He nodded. “We lived off pasta for years. We prepared spaghetti a la putanesca all the time.”
“So you like slut spaghetti.”
Jack laughed. “Slut spaghetti? Some Italian you speak.”
“Sounds much better than pasta a la putanesca,” she retorted, wrinkling her nose.
True. “How come you speak Italian?”
“How come you speak Spanish?” she said in answer.
They stared at each other, defiantly, neither one backing down.
“Yeah, I figured as much,” she said finally, her smile resigned. But with a sigh she added, “Jonah was the only one in our family who spoke Italian. With him gone I took it upon myself to make sure that part of our heritage wouldn’t get lost.”
Her offering tugged at his heart. “He would be damn impressed by the list of insults you know.”
“Oh, he was worse, I can assure you,” she said with a giggle.
She’d shared, without demanding anything in return, so he gave in. “We lived in the projects. Up until I started school, I thought Spanish was the official language of this country. All our neighbors spoke it and my mother wasn’t around much. Whenever she was, talking wasn’t one of her priorities. There was this old lady next door, Celia. I learned to talk thanks to her, actually.” And to cook and read and write. Anything worth knowing he’d learned from Celia.
“Where’s your mother now? Is she…?”
“Dead? Nope. The bitch found Jesus and now goes around speaking in bumper stickers and pretending to be holier-than-thou, turning up her nose at everyone and claiming that God has forgiven her so no one has the right to judge her. Apparently she wasn’t at fault because she was sick, and she has nothing to feel ashamed of or apologize for. All her debts are settled.”
“Wow. Talk about living in an alternate reality.”
Jack let out a dry chuckle. “Tell me about it. She even twisted the Twelve Steps into her liking. Transforming them into Twelve Steps on how to let you off the hook after ruining everybody’s life. All she had to do was repent and voilà, the slate is wiped clean and she never broke a plate.” Let alone tortured her kids. That her kids didn’t want to have anything to do with her was chalked up to Jack and Ronnie’s lack of empathy and Christian heart, not to the fact that she’d come back guns blazing, patronizing them, and had dared to question Jack’s way of raising Ronnie, who had gone ballistic.
“Do you have any contact?”
Jack shook his head. “Last reunion didn’t go too smooth. I would never let her close to the people I loved, but I don’t hold a grudge. Ronnie does. And she’s very vocal about it.”
“What about begging for forgiveness instead of demanding it?” Ronnie had asked their mother.
“The Almighty has already forgiven me.”
Ronnie had snorted. “The Almighty was not the one beaten up and burned and abused.” Then she’d pointed at Jack. “He’s the one you need to beg on your knees for his pardon.”
It had gone south pretty fast from there. Their mother had claimed her conscience was clear for whenever God called her by his side or some preachy shit like that. At that point Jack hadn’t been paying too much attention, busy as he’d been keeping Ronnie away from her.
“What makes you think you’ll end up by God’s side?” Ronnie had sneered as Jack had dragged her away. “I see you in a much hotter place. Don’t forget the bikini.”
Elle seemed to notice he didn’t want to talk about that and spared him. “What does your sister think of your mercenary career?”
“What do you think? She runs a biker bar when I specifically ordered her to open a bakery. When she got her driver’s license, I bought her a cute, small, sensible car. When I came back from an assignment, she had tricked it out, and nowadays she needs a ladder to get in. In her spare time she drives monster trucks and likes to compete in Monster Jam.”
“What do I think?” she repeated, studying him. “I think she doesn’t know.”
Close enough.
They ate in silence, watching the fire crackle, until Elle addressed him. “Say, would IKEA deliver up here if we draw them a map?”
He couldn’t refrain from barking out a laugh. “You’re nuts.”
She reached for him, swept the corner of his lower lip with her finger, and then licked the bit of cheese from it. “Yeah, yeah, you’ll miss me when I’m gone. You’ll see. Who will make you laugh?”
His chest tightened. Yes, he was going to miss her. Terribly. That realization was devastating.
Paige smiled at the guy approaching the register at Rosita’s. He was cute. Nordic features. Tan skin. Blond hair almost bleached white from the sun. Not from spring in Boston, that was for sure. A bit too clean-cut for her taste, too little metal on him, but extremely cute nevertheless.
He’d gotten a drink and had been sitting at a table by the wall of fame, staring at the pictures for a long while now.