I woke up at 8:30 to the sound of kids playing. I had slept with the window open and wound up having to grab a blanket in the middle of the night. I heard what sounded like a skateboard on the sidewalk outside. I guess the block was already closed off for the party and the kids were taking advantage of playing in the street. The “No Parking Today” signs are posted the day before, so the kids are up at the crack of dawn to cross the street without hearing the screech of tires and having to run for their lives while they dodge cars.
I heard Alfonse calling for Julia to bring out the tablecloths, and I could hear the scrape of his picnic table against the concrete.
I put some coffee on and jumped in the shower. It was cool in my apartment, and I put on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, but it’d probably be 80 degrees by noon and I’d have to change.
Someone knocked on my door at 9:00, and when I opened the door there were two foil-covered trays sitting outside it. I thought it was from Sandy across the street until I heard Denise talking to Alfonse.
“Oh, these are beautiful, I love figs!” she said. “Thank you. Should I rinse them?”
“Ah, just eat them, you’ll be fine,” he said.
I guess they were picking them right off the trees. He had two big trees with the purple figs, and they were perfect this time of year. He’s been giving me figs for a couple of weeks now, but I never get sick of them.
“Wait till my grandmother sees these,” Denise said. “Her and my grandfather always had fig trees. When he had a stroke they sold the house, and now she’s in an apartment.”
I couldn’t hear what Alfonse said after that; they were walking toward the front of the house.
I was taking one of the trays in when Denise came back down the stairs. She was dressed in low-riding jean shorts that showed off her belly-button ring, black sandals, and a skimpy red shirt, and her hair was long and straight. She was carrying two glass-handled bottles of mudslide mix.
“Hey, Tony,” she said as she kissed my cheek. “I’m glad you’re up already.”
“Mudslides?” I nodded at the bottles.
“Yeah,” she said, daring me to say something.
“I don’t remember asking you to bring any booze,” I snapped.
“I’m glad you’re in such a good mood. Hopefully, you’ll cheer up by the time everyone gets here,” she said.
“Who’s everybody?” I asked. “I don’t remember inviting everybody.”
“Vinny, Christie, Dad, Marie, Mom, Ron—”
“Who’s Ron?” I cut her off.
“I told you, the guy Mom’s been seeing. Plus, you invited Aunt Rose, Aunt Elena, and the cousins.
“I didn’t invite them, they invited themselves,” I said.
“Either way, they’re coming,” Denise said as she put the mudslides on the counter and started out the door again. “Give me a hand with the food.”
“What did you bring?” I asked.
“I made potato salad, the one with the scallions and bacon that you like. This tray is ribs, I marinated them. The other is Jell-O Jigglers for the kids. I made a tossed salad and a fruit salad.”
The truth is, whenever we have a party or dinner Denise always comes early to help set up. She cooks food and then stays to clean up. I like that about her.
“Thanks, Denise, I appreciate it,” I said.
She had to ruin it by saying, “And I brought a bunch of those test-tube tequila shots,” when she was already halfway up the steps.
“Are you out of your mind?” I yelled at her. “Things are bad enough with everyone to begin with. Mom’s bringing her new boyfriend, and you bring shots of tequila? You know better than that. Get rid of them.”
“Excuse me? You’re the one that decided to have a block party, Tony, not me,” she said. “And then you go and invite the whole family, cousins, aunts, uncles, and expect me to get through it without alcohol? You’re the one that’s out of your mind. The tequila stays.”
“If anyone dies, remember who brought the tequila,” I said, pointing my finger at her.
We walked outside, and I saw the street cleared of cars. Kids were on their bikes and skateboards. Sandy’s two kids were trying out their roller skates, and Chris and Joanne, a fireman and his wife who live two doors down from me, were out with their five daughters, who were writing on the street with chalk.
Up and down the street people were setting up their tables and chairs and barbeques. At the corner the police barriers were set up, closing off the street. The rides we rented for the day were there. A huge red blow-up slide that looked about twenty feet long was already inflated. They were working on the moon walk, which still had a ways to go. Some of the kids were standing around watching, and I was sure the rubber on the ride would probably stink of feet by this afternoon.
The way we do the block party is all the families chip in and pool their money. The money covers the permit, the rides, the face painters, a candy cart, and a DJ. Everyone is responsible for their own food and drinks, and the fire trucks show up for nothing.
The weather was perfect, clear and cool without a cloud in the sky.
“Tony, do you have a picnic table?” Denise asked.
“No, but Alfonse has two folding tables he said I can use. Joe’s bringing chairs, and I told Paulie to bring chairs. If we run out, Alfonse said he’s got a bunch in the garage.”
“Is Romano coming?” I asked, thinking maybe he got called into work.
“Yeah, he’s picking up his daughter. He’ll be here about noon,” Denise said.
“You brought booze and Romano’s kid’s gonna be here? What’s wrong with you?”
“For your information, Mr. Twelve Stepper, she’s only gonna be here for a couple of hours. The booze is for when she leaves. And before you get all high and mighty, I can remember plenty of parties where you were not only the one bringing the booze, but you were drinking most of it. Remember? BC?”
“What’s BC?” I asked.
“Before Christ.”
I closed my eyes and shook my head, a classic look I inherited from my father that says “You’re a moron” without saying a word. I got the tables and chairs out of the garage. They were sturdy folding tables, kind of like the ones they use in the cafeterias at school. They were old and stained, and Julia brought me out white tablecloths to cover them. Denise made a couple of trips for the metal folding chairs while I helped Alfonse carry the barbeque out to the front of the house. He wanted me to help him put together a plastic canopy in case it got too hot in the sun for anyone. We wrestled with it for a half hour and just about had it together when a breeze hit it and sent it tumbling.
At around 10:30 Denise took a ride with me to the beer distributor on Hylan Boulevard where we picked up ice and soda. Denise had the kid that worked there pick up two cases of Budweiser and carry them to the counter for her.
“You’re killin’ me, Denise,” I said. “I don’t want any problems today, and you keep loading up the drinks.”
“Tony, there’s not enough liquor here to get me drunk, never mind fifty people.”
“If that’s not enough liquor to get you drunk, you’ve got problems,” I said. “Plus, birdbrain, we can’t drive down the street, we have to carry it from wherever we can get a parking spot.”
We bickered back and forth until we got back. I had to park two blocks down from my corner. I saw Fiore and Donna and the three kids and hit the horn. When they turned around I realized Fiore’s parents were with them. I forgot they were coming and was glad they were there. I love Joe’s parents. His father, Lou, is big, round, and balding. His mother, Connie, is pretty, short, and round, with dark red hair and pretty green eyes.
“Tony Baloney,” Lou said, shaking my hand and pulling me in for a hug.
“Big Lou, good to see ya. Hey, Connie, looking beautiful as always,” I said, giving her a kiss.
“Here, Denise, let me help you with that,” Lou said, taking a case of beer she was trying to lift out of the car while he carried three folding chairs with his other hand. If he disapproved of the beer he didn’t say anything, and he and Joe helped us carry everything to my house.
I had bought a small charcoal grill, and Joe fired it up while I filled up two coolers with ice, one for soda and one for Denise’s beer and the mudslide mix.
Michele and Stevie got there next, dressed in shorts and T-shirts. Michele had brought Stevie’s bicycle, a little two-wheeler with the training wheels still on. She wanted Stevie to keep a hat on. His skin’s pretty light and he burns easy, but he said it was too hot. We got some sunscreen on him, and Joe went back to his van for Josh and Joey’s bikes. Little Gracie, Joe’s daughter, was pushing a little pink stroller around. She smiled when she saw me and lifted her arms for me to pick her up. She was finally getting some hair, and it was dark and straight with a clip thing on top of it.
“Hey, Gracie, is your baby in there?” I asked her, kissing her cheek and pointing at the carriage.
She gave me a blank look.
“What’s in the stroller?” I peeked in to see what she had, figuring it was a baby doll or something. The ugliest stuffed gorilla was in there, covered with a pink blanket.
“Is that your baby?” I asked her.
She looked at me like I was a moron and shook her head no.
Donna heard me and laughed. “Tony, I have no idea what it is with the gorilla, she loves it. Joey got it at the zoo, and we can’t get it away from her.”
“We have incoming,” I heard Denise say, and I looked up the block to see my father, my grandmother, and Marie walking toward us. They had released Grandma from the hospital the morning after I was there, telling her she’d had an anxiety attack.
“I thought Dad wasn’t talking to you,” Denise said.
“He’s not. I don’t know why he’s here,” I said, shaking my head.
“Because I won’t talk to him and you’re not around a lot,” she said. “He has no one to fight with.”
I heard the pipes of a Harley and saw a motorcycle parking near the corner.
“Tell me that isn’t Mom,” I said.
“Trust me, Tony, you’ll like Ron,” Denise said.
My father was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt, with his hair slicked back DeNiro style. Marie was wearing white shorts small enough to be underwear, a little black shirt with plenty of cleavage showing, and black-heeled sandals. It’s funny, no matter how much I go to church and want to serve God, I can’t seem to get past how I feel about Marie. I don’t hate her like I used to, but as much as I try, I still can’t stomach her.
Grandma was wearing black shorts that came to her knobby knees, gold shoes, and a black T-shirt decorated with gold sparkles. After my grandfather died she went the way of her foremothers and dressed in all black mourning clothes, but her partiality for cheesy gold and sparkly materials won out, and it only lasted about a month. Either that or it was her way of spitting on my grandfather’s grave, I couldn’t tell.
Traditionally when in mourning, Italian men wear black ties and armbands for a year, while the women wear black for the rest of their lives. The tradition isn’t practiced much now, but some of the old Italians still do it.
I eyed up Ron as he walked down the street holding hands with my mother. He looked about fifty, a little chubby, with dark brown hair and blue eyes. He looked like a nice guy in a jolly kind of way. My mother looked good. She was dressed in jeans and a white tank top. Her dark red hair was a little windblown, and when she got closer I could tell she was nervous. Ron was carrying a big bakery box tied up with red string.
“Grandma Marilyn,” Stevie yelled as he rode over to her on his bike.
Her face lit up when she saw him, and she pulled something out of her pocket to give him as she gave him a kiss. It looked like candy from where I was standing, and I saw him unwrap it and put it in his mouth.
When we were kids and she pulled something out of her pocket, it was money to get her cigarettes or to stop at the liquor store. Believe it or not, back then she could call ahead to the deli or the liquor store and tell them what to give us.
My father held up a foil-covered tray. “Tony, where do you want this?”
“What is it?”
“Antipasti,” he said. “Your grandmother made it even though she’s supposed to be taking it easy.”
“Put it on the table in the shade. How’re you feeling, Grandma?” I asked as she kissed and hugged me.
“Well, I went to bingo last night at St. Michael’s with Lucy Dellatore, but I got tired and had to leave early.”
“You just got out of the hospital,” my father said. “You shouldn’t be going to bingo.”
If Grandma went to bingo, then she was fine. She’s been going to Friday night bingo at St. Michael’s for as long as I can remember. But she doesn’t go for the bingo, it’s the side bets she loves. You’d be amazed at how much gambling goes on at St. Michael’s on a Friday night. Kinda like offtrack betting, but with old Italian women in rolled-down stockings.
Denise hasn’t spoken to my father since last Christmas, so she breezed past him and Marie and gave a hug and kiss to my mother and Ron. My father’s face got red when she did it, but I didn’t know if he was mad at her, Ron, or my mother.
I saw Marie look my mother up and down and then walk up to Ron with her hand out.
“Hi, I’m Marie Cavalucci, Vince’s wife,” she said and smiled.
“Ron Dumbrowski,” he said, shaking her hand.
“Dumbrowski?” My father choked on a laugh. “Come on, Marilyn, a Pollack?”
Ron put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to my mother.
“I told ya,” she said and smiled and passed the twenty bucks on to Denise.
Denise smiled and shook her head while she stuck the bill in her shorts. “So predictable.”
My father looked confused for a second, but then Ron put his hand out to my father and said, “That’s the thing about having a name like Dumbrowski, you learn how to fight young.” He said it with a smile, but my father got the message. Not so stupid for a guy with a name like Dumbrowski.
“You’re looking good, Marilyn,” my father said and smiled.
We all stood there, shocked. I don’t think anyone was as shocked as Marie, who looked like he’d bit her. It’s not that my mother didn’t look good, it’s just that he’s never had a nice thing to say about her.
I saw the uh-oh look on Michele’s face and the wave of panic that came after it. She’d been around long enough that she knew what was gonna cause a fight. Marie hated my mother, so anyone, especially my father, saying anything nice to her was a declaration of war. Plus, Michele knew that whether or not she said hello to everyone was important. To give her credit, she sucked it up and smiled and said hello to everyone. My mother, Ron, and Denise all gave her a kiss and hug, but my father and Marie just gave her a nod, and when she tried to kiss Grandma, Grandma turned her face.
“Tough crowd,” Lou Fiore said.
“You have no idea,” Michele said.
I could feel the tension, and I guess Lou did too because he said to everyone in general, “How about those Mets last night, ha?” Baseball is Lou’s answer to everything.
“We’re Yankee fans,” Grandma said.
“Yankee fans? How about some Yankee trivia?” Lou smiled and looked around.
“And you know so much about baseball?” my father asked.
I don’t know why he’s so obnoxious sometimes. Lou was just trying to be nice.
“I love the game,” Lou said with a shrug. “I know a little about it.”
“Okay, so ask me something, see if you can stump me,” my father said as he smiled and lit a cigarette. It wasn’t a happy smile; it was an arrogant smile. “But only about New York teams, they’re the only ones I follow.”
“Okay,” Lou said, clapping twice and rubbing his hands together. “Let’s see, you guys are Yankee fans. We’ll start if off easy. What’s the name of the song that is played at the end of the game when the Yankees win at home?”
“That’s simple,” my father said. “‘New York, New York’ by Frank Sinatra.”
“That’s right.” Lou nodded. “What song is played at the end of the game when they lose at home?”
Of course nobody knew the song. I didn’t even know the song even though I’ve been at Yankee Stadium when they lost.
“So what’s the song?” This from my father.
“‘New York, New York,’ but the original version by Liza Minelli.”
“Okay, you got me,” my father said. “I have one for you. Only one player in baseball history has ever played on the winning team in the World Series ten times. Who was it?”
My father didn’t realize Lou knew everything about baseball and he’d know this.
“That would be Yogi Berra,” Lou said, which wasn’t bad until he added, “Of course, he played for the Yankees. I’ll even give you the years—1947 and 1949, 1950 through 1953 . . . let’s see that’s six”—he was counting on his hands—“1956, 1958, 1961, and 1962.”
I saw how mad my father was getting.
“Dad, you’ll never get him,” I said, trying to laugh. “I’ve tried a lot of times. I even took books out of the library, and I couldn’t stump him.”
“Are you saying he’s smarter than me?” His eyebrows shot up. “Who is this guy, anyway?” He nodded toward Lou.
“This is my father, Lou, Mr. Cavalucci. I thought I introduced you to him,” Joe said, standing up. Joe may be the nicest guy I know, but don’t ever mess with his family.
Lou realized what was going on and said, “We better stop talking about baseball anyway. If my wife hears me I’ll never hear the end of it.” Lou smiled at me, and I could see the concern in his face.
“But this is great,” Lou went on. “I haven’t been to a block party since we left Queens. I’ll tell ya, I miss the old neighborhood.”
“See what you have to look forward to,” my father shot at me. “I don’t know why you’re moving all the way out to Long Island. You’re gonna hate it.”
“It’s nice out there,” I said. “It’s quiet.”
“Yeah, it’s quiet. It’s quiet sitting in traffic for three hours each way.”
“Dad, it’s not three hours, I’ll be taking the train,” I said.
“Plus, they did a beautiful job on the house,” Lou threw in.
“Yeah, well, I’ve never seen the house. I’ve never been invited.”
“Dad, you told me not to expect you to drive all the way out there.”
“Come on, Tony, if you invited me I would have come out there.”
I didn’t get this. All he did was complain that he wasn’t sitting in traffic all day to come visit me. I realized he was hurt that Lou had been to my house and he hadn’t, and I wished for the thousandth time he would just say what was on his mind for once. I was tired of trying to figure him out.
“You could come to our house,” Stevie said. I didn’t realize he was standing there listening. “We could teach you to play stoop ball with us.”
“And who do you think taught him how to play stoop ball?” my father asked Stevie, nodding at me.
“You?” Stevie looked surprised.
“Yeah, me. Where do you think he learned it?”
Actually, I learned to play it on the steps in the park where I also learned to play skelsie, strip poker, and quarters. I’ve never played stoop ball with him in my life, and I was surprised that he’d tell a flat-out lie like that.
My mother and Ron were watching the whole exchange, and I could see from my mother’s face that she knew he was lying.
I saw Vinny and Christie walking down from the corner. Even from where I was standing I could see Vinny looked mad. What I didn’t get was if everyone was so mad at me, why were they here?
“Hey, Vin,” I said, but he just threw me a nod.
I caught the look on Michele’s face.
“Are you all right?” I asked her quietly.
“This is so stressful, Tony. I’m so uncomfortable.”
“What do you want to do? Do you want to leave?”
“I don’t know.”
“Here he is.” My father’s face lit up. He hugged Vinny and kissed his cheek.
Christie and Marie squealed and hugged each other, something I didn’t get. They were pretty chummy lately; it was probably more that they’d teamed up with mutual dislike for Michele than that they actually liked each other.
“Vinny!” Grandma was out of the chair, throwing her arms around him.
I told myself it didn’t make me feel bad, but it did. Grandma started bragging about Vinny to Ron and Lou, how he’s a foreman now in the electricians’ union. Marie was talking about Vinny’s wedding hall and how beautiful it was.
Sure, Vinny was the golden boy now. Everyone seemed to forget what a psycho he was when he was little. Like when he put aspirin in the goldfish bowl at St. Michael’s and killed all the fish, and that he didn’t talk all through the fifth grade and the school wanted to call the shrinks in on him. Or that we used to find him standing in the middle of Bay Street dressed in army fatigues directing traffic with a whistle. I remember looking for him one night when my mother was passed out and my father was at work. He was standing in the middle of the street, serious as anything, holding his hands up to the cars, blowing his whistle. It was bizarre—he was ten years old and everyone did what he said. No one even hollered at him.
Michele was quiet, looking tense.
“I shouldn’t have had the block party,” I said. “I know better.”
“I’m sorry, Tony. I feel like this is my fault, that if you were with someone else they wouldn’t be giving you this kind of grief,” she said.
“I don’t know about that. I think the reality is we’re probably not gonna see them much anymore.”
It made me feel terrible, but it was true. I couldn’t be doing this to Michele and Stevie, and I couldn’t give up Michele and Stevie to make my family happy. I was reading something in Genesis that jumped off the page at me about a month ago. That never happened to me before, where I felt like something in the Bible was talking to me. It was when God called Abraham and told him he would make him into a great nation and bless those that blessed him. But that wasn’t the part. It was the part that said, “Leave your country, your people and your father’s household and go to the land I will show you.” I wished my family could be like Fiore’s and just love each other. Instead, we’re so fractured and difficult.
Nick Romano got there next with his daughter. He looked good. He was wearing one of those black ribbed tank shirts that showed off his muscles. I guess he had a lot of time on his hands at FD, because he was tan and didn’t have an ounce of fat on him. His hair was short and spiked with gel, and he had a gold cross around his neck. I’d never seen his daughter before, and I don’t know what I expected, but she was adorable. She never stopped smiling. And she had long hair. Joe’s daughter, Gracie, was practically bald, and I didn’t know any other kids, but Romano’s daughter had dark hair halfway down her back. You could tell she was a little Staten Island Italian. She already had jewelry on—a ring, a bracelet, and pierced ears. Every time Nick introduced her to someone she’d say “Hi!” with this big smile on her face. She was dark like Nick, but her eyes were blue. It was funny, but to look at her, she could be Denise’s daughter.
“This is my friend Tony. Tony, this is my daughter, Alexa,” Romano said.
“Hi!” She smiled, and her whole face lit up. Happy kid. She wasn’t shy either. She went with Denise over to Stevie and Joe’s kids, and I saw her looking in the little pink stroller at Gracie’s gorilla. She reached in to pick up the gorilla, and Gracie stepped in front of her. I smiled, thinking Gracie was gonna be the one to give Fiore a run for his money. Then I saw him go over to talk to Gracie, and she took the gorilla out and handed it to Romano’s daughter, so maybe not.
“How’s it going, buddy?” I asked Romano. “You ready for tomorrow?”
“Yeah, can’t wait. I miss you guys,” he said. “What time are we leaving?”
“Are you driving out with me?”
“Yeah, I figured we’d leave straight from here.”
“The boat leaves Montauk at two. I think Joe said it takes four hours to get out there so they do an overnight trip. We should be fishing by six tomorrow morning, so try not to get too hammered tonight. If we leave here by eleven, we’ll get to Joe’s by twelve fifteen with no traffic. We should be out in Montauk by one thirty, one forty-five the latest,” I said.
Denise had gone inside and came out with her tray of Jell-O things. They were different colored Jell-O cut into stars and other shapes. She called the kids over and started giving them out. Romano’s daughter wanted a red star. Stevie wanted green. Gracie didn’t like the feel of hers and dropped it on the street.
“What is that, Denise?” Grandma asked, looking confused.
“It’s Jell-O. Here,” she said and handed one to her.
“I don’t want that.” Grandma waved it away. “Why would you make something like that, anyway?”
“Because the kids like it,” Denise said.
“Kids shouldn’t be eating junk like that. Give them some fruit or something,” my father threw in.
Denise rolled her eyes and turned around, almost knocking over Gracie, who was watching the other kids with the Jell-O.
“Watch what you’re doing!” my father yelled. “You almost knocked the kid over.”
“She’s fine, Dad,” I said. “She’s got two older brothers, she gets knocked down all the time.”
“Denise has always been clumsy,” Grandma said to Marie.
“Like a bull in a china shop,” my father said, shaking his head.
“Hey, come here,” my father said to Stevie, who was sucking on his Jell-O. “Give me that.” My father took the Jell-O and put it on a paper plate.
“Why can’t I have it?” Stevie asked me.
“Dad, what are you doing?” I said. “He was eating that.”
“He can have it. I just want him to have something good for him first.” He got a fork and grabbed some roasted peppers and a piece of salami off the antipasti dish. He put them on a roll and handed it to Stevie. “Here, eat this and then you can have dessert.”
Michele saw Stevie with Grandma and my father and was practically knocking people out of the way to get over to the table. My mother moved in too, and Denise hovered, knowing what was coming.
Stevie took a bite and made a face. I grabbed a napkin and put my hand under his mouth because I knew he was gonna spit it out.
“Dad, he doesn’t like stuff like that,” I said, balling up the napkin and throwing it in the garbage.
Grandma made a tut-tut noise. “He’s picky, huh?” She looked at Michele, disapproval showing on her face.
“No, he’s not,” Michele said, “he just doesn’t eat a lot of the stuff you do.”
“He won’t eat anything!” Grandma said.
“He eats plenty,” I said.
“You gotta make him eat right, Tony, even if he doesn’t like it. We never let the kids get away with that, right, Marilyn?”
My mother’s eyebrows shot up. “We? Speak for yourself, Vince. You’re the one who ran the dinner table like the gestapo.”
“Remember, we couldn’t leave the table without finishing everything or he’d get nuts about it?” Denise threw in.
“Come on, Denise,” Vinny said. “Dad just wanted us to eat right.”
“Oh, please, you’re such a suck-up, Vin,” Denise said. “Dinners were horrible. Especially for Tony. Dad used to shove the food into his mouth and hold it shut until he swallowed it. It’s a miracle he never choked.”
“Tony didn’t like peppers and salami back then either,” my mother said to Stevie.
“Marilyn, weren’t you usually drunk by dinnertime?” Marie asked, smiling like a snake.
“Only on the weekends,” my mother said brightly.
“Yeah, there was only so much Sinatra we could take. If I was old enough, I’d have been drunk too,” Denise added.
“Yeah, it was Frank Sinatra’s fault,” Marie said dryly.
I guess I’d forgotten about that. Saturday was the day we’d all be together, but my father wanted to be out with whoever he was sleeping with at the time. The tension was so thick you could cut it. My father would start yelling at my mother over something, and she’d yell back. He’d stomp to the living room and blast Sinatra until she exploded. He’d leave, she’d drink, and then Denise, Vinny, and I would sit there like zombies until we were old enough to go out and drink ourselves.
A lot of times I’d be mad at my mother. My father would say he worked all week and why did she have to start with him on his day off. One day he said he couldn’t take it anymore and he was leaving. I got so upset I started crying. I must have been about nine or ten at the time, and I rode after him on my bike after he screeched his tires away from the curb. I saw his car parked at the bakery up on Bay Street and saw him talking on the phone. I don’t know who I thought he was talking to, but when I saw the look on his face I realized he wasn’t upset at all. At the time I was too young to realize what sexual banter was, and I heard him say something I shouldn’t have. He must have sensed me behind him, and when he turned around and saw my face, he started yelling for me to go home.
“No, it wasn’t Frank Sinatra’s fault, Marie, it was my fault,” my mother said. “I’m responsible for my drinking; it was my choice.”
“Yeah, well your choices affected all of us,” Vinny surprised me by saying.
“You drank to keep him with you,” Marie said. “He wouldn’t have stayed with you otherwise.”
“She drank to survive,” Denise said angrily. “Maybe if Dad didn’t cheat on her, she wouldn’t have drank.”
“That’s still not an excuse, Denise,” my mother interrupted. “But I appreciate you sticking up for me. I wasn’t the wife or mother I should have been because of it.” I saw Ron smile at my mother, and she smiled back, but it was a sad smile. “And I owe all of you an apology.”
“It doesn’t matter now,” my father shocked me again by saying. “We all make mistakes. It’s all water under the bridge.”
I wasn’t sure if he meant it or if he did it because he knew it was getting to Marie.
“I don’t want an apology,” Vinny said. “I’ll never forgive you for it.”
My mother looked like she wanted to crawl under a rock.
“What’s wrong with you?” I said. “Don’t talk to her like that.”
I didn’t know what was up with Vinny. I felt like I didn’t know him anymore and wondered if I really knew him to begin with. Last year after my mother came out of rehab she came to me, Denise, and Vinny to apologize for a lot of things, especially her drinking. I guess I expected Denise to be the one not to forgive her, but it was Vinny.
“Don’t tell me what to do, Tony.” Vinny got in my face. “You can’t make me forgive her. And it’s none of your business anyway.”
Michele panicked and tried to put herself between us. She pointed toward the corner and said, “Hey! Look who’s here!”
I looked up the street, and Vinny took a step back and picked up his beer, still glaring at me.
We turned to see the rest of my family bopping toward us. Aunts, cousins, and Uncle Mickey, complete with gold chains, toothpicks, and sunglasses, looking like mafioso famiglia.
“Will this make things better or worse?” Michele wanted to know.
“I don’t know, babe, it could go either way,” I said with a shrug.