CATERINA


    “You know, you don’t need to do this.”


    I turn away from the stove<b>, </b>wooden spoon in hand. “And”


    dinner.”


    don’theed to


    that again. I’ve already told you I want <b>to </b>make


    “I’m not your responsibility. As much as I love your cooking.” Dad shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, shrugging.” I’m the one bumming around without a job. I should‘ making dinner:


    so it’ll be


    <b>on </b>the table when you get home from work.<b>” </b>


    “How do I put this delicately?” I can’t, and there’s bowl of cereal. But otherwise…”


    по


    holding in th


    ine


    “Hey! I’ve gotten better with time,” he cuts me off.


    “I’ll have to take your word for it.”


    “Very funny” He goes to the fridge and pulls out a head of lettuce. Do you think I’m incapable of making a sd?”


    “I guess we can give it a try. I mean, what could go wrong?” He rolls his eyes, but his sheepish grin goes a long way toward loosening what was left of the anxiety I’ve been fighting all day. <b>I </b>feared how he might act tonight and whether he’d pick an argument over Gianni. So far, he’s avoided the subject<b>, </b>and I’m not going to press the issue. I’m not a child, and I don’t expect him to magically drop his resentment and suspicion.


    He hasn’t threatened to lock me in my room<b>, </b>so I’ll take it as a good sign. Now if he knew about the baby, that’s a different story. I wish I didn’t still feel the rush of guilt that twists my stomach as it has been doing all day. I’m walking around with a tiny little secret that will get much bigger soon. I wish I could envision Dad being happy and weing his grandchild with open arms. Maybe he will, eventually, but I’m not na?ve. It will take adjustment<b>, </b>time, and lot of patience.


    a


    The aroma of garlic fills the air by the time I pull buttery bread from the oven. “Sorry it’s nothing more impressive,” I offer


    while saucing the pasta.


    “Are you kidding? I don’t need anything fancy.”


    It must be the relief of not having to lie anymore about work that makes him seem younger, less like there’s something weighing him down. Not that he’s going to forget about Mom–neither of us could. He’s more like the dad I used to know, however.


    “How’s work treating you?” he asks as we eat. “You have said little about it.”


    “It’s work.” When he lifts an eyebrow, I shrug. “I mean, I’m d to have a job, and everyone there is nice, but there’s nothing interesting about it.”


    “Well, if it was always fun, they’d call it ‘y‘ instead of work, right?” What a Dad thing to say. I’d usually roll my eyes and pretend to gag, but right now I’m happy to be having a normal conversation with him.


    For the first time in forever, it feels like we’re having a normal meal.


    That is, until there’s a knock at the front door.


    Dad lowers his te in the middle of taking a second helping, shrugging as he wipes his mouth on his napkin. From can see straight through to the front door, even though the curtain hanging over the ss pane minimizes whoever


    hair, <b>I </b>


    there


    to a featureless lump. “I’ll get it,” he murmurs, halfway through the room. I turn in my chair to watch him walk to the door, which he opens slowly. His entire body tenses all at once.


    “Oh. Hello.” I still can’t see who’s there, though the strain in his eyes when he looks at me over his shoulder tells me this isn’t a wee visit. He doesn’t step back to give them room toe into the house, either–no, it’s like his body expands, like he’s blocking the way.


    My thoughts instantly go to Gianni. He knows better than to show up here, especially unannounced. Tatiana? Maybe.


    <b>“</b>Charles<b>, </b>hello. <b>I’m </b>sorry to drop by unannounced—we both are.


    I recognize the woman’s voice, and the sound of it–plus the emotion, the tears, the way it quivers–makes my stomach drop. Oh, God, no. Not this. I can’t do this.


    “It’s just that we don’t know where else to go.” Yup, I know the man’s voice, too. After five years of dating their son, <b>I </b>would know Luciano’s parents anywhere.


    I almost forgot about him. How could I forget?


    Again, Dad throws an apprehensive expression over his shoulder, and I don’t know what to do. I never told him anything about Luciano–I’m not supposed to know what happened to him. As far as I know, he’s living his life, doing his thing.


    Damn it, I’m not prepared for this.


    I have to force myself to push through my jittery nerves and shaky legs to leave the kitchen and venture into the living room, as if I am not absolutely terrified of what’s about to happen. I have to be strong. I have to.


    “Sarah, Josh, I’m not sure what you expect me to do.” Dad is still blocking the doorway with his body, but now I see Luciano’s dad. God, it looks like he’s aged ten years since Ist saw him. They took me out to dinner a few days before graduation<b>, </b>so it hasn’t been very long.


    I have to pretend I don’t know why. How could I have practically forgotten about him? Then again, what’s the alternative? I can’t spend the rest of my life obsessing over what happened, either. I didn’t do anything wrong.


    Except for pretending nothing happened.


    “Caterina,” Josh says my name like a saving grace which makes his wife stand see him? Did he reach out to you or say anything?”


    <b>on </b>


    tiptoes to get a look at me. “When did youst


    “I…” I swallow around the lump in my throat. “No, I haven’t seen Luciano in weeks.”


    “You are aware they broke up,” Dad announces.


    At least he finally moves aside, giving them room to enter the house. I thought Josh looked bad, but Sarah is a wreck. Her hair looks like she hasn’t washed or even brushed it in days, pulled back in a tangled ponytail, while the old college T–shirt she’s wearing is stained and torn at the cor. Like it’s something she would wear to clean the house. Before now, I’ve never seen her appearance less than impable, even if she was dressed casually


    “No one reached out to you?” Josh blinks rapidly, his gaze bouncing from me to Dad and back again, while Sarah barely stifles a whimper. “I’m not quite sure how to say this.”


    Maybe it’s instinct<b>, </b>but Dad moves closer, pulling me inside his side. “What is it?”


    Sarah turns toward her husband and presses her face to his chest. Josh takes a hitching breath. “Luciano… they… hemitted suicide.”


    I lean against Dad, who stiffens in surprise. “My God. Josh. I’m so sorry.” All I can do is rely on Dad to keep me standing upright. Let them think it’s because I’m surprised and overwhelmed by shock–it’s better that way.


    Really, it’s the way Sarah weeps against her husband’s chest. It’s the agony running like a thread through Josh’s words. I can’t take this<b>. </b>


    “You’re sure he said nothing to you?” Sarah turns to me, and it must be the guilt that convinces me there’s me i swollen, bloodshot eyes. “Did he give you any idea of his mental state?”


    “Caterina, honey…” Dad’s grip on me tightens. “Do you need to sit down?”