“You don’t know my father,” I reply by way of explanation.
“Is he bad?”
I pause and think about it. “He’s Carlo De Maggio,” I answer finally. I shrug. What else is there to say?
When we arrive at my parent’s mansion, I glance at Dani to see if she’s impressed. It’s in a nice neighborhood, the sort of place you’d expect a mafiosi don to live. But Dani isn’t looking at the house. She’s looking at me.
“What is it?” I ask, killing the engine.
“Is it crazy that I’m nervous? I know it’s all pretend, but this is your mom and dad. I’m meeting your parents.”
When I walk around the car to open the door for Dani, I expect some feisty response. But instead, she takes my hand and steps out, giving me a wry grin to let me know that she knows I was expecting a feisty response, and she’s deigned to hold back.
“I could tear that off you right now,” I snarl. “Watch those jewels fly everywhere and just take you, Dani, take you until—”
Dani blushes, looking at somebody over my shoulder. I turn, my face already reddening as I see that Dad has silently walked up behind us. He’s wearing his suit, but not his shoes. The ash from his cigar almost floats down onto his house slippers.
He smiles knowingly. “I hope I am not interrupting,” he says. Clamping the cigar in his mouth, he extends his hand to Dani. “Carlo De Maggio. Angelo has told me absolutely nothing about you.”
Dani takes his hand confidently. “Dani … De Maggio.” I wince at that pause as she stumbles for the name, but my father doesn’t seem to notice. “It seems we’re in the same boat, sir. Angelo has told me nothing about you, either.”
“Sir!” my father chuckles. “Please, call me Carlo.”
“Not Dad?” Dani teases.
Despite myself, I feel a rush of pleasure when I see that my father approves of this. “I have the feeling that you’re going to keep Angelo on his toes,” he grins. “Come, meet my wife. She’s got a lovely meal prepared. Carbonara, I think.”
“My belly is rumbling already,” Dani smiles. “I love carbonara.”
To my disbelief, Father claps his hand lightly onto Dani’s shoulder, smiling. “Then we will get on famously. Come.”
I feel almost like a third wheel as I follow them up the steps to the townhouse, but I’m grinning like an idiot. Even if this is fake, it couldn’t be going better. Briefly, I imagine that this is real, that Dani really is my wife, and Dad has taken a shine to her. I push that notion to the back of my mind, though. The point is that my father is falling for it, even if I’m starting to wonder if it is a trick after all.
Mom meets us inside. She’s grinning widely and wiping her hands on her apron. “You must be Dani,” she says, holding out a hand. I can see my mother’s green eyes sizing Dani up.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Dani says. “It smells delicious in here. I hope you didn’t go to too much trouble.”
“Of course it’s no trouble,” my mom says. “I love to cook and Carlo’s mother has taught me lots of traditional Italian dishes.”
Mom looks at me and smiles. “How was your trip?” I ask her politely.
“Lovely, Angelo. I’ll tell you about it over the food. Come, come, sit.” She kisses me on the cheek and ushers us into the dining room.
At dinner, my father pours the wine and serves the food himself. “I’ve dismissed the staff for the night,” he says.
“So we could spend some one on one time with you,” Mom says. “Cooking, ah, is there any greater pleasure? Carbonara, but not the slimy stuff. The trick is to use real Ricotta. I had it shipped in from Sicily especially. With nice thick-cut bacon. Good quality stuff. Freshly-made pasta and, bellissimo, just a few choice herbs for garnishing.I don’t get to do a lot of cooking at the restaurant since I’m so busy managing everything.”
After serving the perfect-looking carbonara and pouring the chianti, my father says, “So, Dani, per favore, tell us about yourself. My son has done us a great disservice by marrying you in such a furtive manner.”
As we eat, Dani talks about her EMT work and her desire to be an E.R. doctor one day. Mom shocks me by asking some insightful questions. She quizzes her for most of the meal, and then, when Dani excuses herself to use the bathroom, she turns to me. She looks impressed. And so does Dad.
“Ang,” he says. “You have chosen well. She speaks a bit of Italian, she is clearly tough, and there is something in her that reminds me of your mother. It is the way she doesn’t back down. She doesn’t shy away. She isn’t intimidated. I am proud of you.” He grins slyly and winks at Mom. “But the question remains: how on earth did you trick the poor girl into marrying you?”
I find myself grinning boyishly, enjoying this newfound rapport. I am proud of you. The words felt genuine. I want to hug Dani until we sink into a passionate kiss. I feel grateful to her for getting on so well with Father, even if I sense it’s not an act. They really like each other.
When she returns, my mother serves some cream-filled cannolis and coffee for dessert. Afterward, the four of us go out to the balcony that overlooks the well-tended garden and grounds.
He offers me a cigar, which I accept gratefully. It feels good to smoke a cigar with my old man.
“So you are going to be a doctor, Dani,” my father says. “That is a hard profession, but a good one. They are the unsung heroes in every hospital, in every war. Angelo’s great grandmother was a nurse.”
“Was she?” I say. “I didn’t know that.”
He smiles. “Yes, a gnarled old Italian tree of a woman. She used to tell us horror stories from her time as a nurse. I think half of them were made up, but they were amusing.”
“Why don’t you anymore?” Dani asks.
“Ah, business,” he says, frowning. “Always business.”
“But you have Angelo to help you now,” Dani remarks.
To my surprise, Dad looks from Dani and then to me, smiling. “Yes,” he says sincerely. “I do.”
Dani looks at me proudly. The thought rises before I can stop it:
I love her. I fucking love this woman.
I try to beat it down, try to make light of it in my mind. But I can’t. Because what she just did means the world to me. I reach across and take her hand, squeezing it softly, warning myself not to get in too deep. But it might already be too late.
And there’s my father, grinning at us like an old happy fool, more content than I’ve seen him in years.
As if this wasn’t complicated enough already.
24
Dani
Two days after the dinner with Angelo and his parents, Ricky and I are speeding down the highway on our way to another OD. It’s the third of the night, and I’m pissed. I’m pissed at the ODs, like I normally am, but also pissed at how hard I’ve fallen for Angelo despite everything I know about him.
That dinner was almost real. It felt like I was really his wife. But I’ve also sensed this distance in him lately.
Like yesterday, when we were having dinner, he kept trying to steer the conversation toward casual small talk. I tried to bring up something his mother had mentioned about opening a restaurant in Italy. When I pressed him, he changed the subject to his car, something about how it was a hybrid, like I gave an actual rat’s ass when he was steamrolling the conversation like that.