I could jump out of the car and kiss the sidewalk right now, I’m so relieved to be back on our crummy old block. Who would have ever thought, right?
“Look!” Mom says.
“What?” Nonna and I ask in startled unison.
“I think that’s Marco’s truck.”
She’s right. It’s weird seeing it here on our street rather than in its natural habitat (a stretch of gravel in the woods), but it’s definitely Marco’s truck. Nestled up next to the curb outside our driveway.
“He’s giving you another chance,” Nonna says. “Don’t screw it up.”
“I already did,” Mom says. “It’s complicated.”
“What, complicated?” Nonna asks. “He took you in this week, didn’t he? And now he drives all the way down here. He was probably going to post the bail for you.”
“Maybe this week made him realize he wants to get back together,” I add. “Him coming here is a grand romantic gesture!”
“Everyone calm down.” Mom flips open the visor from the ceiling in front of her and checks her face in the mirror. “I look like shit, first of all. And second of all, Marco lives all the way up there in Bumblefuck.” She’s trying to sound tough and jaded with her delivery, but there’s a hint of excitement in her voice that totally gives her away. She’s glad he came. “He’s probably just here to get his phone back.”
Marco jumps out when he sees us pulling up. He’s wearing that same L.L.Bean rugby shirt he wore when we showed up to his place on Tuesday. Five eternities ago, it feels like.
“There you are!” Marco yells at us as we step out of Nonna’s car. “I looked everywhere for you. The police station. The courthouse. What — h — how’d you make bail?”
“You wouldn’t believe it if they told you,” Nonna says.
He turns to Mom. “I’m so sorry, Gia.”
“For what?” Mom says. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
“I shouldn’t have let you two leave alone last night. I think I was just in shock.” He tugs at the collar of his shirt. “This whole week gave me whiplash.”
“I’m the one who should be sorry,” Mom says. “We shouldn’t have dragged you into our mess.”
“Be that as it may…” He flashes a sweet smile. “I’m very glad you did.”
“Yeah?”
“I missed you,” he says.
My heart swells for both of them. But also I feel like a creepy lurker standing out here with Nonna while they’re clearly on the brink of jumping into a cinematic embrace.
“I feel like you guys are about to have a moment,” I say. “Nonna and I are gonna go upstairs.”
“Will came by looking for you,” Marco says. “I felt bad for the poor kid. He seemed torn up. I gave him the CliffsNotes version of your predicament.” He shrugs. “Hope that’s all right.”
Ah. So that explains why he stopped texting. He was probably too freaked out to continue once he realized I wasn’t just any hot mess — I was a hot mess with a criminal record.
“What did he say?” I ask.
“He asked me a bunch of questions about you,” Marco says. “I told him you were a good kid and this wasn’t normal behavior.” He looks back and forth at Mom and me. “As far as I know.”
“Thanks.”
“You got it.” Marco scrunches his face. “Seems like he really likes you.”
“Still?”
“Yeah. Still.”
“Another boy?” Nonna whispers as we walk away. “Ay yi yi.”
“He’s different!” I tell her. “It’s a long story.”
We’re greeted into the apartment by the empty wine bottles from Monday, still lined up by the sink. Next to them is the unfinished pot of coffee Mom brewed the morning after. It’s astounding to think that while Mom and I were going through everything we just went through, these wine bottles and this coffeepot were just sitting here on the counter. Unmoved. Unchanged.
“I’m worried about you.” Nonna plops down onto a kitchen chair. “You gonna be okay after all this?”
“I think so.” I really do. “I don’t know what’s next.…”
“College is next,” she says.
“Well it might be hard to go to college if I’m picking up trash on the side of the highway in an orange jumpsuit —”
“Don’t be a chooch. Even if you have to take time off for the sentence, you can’t use that as an excuse to never get an education.”
“I know.” I sit down in a chair right next to her and think about my options. Maybe I can major in something comedy-adjacent. Use it for material. Or maybe my suspicion has been right all along and college isn’t for me. I need more time to think about it. But Nonna’s been through enough this week. The least I can do is keep her dream alive another day. “Maybe I’ll go to Rutgers after all. Or find another school. I’ll figure it out.”
“Good.” She squeezes my shoulder and smiles. “You know you’re oobatz. Just like your mother.”
“You don’t really think we’re crazy,” I say. “You love us.”
“You’re right. I don’t. And I do.” She gets up and leans over me, placing her hands around my face like I’m a toddler. “Bello di nonna.”
“Nonna —”
“Listen to me,” she interjects before I can fully express my faux-discomfort at her doting. “You need rest. Go lay down. I’ll stop by tomorrow morning with some pastries.”
Oh, my God. I didn’t even think about what everyone at Mozzicato’s must have been thinking when they saw me on the news.
“Have you been there at all this week?” I ask. “Do they know?”
“Oh, yeah. They asked about you.” Nonna’s halfway to the door. “I told them to mind their own damn business.”
After the door clicks shut, I head into my room and try to become one with my bed. But the second I close my eyes, I think about Will. How he took it upon himself to look for me at Marco’s. I pull out my phone and read his texts again. I know it’s silly. The odds of anything serious happening between us in the long term couldn’t be slimmer. But also. Maybe the long term doesn’t matter. Maybe we can just see each other one more time and take it from there.
I decide to call him.
He picks up on the first ring.
“Is now a bad time?” I ask. “Now’s probably a bad —”
“Now is perfect.” Hearing his laugh in my ear makes me wish I could see it with my eyes — the way his cheeks dimple and his eyes light up. “I just got home, actually.”
“Oh. Good.”
“You’re not calling me from jail, are you?” he asks. “Sorry, that was in poor taste. I’m relieved you called. It means you’re okay. Right?”
“As okay as possible.”
“Right.” He pauses. “I should confess that I Googled you after Marco told me what was going on.” Another pause. “And holy shit, dude. Should I be worried?”
My throat tightens. On the one hand, it’s a relief to know everything is out in the open and we can potentially start over from a place of transparency. On the other hand, the guy I like just admitted to scrolling through online news coverage of my arrest warrant. That’s not a good look!
“I promise this was not a typical week for me,” I tell him. “And to be fair — it was my mom’s ex’s house that we burned down.” I pause. “My ex… we just trashed his car.”
“Lucky me — I prefer Uber.” He smirks through the phone. “Manhattan parking and all.”
I blush. “You must think I’m psychotic.”
“That’s what’s so interesting!” he says. “I’ve been replaying all the time we spent together this week in my head. I didn’t get a psycho vibe from you at all. I mean, sure — a little messy. But not entirely unhinged.” He chuckles. “But maybe I misjudged. Perhaps I can reevaluate tomorrow night. You know, during your NYC debut at the Laugh Loft.”
My entire body melts into a cheesy smile.
And then I remember.
“Shit. So. My mom and I are legally forbidden from leaving the state of New Jersey right now.”
“Yeah…”
The line goes silent for a few unbearable seconds as I question my decision to make this phone call in the first place. He’s probably actively realizing that he’s on the phone with a felon. He had fun joking about it in the abstract, but now he’s grasping the fact that it’s real. He’s probably formulating his excuse for why we need to never speak to each other again.
Is he typing? I hear typing.
Oh, God.
He’s writing out his rejection of me long-form so he has something to recite from. Why did I do this to myself?
“So…” he finally says.
“It’s fine,” I say. “You don’t need to —”
“I found a club in downtown Jersey City with open mic at eight. You in?”