First Came You (Fate #0.5) (5 page)

I open my mouth to ask her how she knew, why now, what brought this on, but I’m left open-mouthed, like a hungry, bowled-up goldfish when Mom places a hand on my shoulder and shushes me.

“Not now.” Blinking her eyes, she returns her attention to Father Owen with a cat-caught-the-canary grin.

I’m left thinking about divine intervention. Staring up at the ornate crucifix hanging above the marble altar, I thank God for all the blessings that’ve been bestowed upon me. I giggle to myself, wondering if Dad will have the same mercy as Mom. I guess I’ll find out soon enough.

In the car there is no talk of my enlightening chat with Mom. Instead, Dad complains about the traffic getting out of the lot and then the line at our favorite bakery where he purchases two loaves of Italian bread.

When I get home, I slip out of the stockings I wore to appease my mother, and pick up the phone on my desk to dial Tommy.

“Hello,” Tommy’s father answers, clearing his throat.

“Oh, hi Mr. Edwards, it’s Gabby. Is Tommy home?” The man has always unnerved me, even after years of being a welcome guest in his home. I can’t tell if he dislikes just me or if he has an aversion to everyone. He’s a hard man to please, according to his son.

Without answering me directly, I hear a muffling of the receiver and a bellowing of his gruff voice. “Son, your girl’s on the phone.”

It makes me smile, even coming from someone as stoic as Mr. Edwards. At least he knows I’m someone.

After a silent minute, Tommy greets me, “Hey, beautiful. I just saw you pull up with the fam. Church?”

“Yup.”

“How was it? Boring as usual?”

“Nope, not today. It was actually really nice.” I can’t hide the hopefulness in my voice.

“Father Owen finally growing on you? I thought priests were into little boys—you don’t fit the bill.”

“Not funny, Tommy,” I scold. My boyfriend is not too fond of the Catholic Church. He doesn’t have a particular reason, I guess it was just never instilled in him like it was in me.

“Okay, so what gives? You’re never this giddy afterwards.”

“Mom wants you to come over for dinner. Can you?” I forgot if he mentioned any plans he may have. Sometimes he shoots hoops or lobs a baseball around with the boys from the neighborhood at the schoolyard, but I’m hoping today I can have him all to myself.

“Sure can. My mom has some baby party thing today so she’s not cooking and I’m in no mood to watch Dad chase beer after beer while cursing at the Mets, so dinner with my favorite Guineas sounds good to me.”

“You better not call them that while you’re here, you handsome leprechaun.”

“Even your racial slurs are cute.” He laughs. “Can’t you insult me correctly?”

“Never. I love you too much to hurt your feelings, shamrock lover.”

“Meatball lover.”

“Potato breath.”

“Pasta breath.”

“Four leaf clover picker.”

Tommy breaks out in rumbling laughter, triggering my own deep giggles, snorting and all. “Can we get more immature? This is a whole new level of ridiculousness. My finance professor would not be proud.”

“Your finance professor has other reasons to be proud. You’re acing that class. I knew summer school was a good idea for you. It keeps you out of trouble.”

Lowering his voice to a throaty whisper, he says, “And you’re more than enough trouble for one guy to handle. Sexy trouble. Delicious, mouthwatering, I can’t wait to have my hands all over you again trouble.”

I close my eyes and relish the closeness we shared last night. Flashes of hands and tongues and legs and skin rush through my mind and course through my burning veins. “Stop!” I snap to. “Not today.”

“And why not?” he counters, with irritated confusion.

“Because today’s special.”

“How’s that? Or should I ask, how is it any more special than all the other times we spend together?” There’s my sweet boy. He’s never too far underneath his rough and tough exterior.

“I think Mom knows,” I blurt out, unable to hide it any longer.

“About us?” he shrieks, his voice sounding a lot like the pre-pubescent Tommy from many moons ago.

“Calm your buns, lover boy. Yup, I’m pretty sure she knows—it shocked the crap out of me too—but I think she’s okay with it. She was the one who told me to ask you to dinner. I’m really optimistic about this. I mean, I think I am.”

He remains silent, probably taking it all in. I can picture him scratching the top of his always gelled back head.

“Tommy, this is good! I wanted to tell them about us today, anyway. I went to bed last night envisioning all the ways I’d have to fight them on it. Dreading their resistance. Fearing their disapproval. This is half the battle. This is
so
good, baby. Aren’t you happy?”

I hear his deep breathing through the phone. He lets out a long sigh and then says, “I’m fucking ecstatic but I’m also nervous as hell.”

“Nervous? Why?”

“Because I never sat at your parents’ table as your boyfriend, Gabriella.”

“Yes, you have.” I giggle. “It wasn’t even three weeks ago, you—”

“You know what I mean,” he interrupts me. “This is different. They’ll be watching every move I make. You’re their baby, Gabby. Your dad isn’t exactly going to hand you over to me and say ‘Here, son. She’s all yours.’ I don’t know if I’m prepared for this.”

For the first time since I’ve known I was in love with Tommy, my heart doubts
his
feelings. “You’re not ready? Don’t you want them to know you love me?” If disappointment had a distinct sound it would be echoing through my bedroom right now.

Reading my reaction through the phone, my valiant Tommy is back. “Oh, no, no, of course I want them to know I love you. I want the
world
to know! I’m just a little scared, that’s all. I don’t know what it’s like to trust someone with your flesh and blood. I can’t imagine how your parents will feel when I tell them everything about the future I have mapped out for us. Plans that mean I want to take care of you until we’re old and gray, until the day I die.

“Once they know that, I fear they’ll think they’re losing you to me. I never want them to think that I’ve taken anything from them, but claiming you as mine—no father of a sixteen year old girl is going to take that lightly, no matter how much he likes me.”

Wow.
I don’t know what to say to that. I should care about my parents’ feelings and worry about what it might be like to give your child over to someone else, but I can’t think past Tommy’s beautiful plans for our dream life. “I love you so much. We’ll make them understand that my being with you has nothing to do with losing
anything,
and everything to do with gaining the son they always wanted.” Tears fight to fall from my eyes—the kind of tears that only form from the purest of happiness. I swallow the lump in my throat and take a deep, calming breath. This day goes down in history as one of my all-time favorites and the best hasn’t even come yet.

“Can you please pass the butter?” I ask, hoping that the quaking in my voice doesn’t give anything away. Warmness creeps up my neck, settling on my cheeks and ears with unwelcome tingles. All eyes are on me—like a dumbfounded student caught without the correct answer for her teacher. Only this is
way
worse.

I was fine while I was on the phone with Tommy—full of hope and giddy anticipation. But now that it’s show time—not so much. No matter how you slice it, bringing your guy home to meet the parents is the ultimate nerve wracking moment—even if that guy has been your best friend for more than a decade and knows your parents well enough that they could be his own.

Gina reaches over the table, smirking as she hands me the butter dish. If I thought I could connect, I’d kick her right in those pretty little shins of hers. She knows I’m shitting a brick and she’s loving every second of it.

Feverishly buttering my bread, I count my breaths and try to reign in my nerves.
He’s had dinner with your parents a thousand times. This is no different.

Like hell it isn’t! I want to scream, and just when I’m sure I might bust out with something—anything—to break the silence, Tommy addresses my father.

“Did you see that catch last night?” Tommy beams at my dad, firing up a conversation about the Yankees.

“
Bellissimo,
” Dad replies, kissing his fingers.

They banter back and forth, replaying each stolen base and every run scored. I expel the breath I’ve been holding since we all sat down for supper and I take this as my opportunity to excuse myself. “Be right back,” I squeak, almost running to the bathroom.

Once there, I stare into the mirror, gripping the edge of the sink. “You can do this, Gabby. They love Tommy. They’ll understand. You’re not a baby anymore. They trust you.”

It sounds easy enough, but my stomach doesn’t believe it. The stress has caused such an uncomfortable gurgling and stirring in my belly that I wonder if I might be sick. “Don’t puke, you fool,” I scold myself.

I hang my head over the sink and close my eyes, trying with all my might to rid myself of the unnecessary anxiety. When I think the queasiness has passed, I turn on the faucet and splash cold water on my heated face. With one last look in the mirror, I nod, giving myself the encouragement I need to get through this.

“Everything all right?” Tommy whispers when I return.

I nod, smiling. Apparently our private exchange stirs something up for Gina.

Ping ponging her examining gaze between Tommy and me, my sister drawls, “Soooo?”

Before I have the chance to curse her out for being so smug, Mom interrupts. “Don’t,” she orders, trailing her index finger along the ivy patterned tablecloth.

“What? What did I do now?” Gina complains with her hands in the air.

“You’re a pot stirrer and you know it. The only pot that needs stirring is full of gravy in the kitchen.” Have I mentioned how much I love my mom? I’m her favorite whether she wants to admit it or not. I’ve always been able to count on her to see my side of things.

Biting my lower lip and grinning at Gina, I reach under the table to secretly grab Tommy’s hand. Maybe the worst is over. The rest of this dinner may very well be a cakewalk.

But Tommy’s like a deer in the headlights when our skin connects. I know he can sense my father’s eyes on him and Mom’s soft features have now become more austere—more of what I was expecting.

“Howa long?” he asks, not looking up from his bowl of fusilli.

Assuming he’s talking to me, since this whole get together seems to be centered around Tommy and me, I ask. “What do you mean, Daddy?”

“Not you. Your
sorella.
” Dad points to Gina, causing her to choke on her mouthful of soda.

“Huh? How long, what?”

“How longa you thinka we wouldn’t find out?”

“Find out about what?” Gina asks it, and I think it. What’s this about? I’m the one who’s supposed to be getting reamed today.

“What did I do? What are you talking about?” Gina’s arms are flailing and her eyes are so wide I can see all the white surrounding her chocolate brown irises.

When Dad’s face turns red with fury, Tommy’s grip on my hand slackens, and Mom swallows hard before she speaks. “You think we’re stupid, Gina? Just because we’re not from here doesn’t mean we don’t know what goes on. This is the fourth weekend in a row you came home like that. Past curfew.”

“Mom, I’m twenty-two years old. American
women
in college don’t have curfews.” Her tone is bordering on what my mother would call disrespectful.
Shit!
This
is
going to be quite a show. Gina was right—just wrong about which Rossi sister would be the star.

“
Stai zit!
” My father shouts, banging his fist against the table. “You thinka I care what the American girls do, bella? You can no be an American girl and still have morals? Bulla shit! You live in my home, you followa my rules!”

Oh boy! The accent’s thick today. He means business.

Tommy leans closer to me and whispers, “Um. I ain’t telling them shit today.”

I laugh, even if I’m a little disappointed, because he’s right. Dad would probably reacquaint my ass with the old leather belt if I told him I was in love. “
Disgraziatta”
he’d call me, taking his anger for my sister out on me.