The Next Best Thing (Gideon's Cove #2)(31)

“Thank you for asking us to dinner,” I prompt gently, taking a sip of my wine and eyeing the chicken parmesan. We’re eating family style, and neither Marie nor Gianni has started serving yet. My stomach growls.

Marie gives Gianni a look. “We wanted you here because we love you like you’re our own daughter, Lucy, honey. And Ethan, of course, you’re like a son to us.”

“I hate to be overly technical here, Ma,” Ethan says, “but in point of fact, I am your son.” His right eyebrow bounces up as he looks at me. The corner of his mouth curls, and I feel a wave of affection for him. Poor Ethan, always the second son. I give his knee a little pat.

“You know what I mean, Mr. Smart-Ass,” Marie replies, half fond, half irritated. “Thirty-six hours of labor, okay? So shut up.”

“It gets longer every year,” Ethan murmurs, reaching for the penne and passing it to me. His father scowls, but Ethan ignores him. “In the original story, I was born in a taxi on the way to the hospital. Now she’s in labor for a day and a half.”

Marie reaches over and smacks Ethan’s head. “Hush, you, we’re talking here. You know what I mean. She’s like a daughter, you’re our son, shut it.”

“Show your mother some respect,” Gianni says, more coolly than Marie’s fond chastising. He’s never gotten over Ethan’s choice of profession.

“I respect my mother,” Ethan says, a hard edge in his voice. His small smile is gone. “Mom. I respect you. Especially if it took me thirty-six hours to be born.”

“Your head was all squished when you finally came out.” She winces, a life skill if you’re Italian, meant to instill guilt. “And the stitches! Oh, Madonna!”

Gianni shifts uncomfortably. “Do we have to discuss this at the table, Marie?”

“Oh, so my suffering, you don’t want to know, is that it? Sorry to disturb you, your majesty.” My mother-in-law turns to me. “Lucy, it was fourth-degree tear. Three inches long.” Gianni flinches, and I try not to smile.

“Sorry, Ma,” Ethan says. “Didn’t mean to be such trouble.” He smiles at his mother, but she’s lost in thought.

“Of course, Jimmy was no picnic, either. He was bigger, you know, nine pounds, eight ounces. Those eyes even when he was first born, they were so special. Like the ocean, so amazing! The nurses, they couldn’t believe it. Oh, he was the most beautiful baby I ever saw, Lucy.” Her mouth wobbles, and a spear of pain pierces my heart. Poor Marie.

I reach across the table and pat her hand, and at the same time, give Ethan’s knee a squeeze. I’m sure Marie doesn’t realize it, but she just told Ethan he wasn’t the most beautiful baby she ever saw. Ethan removes my hand, giving it a quick pat. Still, the message is clear. Hands off.

Marie wipes her eyes and sighs again. Gianni growls at a passing waiter to check table fifteen, Ethan’s leg jiggles with tension. All in all, a typical Mirabelli dinner.

“So what’s the big news?” I ask, taking a large bite of the delicious penne.

“So we’re moving,” Gianni announces. “Arizona. Retirement.”

I drop my fork with a clatter, splattering the white tablecloth with the creamy vodka sauce, and swallow.

“Excuse me?” Ethan asks. His leg jiggling has gone still.

“Arizona,” Marie repeats. “Valle de Muerte Community for Active Adults.”

“The Valley of Death?” Ethan asks.

“What Valley of the Death?” Marie asks. “Valle de Muerte, I said.”

“It’s not Valley of Death, smart-ass,” Gianni says to his son. “Marie, you got it wrong. It’s Puerte, not Muerte, okay? With a P. Valle de Puerte Active Adult Community. We’re active, we’re adults, we’re moving.”

“When did you decide this?” Ethan asks.

“Last week,” Marie explains. “Your father, his knees, his heart…and…well…” She glances at me, then down at her untouched plate.

“What, Marie?” I ask, the pebble already stuck in my throat.

“That goddamn Angelo,” Gianni explodes, shoving away from the table. He tends to leave at emotional times. I swear, he spent half of Jimmy’s wake outside the funeral home, advising the valets on where to park cars.

“Ma. Why now?” Ethan asks.

“The restaurant is too much for your father,” she says, not looking at either of us. “His blood pressure. And it’s just…it’s not the same without Jimmy. And now that you’re moving on, Lucy, honey, and you’re back to raise your son, Ethan, well…we’re just not needed anymore.”

“You’re needed!” Ethan barks. “Nicky loves you! When are you planning on seeing him? Did you even think about your only grandson?”

“Ethan,” I interject in a low voice, but he ignores me.

“We’ll have him visit,” Marie says. “You, too, Lucy, sweetheart. And we’ll come back from time to time. It’s just…we just don’t want to stay around anymore.”

“Part of the reason I took this job in Providence was to be closer to you and Dad, Ma,” Ethan says.

“So? You don’t need us. You’re doing fine. We’re very, uh, proud,” she says, tearing a piece of bread to bits. “I’d better check on your father.” With that, she, too, hurtles away from the table, leaving me with Ethan.