“I, um, was… I heard noise.” There, that sounded normal, not like I’d been staring at my future husband with my mouth open. Hey, at least I wasn’t panting. See? Progress.
“Eh, they’ve been at it for the last three hours. Those boys sure can hold their liquor.”
Chase stumbled to the floor and started laughing so hard tears ran down his face.
“Clearly.” I nodded.
Nixon tried to help him up, but Chase pulled him down with him. I thought Nixon was going to pull a gun on him or something, and then he burst out laughing while Chase made pretend snow angels on the wood floor.
Frank cleared his throat. “They’ve had a stressful few years. It is good to see them relax.”
Sergio chose that moment to slap Tex on the face with his left hand while they still held the same position on the table, neither arm moving.
“Aw, Tex, does that sting?”
“I will literally, LITERALLY…” He screamed, his face turning red. “…castrate you in your sleep.”
“Tex likes his dirty work,” Chase sang from the floor.
Phoenix stumbled toward Nixon and Chase and slumped to the linoleum. “I need water.”
“NO!” Tex roared. “Water’s for pussies. You get no water! Hell no H20, hell no H20.”
Sergio joined in the yelling, and what was once a battle turned into them shaking hands and doing some weird handshake in the middle of the table while Chase’s head bobbed and tried to peer pressure Nixon into snapping his fingers.
“No snaps,” Nixon growled. “I think we drank all the whiskey.”
“How much have they had?” I whispered to Frank.
“Not much,” he said confidently. “I believe they stopped at the fourth bottle.”
“Four bottles?” I hissed. “They could die!”
“It will never be alcohol that takes an Italian, only a bullet, or perhaps a bomb.” He seemed to think about this. “Yes, a bomb seems more likely.”
“Great bedtime story, thanks.”
He grinned. “It is my specialty. Would you like another?”
“No, no.” I offered a polite smile. “I’m good, I’ll just head up to bed.”
I was maybe five steps away from Frank when he called, “Val.”
“Yes?” I didn’t turn around.
“Sometimes what we say we don’t want is exactly what we need, what we crave. Do you understand?”
I hung my head. “I’m not sure.”
“Yes, you are.” Footsteps neared, and then his hand was on my back. “Men are stupid. We have our pride, we have what we think is best for everyone. We would rather sacrifice our own hearts and happiness than feel, or have the opportunity to feel and lose. When you mourn love, you never want to repeat that same feeling because it is always worse the second time. Believe me, it is always worse.”
“How?” I croaked. “How is it worse?”
A long heavy sigh emitted from behind me as a large hand gripped my right shoulder. “I have loved. I have lost. More times than I can count. And each time, you promise yourself you will not feel as deep, you will not care as much. It is always the times I lied to myself — to the people I loved — that I felt the most. Oh, how I wish I could go back and change words that were said, but once words are released into the universe, they have a way of staying there until we take them back and, even then, the damned memory remains, does it not?”
“Yeah.”
“Even those who have accepted the state of being lost… dream of being found.”
He patted my shoulder twice before walking away.
But the scent of Frank, my uncle, lingered.
Like cigar smoke and spice.
He smelled of warmth — comfort.
And wisdom.
He reminded me so much of my other uncles, but there was a terrifying strength about him that had me wondering if he would even hesitate when faced with pulling a trigger.
No. He’d fire first, then ask questions, and if he was wrong, simply shrug, and clean his gun.
Was it horrible that I liked his attitude?
Maybe I was changing, growing up, or just coming to accept the fact that I was more my father than I had originally thought.
An hour later, I stared up at my ceiling; thoughts of the next day made it impossible to fall asleep. I was getting married.
I sucked in a breath and slowly exhaled.
I repeated the same process five times before I admitted to myself how useless the stupid calming exercise was.
A knock sounded on my door before it burst open and a very drunk and loud Sergio barreled in. He made a beeline for me and my bed, then with a huge grunt nearly collapsed on top of me.
“Rough night?” I whispered.
“I think that if you ran, I’d enjoy chasing you.” He held up his head, it was hard to make out the features of his face because of how dark it was in my room. “I think I would enjoy watching your legs run away almost as much as I would enjoy the feel of them wrapped around me, when you came…” He blinked and whispered. “…home.”
“Home?”
“My home. Her home. I guess it’s our home now.”
“You’re drunk.”
“I’m inebriated, big difference.”
“Spell it and I’ll believe you.”
“I-n-e-b-r-i-a-ted.” He nodded. “Easy.”
“You sounded out the last part.”