Frisk Me(10)

Luc set his coffee aside and reached for a piece of toast, only to realize that his family had pillaged everything.

“It’s not like I have a choice.” He immediately regretted the words. They felt…whiney. Small. And his father pounced.

“You always have a choice,” Tony boomed. “How many times have I told you kids that we’re in control—”

“Wait, wait,” Vincent interrupted, leaning forward and snapping his fingers rapidly. “I’ve got this. We’ve heard it before, I think…”

“Like maybe once, or a million times?” Elena mused, tapping her lip.

“We are in control of our own destiny,” Anthony said in a dramatic voice, or as dramatic as it could get around a piece of bacon. “Did I get that right?”

Tony Moretti turned to exchange a glance with his wife. “How is it I raised four smart asses?”

“Five, actually,” Elena said. “Marco’s missing all the fun.”

“Probably on the beach somewhere,” Luc’s father said, his tone turning irritable the way it always did when he spoke of his West Coast offspring.

None of them had been thrilled when Marc moved to Los Angeles. Not only because it splintered the tight-knit Morettis into different time zones, but because the reason for his move was Mandy Breslin.

Mandy and Marc had been dating since high school, which should have made her like part of the family, but the truth was…the family couldn’t stand her. She was manipulative, melodramatic, and seemed to think that an exceptionally pretty face made up for lack of other qualities. Say, like, being a decent person.

Still, what Mandy lacked in likability, she made up for in ambition. She’d gotten it in her head that she was destined for a Hollywood career. And Marc, being the epitome of loyal, had dutifully followed her.

They’d been in LA for over a year now, and as best as the rest of the Morettis could tell, the closest Mandy had come to her dream was watching TV all day while Marc worked his ass off in the LAPD.

The Morettis did their best to support Marco’s decision, even as they secretly hated it…and missed him like crazy. But that didn’t mean they didn’t gripe about Marc’s absence behind his back.

Because that’s how the Morettis did things. They interfered with each other’s business constantly, and unabashedly.

Take, like, now, for example.

Sundays meant two things to the Morettis.

Mass at St. Ignatius Loyola Church on the Upper East Side, and the follow-up brunch at the Darby Diner.

But it meant other things too. Like latching on to one person’s personal life and taking it apart piece by piece.

Last week it had been Elena’s new boyfriend. The guy was Irish, and with the way Tony and Maria had responded to this news, last week’s breakfast was a scene out of Gangs of New York. Tony Moretti was born in New York, but from his fierce Italian upbringing, he might as well have been born in Italy. And Maria Moretti actually had been born there, which meant…well, an Irish boy for their only daughter had not gone over well, even though neither parent would admit their reasons were old biases.

The week before that, the fuss had been over Anthony’s announcement that he was headed to Florida over Easter weekend to run a marathon and wouldn’t be around for Easter. The week before that…well, Luc couldn’t remember, but it was probably something to do with Vincent and the fact that the man had zero life outside of work and had turned down yet another of their mother’s blind date attempts.

But this week? This week was all about Luc. Luc and the damned CBC nightmare that awaited him tomorrow morning.

The only possible silver lining in this whole mess was that Nonna had a stomach bug and had opted to skip the Sunday-morning histrionics. Luc loved his grandmother—desperately—but the woman had made it her life’s mission to stir the Moretti family pot whenever possible. A tendency made even worse by the fact that, in a rather shortsighted move, the grandkids had bought her an iPhone for Christmas the previous year.

Now the woman didn’t just stir the pot, she recorded the aftermath.

His grandma was a menace. A wonderful menace, but still…Luc was a tiny bit glad she wasn’t here on his particular Sunday to shine.

“’Kay, seriously, though,” Vin said, leaning back in his chair and fixing Luc with his usual serious gaze. “Dad’s got a point. I would have thought all this hoopla with your heroics would be dying down.”

“You and me both,” Luc said.

His coffee cup was blessedly refilled, and he smiled thanks at Helen, the white-haired waitress who’d been serving the Darby Diner—and the Morettis—longer than Luc had been alive.

“Am I your favorite today, Helen?” Luc asked, intentionally turning his attention away from the too shrewd eyes of his brother.

“Depends, who’s tipping?” she said with a wink.

Then she leaned down and whispered in Luc’s ear as she refilled Anthony’s cup. “’Course you’re my favorite.”

“Heard that,” Anth said.

“Heard what, baby?” Helen said, blowing Anthony a kiss. “That you’re my favorite?”

“That’s not what you told me when I fixed your cell last week,” Vin said.

“And by fixed her phone, you did what exactly?” Elena said, propping her chin up on her hand. “You hit the Power button? Turned if off and then back on?”