Friends Without Benefits (Knitting in the City) (12 page)

I was still st
aring at him when he glanced up and did a double take. I held my breath. His gaze tangled with mine, like thorny vines. If I looked away first the thorns would draw blood. I didn’t want to draw blood. I wanted to gently disentangle him from my life. I wanted him to move on from whatever fake memories and feelings he’d imagined to be real. I wanted to pretend like the last twenty-four hours never happened.

Ex
cept, the last twenty-four hours did happen, and I couldn’t forget, and I didn’t want to look away, and a growing part of me liked being tangled with him and his thorny vines.

“Elizabeth
. The silverware.” Milo knocked my shoulder as he rushed passed, and I automatically turned toward his voice.

The moment was over
, but I could still feel Nico’s eyes on me. I thought about meeting his gaze again, really wanted to. But if I looked at him now, if I allowed our gaze to tangle on purpose, then it wouldn’t be fair. Not to him. So I kept my attention focused on Milo and his rushing about.

Milo
crossed to the counter, and I followed him, opened my hands and arms to receive forks, knives, and spoons.

I spied Robert, the oldest of the
Manganiello children, instructing a teenage girl on the appropriate ratio of parsley to parmesan cheese. I realized the girl must be his daughter, the same daughter who was only four the last time I saw her. This realization made me feel each of my twenty-six years and then some.

Milo made introductions to any member of the family I didn’t know. This included: Robert’s wife Viv
and their five children; Franco’s wife Madeline and their three children; Christine’s husband Sam and their six children; and Manny’s wife Jennifer and their three children. It was explained to me that Lisa—Nico’s second sister—couldn’t come as she was a busy and important attorney in Chicago and hardly ever made it to family events anymore.

I was thankful for Lisa’s absence and the fact that Milo was still single—less names to remember.

I tried to make mental notes in order to remember names, pairing spouses and children with the Manganiellos I knew; after a while I accepted the fact that I just wasn’t going to remember everyone. So I did a lot of smiling and nodding and calling little girls “dear” and boys “cutie”.

Through all of the introductions and handshakes and smiles, the bac
k of my neck itched and tingled. I could feel Nico’s gaze intermittently follow my movements. I didn’t want him to see my confusion, my lack of a specific plan so I went with my
de facto
plan—pretend everything is fine, feign ignorance, act normal.

I didn’t mind that Milo appointed himself as my handler. Once he seemed to be satisfied with the introductions we left the kitchen with stacks of plates
, cloth napkins, and silverware and set to the task of setting the large table in the dining room.

“We’ll put the silverware
and napkins around the table, but leave the plates on the buffet,” Milo announced, indicating with his chin toward the long buffet table in the smaller dining room where he and Manny had already placed some of the food.

My attention moved to the indicated table
, but snagged on the sight of Sandra and Rose with their heads together, engaged in deep conversation by the jukebox. This sight made me frown. This sight also made the back of my neck itch and tingle.

I kept my eyes on them as I placed the flatware. Rose had her hand on Sandra’s arm. Sandra bent her head lower
to hear something that Rose said. Rose laughed at something Sandra said. It all looked very benign and was therefore extremely suspicious.

“Do forks go on the right or the left?” Milo’s question pulled my attention away from Sandra and Rose. I blinked at him then at the settings I’d
just placed. Some places had two knives and no forks, some had all spoons.

“Oh, I’ve made a mess
.” I immediately moved to remedy my mistake.

Milo laughed and it caused a twinge of awareness between my shoulder blades. He and Nico had the same laugh. Except
for Milo’s curly hair, they also looked a great deal alike.

“Don’t worry about it.
It’s actually something I would do. In fact—” Milo winked at me—again—and gifted me with a crooked smile; a smile that looked a lot like Nico’s. “—I think I’ve done that before.”

I returned his smile with a grateful closed
-lipped one of my own and realized that his green eyes were twinkling at me. This gave me pause. Perhaps the eye twinkling was simply genetic and hard coded into Manganiello DNA.

“Why don’t you take the dishes over, I’ll finish with the place settings
, if I can remember which side the forks go on.” Milo glanced at the table and moved a fork to the left then the right.

I grabbed a stack of plates and called over my shoulder, “Forks go on the left, knives and spoons on the right.”

“Thanks.” I heard him respond distractedly, “I think you’re right.”

Milo reminded me a lot of my father. They were both distracted in a way that might be misconstrued as lofty. Since both were professors—Milo a professor in the physics department at NYU and my father a professor in the agriculture department of Iowa State—I guessed that the behavior was not unusual for tenured faculty.

I stacked the plates at the start of the buffet then ferried over another pile while keeping one eye on Sandra and Rose and another eye on the door to the kitchen. I was waiting for Nico to emerge, wondering if he were going to speak to me, or if he’d also decided to go with the
de facto
plan of acting like everything was normal.

I didn’t have to wait long
to discover the answer.

Nico exited the swinging kitchen door carrying a stack of
medium-sized plates just as I’d set down my last load. I immediately stiffened, straightened, and averted my eyes to the buttery croissants on the buffet table. I needlessly shifted the platter containing the croissants and fiddled with the edge of the tablecloth.

H
e stopped at the end of the table.

“Hi
,” he said.

I failed at swallowing again and lifted my eyes to his
. Even at this distance I could see that his eyes were twinkling.

“
Hi? Oh, hi.” I wondered at my ball of nerves. I didn’t even recognize myself. Who was this girl who was anxious around a man? I hadn’t been anxious like this around a man since ever, and I hadn’t been anxious around a boy since. . . well, since Nico.

He set the plates on the table—at the other end—then sauntered over to where I stood; I tried my best
to cease fiddling with the croissant dish.

He halted
just in front of me, crossed his arms over his chest momentarily then let them fall to his sides. “I’m glad you decided to come.”

“I said I would.” My eyes were darting all over the restaurant. I forced myself to settle down and meet his gaze directly. When I finally did I began to understand why my
subconscious preferred to look everywhere else. It was trying to defend me against his eyes, so large and open and mesmerizing.

A small, playfully wry smile pulled his
mouth to one side. “Actually, you said you couldn’t. I believe it was your friend who said you would.”

I swallow-failed again. “Well, I’m here now.”

“Yeah, you are.” His expression turned serious, thoughtful as he added, “I like seeing you.”

“I like seeing you too.” The statement was out of my mouth before I realized I’d said or thought it.

He blinked at me, obvious surprise made his eyes widen and his brows lift. “You do?”

I nodded. I nodded because it was true
, but I felt a pang of guilt because I didn’t know what it meant.

He shifted an inch closer
; but, before he could speak, Robert’s booming voice reverberated from the galley door, “Alright—everyone—the food is hot and it’s time to eat so stop what you’re doing and circle around the big table.”

Someone shouted
, likely a teenage boy, “God’s neat, let’s eat.”

“Your grandmother does not approve of such jokes,
Lello.” Rose’s authoritative voice reprimanded.

“
Hey guys.” Sandra, seemingly out of nowhere, was suddenly standing at my elbow. She tucked her arm through mine, drawing my attention from Nico. “I’ll need some introductions at some point, but for now let’s get a move on so we can get some grub.”

She
, not waiting for my response, pulled me toward the big table, and I allowed her to lead me away. It was a relief actually. I hadn’t meant to be so honest with Nico and was trying to decide if I regretted it.

After
a great deal of blustering and bustling, the buffet was laid, the large dining room in the main restaurant was set, and the Manganiellos—plus Sandra and I—had said grace and were lined up to pile our plates with food.

I kept stealing glances at Nico.
Two of his nephews were monopolizing him; excitedly and animatedly speaking in a way that only children do. I realized that I hadn’t yet seen Angelica—Nico’s niece, Tina’s daughter. The realization made me frown, and I craned my neck, glancing around the room.

My attention rested on a constellation of small children at one end of the big dining table
; they were laughing, rough housing, shouting, and just generally behaving like small children. Each resembled the other, looked like cousins, siblings, relatives, but none of them were Angelica.

I skimmed the crowd then finally caught sight of h
er. She was sitting on Christine’s lap—Nico’s oldest sister—holding the same blue blanket that she’d been gripping at the hospital. The four-year-old looked like her cousins, but she wasn’t laughing, wasn’t shouting. She was sitting very still, holding her blanket to her cheek, a mask was over her face, and she was watching her other cousins’ merry making. 

The image pulled at my heart
. I felt equal measures of frustration and resolve. Frustration because there was nothing I could immediately do to improve her quality of life. Resolve because, even if she didn’t enroll in the study, I would find a way to do something for her.

With my plate in hand, I planned to select a seat nearby Angelica. I made it to the large arch that separated the two rooms when my path was abruptly blocked by both Sandra and Rose.

“Oh.” I rocked backward to keep from spilling my food.

“Hey
, Elizabeth, Rose was just telling me the funniest story about you and Nico from when you were kids.” Sandra placed her hand on my shoulder and pulled me about a foot and a half forward, as though positioning me to her liking.

I braced myself for the story and attempted a polite smile. “Is that so?”

“Niccolò. You come over here now and speak to your mother.” Rose caged me in on the other side and bellowed to her youngest son.

I took a deep breath and glanced over my shoulder. Nico left his plate at the buffet and was, rather reluctantly I observed, walking over to where we stood. I closed my eyes briefly so neither of the ladies would witness my eye
roll. I was sure whatever the story was would be an attempt to horribly embarrass me, Nico, or—more likely—both of us.

He sauntered then stopped a few feet away, his eyes moving from me to Rose then back again.

“Come over here.” Rose motioned with her hand. “Listen to your mother.”

Nico took two unenthusiastic steps forward and stopped just adjacent to my position, my shoulder almost touching his arm. “Yes?”

“Oh look!” Rose and Sandra took three shuffling steps backward; Nico’s mother clasped her hands and rested them against her cheek. “You’re standing under the mistletoe.”

I blinked at her then noticed where Nico and I were standing
—under the arch that separated the two main dining rooms. My eyes lifted upward and, sure enough, we were standing under a brand new bunch of mistletoe. It was even tied in place with an obscenely wide red ribbon.

“I must’ve forgotten to take it down after Christmas.” Rose said.
The statement was, of course, a lie.

The restaurant was famous for keeping the kissing bough up all year. I glanced briefly at Nico and found hi
m glaring at his mother. Growing up with this family, I’d witnessed Nico’s current expression with a great deal of frequency coming from each of the Manganiello children when dealing with their mother.

He was mortified. Mortification is more than embarrassment. It’s stunned embarrassment with a healthy dose of anger. His scowl told me that this
setup was just as much of a surprise to him as it was to me.

“You didn’t forget,
Ma. In fact, it looks brand new.”

“Well I can’t very well have old mistletoe up, now can I? Anyway, you and Elizabeth are standing under the mistletoe now and
it’s tradition.”

Nico turned to me. He looked unhappy.
He shook his head. “Just ignore her.”

“Don’t be a
dummy, Nico.” Milo walked passed us and purposefully bumped into Nico’s shoulder. His taller brother paused, winked at me. “If you don’t kiss her, I will.”