And of course, that was the moment her mother threw open the door, in a dress that I would guess cost more than my rent. “So nice to see you again, Vinnie,” she snickered, offering a pinched smile. “And thank you for wearing pants. Some of us have no interest in seeing your, how did you put it?”
“Magic cock,” Andy's father muttered from just inside the door, and if I could've ceased to exist in that moment, I would've been grateful.
“Sorry about that,” I muttered, smiling sheepishly.
“Ah, it's fine, relax,” her dad said, laughing and offering a hand. I accepted and we shook for a brief moment, before he waved into the house. “Come in, come in.”
Andy's mother stepped out of the way, allowing us entrance. I noticed that she hadn't laughed or smiled, and while I felt like I was in her father's good graces, I knew I was officially on her shit list. I didn't expect to ever be off of it, and that hurt.
“Happy anniversary,” I said to them, standing awkwardly in the foyer, while Andy abandoned me to hurry off toward the kitchen. I watched the fabric of her flowing dress trail behind her and silently begged her to come back before her mother had a chance to castrate me.
“Thank you,” she replied, standing tall.
“So, forty years, huh? That's great.”
“Long time,” her father replied, wrapping an arm around his wife and kissing her cheek. “But it's been worth every second.”
“I hope we're all that lucky,” I complimented, smiling at the genuine curl of her lips.
Her smile faded as she asked, “Do you plan on getting married one day?”
“Uh ...” I glanced toward the kitchen, wishing Andy would rescue me at that very second. “I mean ...”
“Don't put him on the spot like that,” Andy’s dad said, reaching out to clap a hand against my shoulder. “When he's ready to marry Andrea, he'll let us know. Right, Vin?”
The corner of my mouth ticked, twitching into a half-smile at the thought of marrying Andy and the idea of making her my wife. Could a future like that really be in the cards for a guy like me?
“Well, we'll see,” her mother quickly added, narrowing her eyes at her husband and then at me. “That wouldn't be happening for a long, long time. And who knows what'll happen before then, right, Vinnie?”
I could only imagine what she was implying, and none of it could be good. But, as much as I didn't want to admit it, she was also right. Who really knew? There was plenty of room for me to fuck things up, for Andy to find out about my little secret stash and leave. And then, what? Depression? Rock bottom? Overdose?
The possibilities were endless.
“Yeah,” I replied, my voice gruff. “Right.”
***
I learned something about Andy's family—both immediate and extended—that night.
They were all wealthy, and they were all, for the most part, assholes.
As one of her parents' three daughters, she had deserted me on more than one occasion to help with the party, leaving me to stand alone in the middle of the decorated yard, a ruffed-up mutt surrounded by wolves. I felt their eyes on me, curious and questioning as they picked apart my bargain bin button-up and hand-me-down slacks, as they wondered why I held a bottle of water and not a glass of champagne. They didn't know I had worn the very same clothes to my father's funeral, just a couple of weeks before, but I did. They didn't know that one of their cars cost more than what I made in a year, but I did. They didn't know I had snuck a glance at the little bag of cocaine right before leaving the apartment, but I did. And with every comparison I made, the more I wished for a drink, or better yet, the coke that I'd left taped to the medicine cabinet.
“So, what do you do?” her cousin, Brad, asked, sipping slowly from an etched tumbler.
“I work at my family's pizza place.”
He nodded. “Is it just the one or do they own a chain?”
That was what he asked, but what he really wanted to know was, how successful are you? So, I replied, “Just the one. But that's intentional.” Which wasn't a lie. After the restaurant took a turn toward success several years ago, Pops could have afforded to open up another Famiglia Bella in a different part of Manhattan, or maybe in Brooklyn, my old stomping grounds. But he decided