next to the bottle of red.
“Ooh.” Luca holds up a large paper bag, grease stains along the sides evident - there’s no other way to transport fried food without it getting gummy. He puts the tote down, peeling open the bag and taking a deep inhale of whatever scent was wafting from it.
“What’d you bring?” Piper asks, stepping up to my other side as Nolan leans forward, trying to take a peek into the bag. Piper’s parents share a look as Bianca twists a corkscrew into the top of the bottle of red, peering into the bag and then back at me.
“If those are what I think they are,” Vic starts, setting his spatula down and speaking for the first time since I arrived, “you’re going to want to save room for dessert.” Curious as ever, Piper moves between her parents, peering in the bag. She stills, and then looks back at me, wide eyed.
“Are those bomboloni?” I shrug, hands finding my pockets. Piper watches me, eyes flaring at the gesture.
“Mateo made them, I’m just the delivery man.” I give them a small smile. “Vic mentioned they’re a family favorite.”
“Well.” Bianca’s hands are frozen mid-uncorking, gazing between the bag and where I stand. “We’ll see if they measure up to Nona’s.” I swear, I see her lips turn up at the corner when she turns to reach into a cabinet, pulling out several wine glasses.
Score one, Westfall.
Piper
“Ok, ok,” Fitz relents, holding out his wine glass as my father refills it. Again. Gone are the two bottles he brought, out came Papa’s private stash of Italian wine his brother sends for every holiday and occasion (the good stuff, he’d muttered to me).
Shit, and people wonder why I had such a hard time coming to terms with the idea of being an alcoholic. Booze flows like water here.
“Thank you,” Vic says from the other side of the table, holding up the giant gold-wrapped chocolate bunny she gets him every year. It’ll be gone by the end of the weekend, like it is every year. He sets it on the tabletop, which is covered in plastic picnic tablecloths - my mother’s pushed two six foot tables together out in the backyard under the shade of my childhood house, an assortment of chairs along either side like a summer garden party. I suppose it is, in some ways.
“Your turn, passerotto mio,” my mother says, tilting her own wine glass at me with a smile that makes me anxious. She’d handed me a deep purple box while doling out all of our Easter presents, the kids having long-since ripped their baskets apart and gone inside to feast on chocolate and Nintendo Switch.
“Should I be scared?” I ask, gripping the edges of the box. She settles further into her chair, and I shake my head, pulling up one corner and looking inside.
I snort, tearing the lid off completely and setting it on the table, pulling the box further into my lap.
“You’re ridiculous.” I scoff at her, easily sliding into Italian as I start pulling items from the hot pink plastic grass. A chocolate flamingo. A flamingo-shaped floating cup holder. A water bottle with a flamingo painted on the side, wearing a pair of oversized sunglasses and a floppy hat. “Seriously, Mama?”
“Inglese,” Alex begs from her seat next to me, and Nolan pulls close to her, his gaze burning.
“Baby, you know what that accent does to me,” he says, just loud enough that I can hear. I make a retching noise - payback, for all the shit she’s given me and Fitz over the last few weeks. She smacks him in the chest, giving me a pointed look.
“That’s fantastic.” Brett leans over from his seat next to my father, snatching the water bottle to inspect. “Does it come with a matching koozie?” I look up at the sky, willing lightning to strike me down.
“I’m going to murder you all.” I run a hand down my face, finally making eye contact with Fitz, whose eyebrows are knit together as he waits for an explanation. “It’s an inside joke.” I let my eyes flit to my mother, her smirk deepening.
“Peak Bianca, in my opinion,” Alex says, tipping her seltzer at my mother with the hand not holding Mickie to her chest. “We were on our way back from vacation one summer…"
“Oh we’re just diving right in?” Penny settles down in her chair like it’s story time at the library.
