"This war between them was basically our whole lives. I don't remember a single day where it wasn't a factor. It dictated what we did, where we went, what we could say… it dictated everything. And now it's just over and I can't help but feel…"
"Free?" Dante guessed.
"Robbed."
"Robbed?"
"They're both dead, and it's over, but like… who won?"
"Who won?"
"We just played a game of Monopoly that was almost twenty years long and nobody got the damn monopoly. Nobody put a hotel on Boardwalk. They just threw in all their cards."
Dante ran his hands down his face. "I'm pretty sure we won, Genna."
"Us?"
"Yeah, we're alive, aren't we? I'm calling that a win."
"I guess so," she muttered. "And it's freeing, too, but damn… worst game of all time."
"You're funny."
"And you're drunk. When's the last time you ate? You're looking kind of… like shit."
"I'm fine."
"Uh, no, you're not. You're rocking the 'I'll suck a dick for a cheeseburger' look." She waved her finger around at him. "And a Mets shirt? Really? Worst Yankees fan of all time."
He looked down at his shirt. "Yeah, it's… somebody's."
"A female somebody?" Genna asked. "Maybe one that hails from Jersey?"
He cut his eyes at her. "How'd you guess?"
"I didn't guess, dumb ass. She's how I knew where to find you."
"Oh."
That was all he could think to say. Oh.
"Oh?" Genna repeated. "That's all you've got to say?"
He shrugged. "What else is there to say?"
She stared at him with disbelief before shaking her head and grabbing his arm. "Come on, I'm sure there's something in the fridge we can eat to sober you up a bit so you can tell me about this girlfriend you supposedly have, because drunk Dante is acting like it's all completely normal and I don't know what to make of that."
Dante didn't resist, staggering along with her down the stairs. "I don't know if we can call her my girlfriend now."
"Why not?"
"Because," he said, "I don't know."
"Well, that clears it up," Genna said, dragging him into the kitchen. She flicked on the light, waltzing right over to the fridge, while Dante leaned against the wall. She shifted things around, pulling out leftover containers, yanking off lids and sniffing the contents. She walked back and forth across the room, tossing stuff into the trashcan.
Dante watched her, laughing as she stood in front of the microwave, absently rocking back and forth, heating something up. "You waddle."
She turned his way. "Excuse me?"
"You waddle when you walk," he said. "Like a penguin."
She pointed a fork at him as the microwave beeped. "Say that again and I will stab you."
"Won't be the first one to do it." Dante pulled up his shirt, looking at the scars on his side. One was smoother than the other, professionally sewn up, while the second was more of a jagged gash, like a chunk had been taken out.
"Who the hell stabbed you?"
"Tweedle-whatever." Dante dropped his shirt again. "One of those assholes. Got me right after I dropped you off for community service that day. Then he got me again, a few months ago, at a bar over in Soho."
"Why were you at a bar in Soho?"
"I went to see Barsanti."
"Seriously? Are you crazy?"
"That's the same thing Gabriella asked."
"Well, then, that means the motion has been seconded, which makes that shit law. You've officially lost your mind."
Genna filled two plates with food before heading to the dining room. Dante followed, watching as she set them on the table, sitting in the same chair she'd sat in for family dinner, not hesitating before sliding the second plate across from her. Dante glared at it as he walked over, plopping down in the chair at the head of the table, a chair no one had ever sat in except for Primo. Dante grabbed the plate and stared down at the food. It was a horrendous buffet of whatever she'd found, from leftover pasta to scraps of shredded lettuce and a crouton or two. "What is this shit?"
"Something to put in your stomach," she answered, taking a bite out of a pickle.
"I'm not hungry."
"Doesn't matter," she said. "You need to eat."
He stabbed at some lump of something with a fork. "You sound like Gavin."
"Oh, ugh… don't even mention that guy to me right now."
"He's my best friend these days. Or he was. Don't know if we can call him that now."
"I thought I was your best friend."
"You died," Dante said, taking a bite. "He knew the truth and didn't tell me."