I jump down from his truck, put Mia on the ground and she runs to the door she knows well since she has been here about two million times in her short little three-year-old life. I start walking up to the front door, but when I look up, I’m stopped in my flip flops.
Jude almost bumps into me from behind carrying both my salad and dessert. “Gabby, let’s get on with it.”
“Ohmygoodness,” I breathe, looking up to the dining room window where three-quarters of my family is plastered, watching us walk up to the house.
“That’s what you get for sitting in the truck so long warning me about your family,” he simply states, not at all bothered by our audience.
“They’re going think we came together,” I think out loud.
“We did come together,” Jude points out.
“But not together-together.”
“Gabby, get a move on.”
“You carry a gun for a living, please, just shoot me now.”
Jude, tired of waiting, rounds me and heads to the front door. When the door opens, all hell breaks loose.
I hear the kids running around screaming. I hear greetings and a couple of my aunts start questioning Jude and he answers them all. I hear the deep voices of my uncles and adult cousins offering drinks.
Then I hear Jude bite, “Gabby.”
“Coming.” I finally snap out of it and head toward my latest trauma.
As I get to the door I hear my cousin’s daughter, Emily, who’s twelve-years-old say, “He’s way hotter than James.”
“Em, watch it,” her dad, Joe, semi-yells at her.
“What? I’m just sayin’,” Emily returns, full of tween attitude.
“Gabby!” Little Chloe comes clickety-clack, throwing herself at me in her little tap shoes and tutu pulled on over her normal clothes.
I drop my bag to the floor, reach down to pick her up and give her snuggles. “Hi love, I missed you. I like your outfit.”
“Your boyfriend is big,” she responds.
Feeling myself turn pink, I look around the very crammed-with-nosy-family entry way. Jude is standing beside me and everyone is staring at us.
Not liking my family’s attention, I decide to start damage control immediately. “He’s not my boyfriend, Chlo.” I look back to the rest of my crazy family. “Are we going to stand here all night? I’m hungry and need a beer.”
“Gabby, don’t be rude.” My Aunt Emma scolds me like a child. “Introduce us to your guest.”
“He’s not my guest,” I insist. “Tony invited him.”
“Well, he came with you.” My uncle Nic grins like a loon.
“He’s not with me,” I return, losing what little patience I have left.
“He’s standing right next to you,” my cousin Grant points out.
“Shut up,” I return, reverting back to my childhood.
“Gabrielle Carpino,” Aunt Lizzie hisses, moving her long and lanky body forward a step. “The least you can do is make introductions so this young man knows who he’s eating dinner and Fantasy Footballing with.”
Snickers and choked back laughter can be heard around the room, either from calling Jude a young man or referring to the draft as Fantasy Footballing.
“Fine.” I look up at Jude and give him the scariest glare I can muster, hopefully relaying to him an I told you so and decide to get this over with.
“Jude, this is my Aunt Lizzie and Uncle Tony. Uncle Tony is the second oldest boy in my dad’s family. Their oldest daughter is Sophia, the pregnant one over there and she’s married to Lanny—he’s Mia’s veterinarian. Their boys are Noah and Cayden. Then there’s Charlotte, married to Vic, they have Madelyn and Cole. You know Tony and this is their youngest, Paige.” I look up at Jude for confirmation and he just grins, the jerk, so I carry on. “This is my Uncle Gino, my dad’s oldest brother, and Aunt Emma. Their son Dean is married to Audrey. They have Ella and William. This is their daughter Micah, married to Joe and they have Emily and Grace. And finally, this is my Uncle Nic and Aunt Tia. Nic is the youngest boy in the family. This is their son Grant, the obnoxious one, and his wife Clara. This is their daughter, Chloe.” I give Chloe a bounce in my arms. “Nic and Tia also have Logan and Avery, but they’re away at college.” I pull in a big breath while my hand a little wave. “Everyone, this is Jude Ortiz.”
I hear Jude chuckle and say in his low raspy voice, “Thanks for having me.”
With that, I plunk little Chloe down on her tap shoes and march through my crazy family, heading straight for the fridge to get a beer. Picking a Blue Moon, I pop the top, take a long pull as people start filing into the great room and kitchen. I see Tony heading straight for me.
I point to him. “I’m not talking to you.”
“Why aren’t you talking to me, Gabba?” he asks, fighting back a grin.
“This is entirely your fault. Hence, me not speaking to you.”
“I’m not the one who found myself in the middle of a Federal raid, Gabby. Don’t see how it’s my fault,” he drawls.
“Shut up,” I mutter, since I have no meaningful response.
“Gabby?” I hear Chloe calling up to me. “Will you watch Enchanted with me?”
“Yes, sweetie, we’ll put it on after dinner.”
“Yay! I wanna be Giselle!” she yells, as if I was going to call it first and she clickety-clacks away only to continue yelling, “Pop!”
I look over and my grandfather walks into the room. My insides soften to the point where I can almost forget the last fifteen-minute horror show my family put me through. He’s swinging Chloe up in the air, still pretty agile for his seventy years. He receives greetings from his entire family, his great grandchildren especially attacking him with loving hellos, and I make my way to him.
“Pop,” I greet as he turns and folds me into his arms. I lean my head back and ask, “How are you?”
“Piccolo,” he murmurs, kissing me on the forehead, affectionately greeting me in his native Italian. “I’m old, Gabby. How’s my girl?”
“I’m fine and you’re not old, Pop. Quit saying that.”
From my legs, I hear Chloe yell as if we’re across the house, “Pop, Gabby’s got a boyfriend and he’s really big!”
I look up at Pop and my eyes get big. “I do not have a boyfriend.” Turning my head to the not-so-cute Chloe, I repeat, “I do not have a boyfriend. Quit saying that.”
Out of nowhere, Jude appears. I look up at him and sigh. Of course, he grins at me.
My pop turns me forward with his arm still around my neck, frowns, and says in a not very polite voice, “Who are you?”
“Pop.” I give him a soft elbow to his side. He is seventy, after all.
“Jude Ortiz, it’s nice to meet you.” Jude holds his hand out for my grandfather.
Pop slowly takes his arm from around my neck, taking Jude’s hand and returns with a frown. “Gil Carpino, Gabby’s grandfather.”
“You’ve got a big family here, Mr. Carpino,” Jude says.
“Yes. I do,” my grandfather coldly states, now assessing Jude. I’m not sure, but this could be worse than the craziness we experienced when we walked in the house.