I caressed her head gently, passing my fingers through her dark hair. “You’re welcome, Peanut. Sleep tight.”
“Love you,” she said unthinkingly. I couldn’t believe my ears. Mary had loved me in the past, but I had been absolutely sure that she despised me by now. The fact that deep down she still had it in her almost made me cry. I had no right to feel so relieved, considering I had been the one who ruined our family.
Nevertheless, I missed them so much.
“I love you too.”
ROBERTO
“Hey, Rob, wake up!”
I shifted uncomfortably in my bed, until someone brutally shook me, dragging me out of my dreams. Marco was staring at me with a weird expression.
“You’re green,” I said, yawning loudly. His face was, literally, the color green.
“I think I’m dying.”
More annoyed than worried, I looked at my phone. It was 6 a.m. “You’re not dying, you’re hungover, you idiot.”
“Do you think so? Because I’m sweating a lot.”
“Hangover.”
“I’m about to throw up.”
“Still a hangover, and don’t throw up in my room.”
“The thing is that I need to, but I can’t.”
I put a hand on my stupid brother’s shoulder and said, dryly, before falling back in my bed, “Good luck with that.” Marco started shaking me again. I seriously thought about kicking him out. “What the hell do you want?”
“Can you stick your fingers in my mouth and make me vomit?”
I was losing patience. “First, do it yourself. Second, you smell disgusting. Third, how the hell did you get so wasted?”
“We had a wine tasting contest.”
“You got drunk in your own house, in front of your parents?”
“Dad said I could join in too.”
I massaged my temples to calm down. Mom and Dad were so irresponsible sometimes. “Then go ask him to stick his fingers down your throat.”
“What’s with this commotion at this hour of the day?” Mom’s loud voice interrupted us as she appeared beside my door. She had her apron on, already stained with tomato sauce. From downstairs, I could smell the ragù cooking slowly in the kitchen.
I sighed and said, “Your youngest son, who, let me remind you, is still a minor, is hungover because you and your husband let him get wasted last night.”
With her arms on her hips, she looked at me proudly, and said, “Good. Now that he knows what it feels like, he’s never getting drunk again.”
I was tempted to slap my own face to make sure this was really happening. “I’m not sure that’s how it works, Ma.”
“Mamma, make it stop, please,” Marco pleaded.
Mom gently patted his head. “Oh baby, stop whining. Come downstairs, Mamma will make you a tisana.”
I scoffed. “He doesn’t need a tisana, he needs a new brain. You both do.”
Mom wasn’t impressed. “Don’t you give me your smart talk. And come down to the kitchen. Since you’re up, you’ll help me fry the eggplants for the parmigiana.”
I looked at the display of my phone once again. “Mamma, it’s 6 a.m.!”
JAMES
I hadn’t slept so deeply in a while. I woke to the delicious smell of coffee coming from downstairs, which made my stomach groan in anticipation.
I went down and found Mom, Dad and Mary at the table in the backyard, having breakfast.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” Mom said with a smile. “Dad went to get us some croissants at the bakery for breakfast. I thought it might be nice to try the classic Italian breakfast for once.”
They had laid the table nicely with coffee cups, spoons and those tiny plates Italians use to serve coffee. Mom had made espresso and in the middle of the table lay a tray full of croissants. They were stuffed with either cream, Nutella or jam, and they looked delicious.
Mary was already devouring a Nutella croissant, and Dad was drinking his espresso while reading the paper.
I sat down and Mom served me the coffee. “Milk?” she asked, and I just nodded.
The three of them seemed way more relaxed compared to the previous days. I remembered once again Dr. Westermann’s checklist, and I wondered if I could try speaking to Dad. I gulped some air and tentatively said, without looking straight at him, “Is that newspaper in English?”
Dad didn’t move his eyes from the page, but he replied, in a normal tone of voice, “Yes, it’s the Guardian. Mr. Troester told me yesterday they have international newspapers at the big newsstand in front of the station, so I went to take a look.”
A giggle escaped Mary’s mouth, and I turned to her. “That guy’s name is Toaster?!” She wasn’t being as sassy and unpleasant as usual. I noted, not without surprise, that she wasn’t holding her phone.
Dad raised his eyebrows. “It’s Troester, with an ‘R.’ Ah, I made the same mistake last night. That was embarrassing.”
Mary and I exchanged a perplexed look. For a moment, it felt like we had gone back to a year ago, when things weren’t so awkward among the four of us. I didn’t add anything, afraid to ruin that quiet moment. We ate our breakfast silently, and the only noises we heard were, as always, coming from Roberto’s house.
“I woke up at eight today and I saw Rosa and her kids already in the kitchen from our bedroom window. They sure wake up early,” Mom commented.
“Yesterday Giuseppe and the guys said they’d pull an all-nighter to go fishing this morning,” Dad added. “They invited me to join them.”
Mary’s eyes widened. “You?”
“Why?” Dad looked a little offended. “I might go next time.”
“Yeah, sure, sweetheart,” Mom said, winking at me and Mary.
The door of our neighbor’s house opened suddenly and Rosa’s loud voice screamed something as Roberto came out. He turned around and replied to her just as loudly, making that universally recognized gesture with his hand that apparently meant “what do you want?” They said something else before he closed the door behind his back. He went to the garage and returned to the backyard with a bicycle.
“Good morning, Roberto,” Mom said, waving at him.
He turned to us and blessed us with the most charming smile we poor commoners could ever have wished for.
“Good morning, Claire, Richard,” he said to my parents and then, moving his eyes to us, he concluded, “and children.” I didn’t realize he knew my parents’ names.
“You’re up early,” Mom said.
“Yeah, I have to run some errands for Mom,” he explained. “Marco was supposed to come with me, but he’s… currently incapacitated.”
Dad scoffed, “I called it last night.”
I met Roberto’s eyes for a moment, and I wasn’t expecting him to say, “James, wanna come? You can take Marco’s bike.”
I could feel my croissant stop halfway through my stomach and try to make its way back. My whole family looked at me expectantly.
“Go, sweetie,” Mom said, “might be a nice change for once.”