the dining room and sat on the couch next to me. She reached over to tap our mother on the leg. “Ma, did you see what Rocco brought you?” she asked, pulling out the Italian wedding cookies I’d gotten for her.
My mother took her eyes off the TV for a minute and focused on the box, then looked at me. “You got my cookies.” She turned her head toward where my dad was standing. “Did you see that, Billy? Rocco got the cookies, from Joe’s. My son always takes care of me.” That was a jab at my dad, and one he would not take well.
He walked out of the kitchen, a drink in each hand, primed for a fight with my mom, but making sure he gave her a drink first. Had to make sure she was plastered all day, so he could point at her whenever anyone mentioned his drinking.
He bypassed Blue, who was sitting on a blanket playing a game on the iPad I’d gotten her for her birthday. Her red-and-green dress and cute tight curls, so dissonant with the drab and depressing room.
“He takes care of you?” my father asked, pointing a finger at me after he’d handed my mom her fresh drink. “He doesn’t give a shit about you. He’s looking for a way to get himself and his sister as far away from you as possible.” He scoffed at my mother’s crestfallen face.
“He’s ashamed of us. Thinks we’re ‘bad for the baby.’ Fucking nerve. Who do you think put up with this one?” He waved a hand at my sister, who was again on the move setting up the table and avoiding eye contact with my father at all costs. “Huh? Who dealt with her when she was whoring around and skipping school?”
I stood up, ready to tell him that if Sofia was running the streets and acting out it was because she couldn’t cope with this house and their bullshit, but like always, my sister put herself right in between my father and me.
“Food’s ready. Let’s eat.” She put her hand on my shoulder and looked over at the baby, who was eerily unbothered by the screaming adults in the room. “Rocco, why don’t you help me get Blue settled in her booster seat. There are bibs in the bag by the door.” She smiled affectionately at her little girl, but the point was made. We were going to act like everything was fine to get through this meal.
“If not she’ll get red gravy all over her new dress. Right, baby?” She walked over to Blue and picked her up. Walking away from my father and me like a zoo trainer trying to distract two tigers from ripping each other’s throats out.
She came back and handed me the baby, while she got busy coaxing my mom out of the chair. My father just stood there seething. Waiting for any excuse to lunge.
I got Blue buckled in her seat and carried out a pitcher of water from the kitchen while Sofia helped my mom to the table. My stomach turned as I watched her stumble around in the living room, drunk and disoriented. I closed my eyes, feeling sick. I hated that being around my family made me so miserable. I fucking hated that my father was right. I was embarrassed that this was what our family holidays were like. I thought about Thanksgiving dinner and being with Julia’s family. Being here now, with my stomach tight with tension. Every muscle in my body prepared to fight or run.
As we sat down, Sofia made a big deal about saying grace and I just went with it. Hoping we’d get through this meal without one of my father’s explosions.
“This looks so good, Rocco. I can’t believe you got it from Triangolo. You know I love the pasta with the frutti di mare and the branzino for the Seven Fishes.” For the first time since I’d gotten here, I saw my mom’s smile. She looked so pleased with the food. “And the antipasti. Sofia baby, give me some of the sopressata, the spicy one.” She reached over and touched my cheek. “You got all your mama’s favorites, Rocco.”
“I’m glad you like it, Ma.” I looked over at my dad and he was back to staring at me from narrowed eyes, hand gripping his drink.
As we passed platters around, I tried to work past the knot in my throat and put some food on my plate.