Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
“Evening, Nashville, you feelin’ all right?” I spoke into the mic as we kept raising the tempo, and the audience got loud—it was an unforgettable sound that shot energy straight into our veins. I grinned and looked down at the strings. “That’s enough talking.” I gave Nicky a quick nod. “One, two, three, four!”
I sang of how good the world looked from where I was standing, and it was true, wasn’t it? Everything that had happened… Even with the uncertainties we were facing, life was invigorating.
Come and get me.
Spending my lunch break two days later with my grandmother at Sahadi’s probably didn’t count as “being out there,” but if the woman needed my help, so be it.
I’d made the mistake of admitting to Nicky yesterday that maybe, down the road, we could go out sometime so I could meet new people. I liked my own buddies and suffered no shortage in that arena, but most of them were married. I also preferred not to shit where I ate. Some lines weren’t meant to be blurred.
But leave it to my little brother to go bananas. Seemed like whenever we saw each other in the halls at the academy, he was sliding me comments about the type of man he wanted to find for me.
So it was either a lunch hour of him completely failing at profiling my Mr. Perfect or helping Nonna shop.
“Can you reach the olive oil for me, polpetto?” She pointed to the top shelf.
I grabbed two large bottles, knowing she went through them in no time, and placed them in her cart. “What else is on the list?”
She eyed the list in her hand over the rim of her glasses. “Your father asked for the big green olives, and there’s a special on roasted cashews.” She hummed. “Let’s go over to the deli too.”
She spoiled my father rotten. There was no use in pointing it out either. Nicky and I had tried… It was her honor and job, she said. She’d been the woman at his side since we’d lost our mother to cancer over twenty years ago. It was sweet in one way; Pop had only ever loved Ma and would never settle down with another. And that made it tragic too.
I’d had love once. One of my first serious relationships had been with someone I’d loved to stupid measures. My home used to be his. It was the only reason I could count myself as one of the lucky bastards to own their own place in Park Slope. But was that it, then? Thanks for a few great years, thanks for an amicable breakup that allowed me to buy a condo for much less than it was worth? I’d been miserable for a long time after Charles had left. He’d taken a job in Arizona to be closer to his family, for which I couldn’t blame him. He’d wanted me to go with him at first, but my home was in New York. I couldn’t leave my family for the same reason he couldn’t be away from his anymore.
So maybe that was all. Like Pop, I’d have one love of my life, and we’d both lost them early on.
Pop’s grief had obviously been harder. He became a shell of his former self, and I’d done my best to step in and help Nonna raise Nicky. And as Pop slowly recovered, he cemented into a figure who would never change again. He was at peace, he flirted innocently with the neighborhood ladies to get free food, and he had Nonna. And us. That was it.
Nonna had traveled a similar path when Nonno died.
There’d never been any talk of them finding new partners. Nicky and I had hinted a few times over the years, and we’d been shut down swiftly and decisively.
They were everything to me, but I didn’t wanna be them.
Ironically, I’d closed myself in like they had. I’d turned my daily routines into something made of concrete. I worked full time and then some at the Initiative, I had my side gig on Saturdays when I repaired guitars for chump change, I went to my local martial arts studio and kickboxed once a week, I ran three times a week, I had Sunday dinner with my family, and I went out for a beer or coffee with Nicky or buddies once or twice a month. Same bars, same hole-in-the-wall diners, same everything.
“Che c’è che non va, polpetto? Dillo a Nonna. I can see something’s bothering you,” Nonna said.
I suppressed a sigh and wrenched myself out of the depressing thoughts.
She pointed at the olives she wanted, and I grabbed them for her before checking my watch. I had twenty minutes. Then I had to get back to work.
“You don’t wanna tell me, huh?” Nonna sucked her teeth and shook her head, pushing the cart toward another aisle. “Nicky’s worried about you. He talks, you know.”