taken only a sliver of lasagna, and when the plates were cleared and that sliver was left, it would look like she’d eaten the rest of a full piece.
The lasagna smelled really good, though—Mamma used Nonna’s old recipe—and Lia sighed inwardly as her mouth watered. Her new way of eating was a lifestyle change, not a diet, but sometimes it was hard to remember that.
Like when her mother, who was not skinny herself and had always been a cheerleader for body positivity and ‘health at any size,’ made Lia’s favorite fattening foods.
Her father cleared his throat and let his gaze rest on Mamma. It was his sign for wanting to change the subject, usually because it was something he wanted discussed in his office, seriously, and not at the dinner table.
But that didn’t make sense. How are your classes going, honey wasn’t exactly a subject ripe for controversy.
So she answered Mamma’s question. “They’re going well. Tryouts for the holiday musical are next week. We’re doing White Christmas.”
Last year, she’d hadn’t gotten any featured roles in any of the campus productions. After a high school spent starring or at least speaking in all the student productions, that had been a hard blow. She knew she was good—and not just high-school good.
In the spring, she’d gone to the chair of the theater department to ask what she needed to do to get featured parts. The answer had been to lose weight. If she wanted to be a star, she had to lose weight.
So she’d lost weight. Now she was going for the role of Betty, the lead female role in White Christmas.
“What does that have to do with your classes?” Papa asked.
Lia was surprised, and she set her fork down. Her father had always been supportive of her desire to be an actor. He maybe didn’t totally understand it, but he’d never been critical. He wanted her to be happy. “Well, Papa, I’m a theater major. So being in the productions is part of my degree.”
“What about your other classes?” There was a challenging tone in his voice Lia didn’t know what to do with.
“Nick,” her mother said.
Papa’s eyes shifted to Mamma. He took a drink of water and returned his attention to Lia. “I’m sorry, gattina. I guess I’m not in a very good mood this evening. I don’t mean to be harsh.”
“It’s okay, Papa. I know you don’t. And it’s early, but so far I have As in everything, I think.”
“We should talk about this after dinner,” he said. Which was a fairly alarming statement, though he said it kindly. Why did they have to wait to talk about school? Her grades were good. She hadn’t complained about anything. She liked college, her apartment, her friends …
Oh no. He wanted to talk about last Friday night. Oh no, oh no.
Carina snorted gleefully. “Oh man, you’re in trouble! What’d you do? Finally Little Miss Goody Goody Sweet Shoes gets the lash!”
“Cara, hush,” Papa warned, his voice low and soft.
That tone of voice meant business, and Carina’s smart mouth snapped shut. ‘Getting the lash’ was a shared turn of phrase among the siblings, but neither of their parents had ever touched any of them in anger. They’d hardly ever yelled—Mamma sometimes, when they got crazy all at once, but Papa never.
But that didn’t mean it wasn’t intimidating as hell to be on the wrong side of their parents’ approval. Mamma and Papa (especially Papa) could make discipline plenty painful without ever uttering even a harsh word. ‘The lash’ came with a look.
Lia turned to Mamma and found bright blue eyes soft with compassion. The contrast with Papa’s determined green gaze was one each and every of their four children knew very well: Papa had decided something, and Mamma disagreed but had conceded.
Whatever it was, Lia knew she would hate it.
~oOo~
The rest of the dinner was stilted and quiet. Even Carina, who could usually be counted on to have a colorful story, or at least say something snarky, focused on her food and asked to be excused at her earliest chance.
Then it was just Lia and her parents, sitting at the big dining room table with three empty chairs.
“You hardly had any lasagna, Lia,” Mamma said gently. “Or even your salad.”
Lia’s appetite had died out with the realization that an unpleasant conversation loomed.
It honestly had not occurred to her that her parents would want to discuss what had happened at Sig Rho. Now that it had occurred to her, she still couldn’t believe