Chapter 8
“Ican’t believe you guys missed the pumpkin pie,” Jen says as the family gathers for the Friday afternoon karaoke tournament.
Rocco and I are cozy on the patio sofa. We spent the whole of last night together and most of today.
“Yeah, where have you two been?” Jill asks, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.
“Shut it, sister,” I say. Rocco’s arm is wrapped around my shoulders, and he adjusts my shawl against the cold and warms my temple with a kiss.
Mom and Dad look at each other conspiratorially. Yes, they are taking full credit for pushing us together. They can have it. I’m lucky to have parents who care this much about my happiness.
Dad fires up the karaoke machine and announces on the mic, “Remember, guys, it’s showtunes only.”
A chorus of “We know!” rings out across the expansive deck as Uncle Ricky and Aunt Beth grab the mics. They kick off the evening with their rendition of a favorite love song from West Side Story.
Just then, the phone in my pocket rings. I look at the screen to see who’s calling, and my entire mood changes. The wind is cold as I step off the deck, out of earshot, and Rocco follows me, wrapping a blanket over the shawl as I answer the phone.
The woman on the phone is Debbie from human resources. “We reviewed your file today, and it turns out you were wrongly let go. Although you received a previous verbal warning, protocol requires a written warning before termination. The company has a three-strikes policy that wasn’t followed.”
Well, it’s nice to be vindicated on that score. “Okay, so what does that mean for me?”
Debbie tells me I can either have my job back or receive six months’ severance. I bite my lip and look at Rocco. “I’ll get back to you first thing Monday.”
I hang up and tell Rocco everything.
“You’re taking the six months, right?” Rocco asks.
I stare at him. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t?”
“Rocco, I was barely scraping by. There’s no guarantee that money will last long enough for me to find another job that pays better,” I explain.
Rocco pulls me toward him and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Sweetheart. You’re adorable.”
My rapid blinking in confusion makes him laugh. “What’s all the mirth about?”
“Take the job with your mom’s company. Or let your dad find you a job. Better yet, let me help you find something to do that you like.”
“But, nepotism…” I say weakly.
“Fuck it,” Rocco says. “Move in with me and do nothing, if that’s what makes you happy. It’s time to accept help when you’re offered it.”
“Rocco…”
“If you think I’m going to let my girlfriend survive on ramen noodles while working for a boss that behaves that way, you’re sorely mistaken.”
The stare-down that follows doesn’t last long. “So I’m supposed to do what? Be your sugar baby?”
He laughs. Those big hands grip the blanket, pulling me close. “What you’re supposed to do,” he says, kissing my lips tenderly, “…is be my future.”
I close my eyes and accept his claiming kiss, sealing me to him.
We return to the party as Dad and Mom are wrapping up a duet from Phantom of the Opera. It’s so cheesy, it’s wonderful.
“I can’t believe what I’ve been missing,” Rocco says in my ear as we cuddle on the deck.
I turn to catch his lips in a soft kiss. “Not anymore. You’re stuck with this family for good. I hope you know that.”
“You might change your mind once you hear me sing,” he says.
Moments later, I sit in shocked awe as Rocco sings every word of the love song from The Lion King. Elizabeth jumps to her feet to sing along, elated at this dark horse in the running.
Too bad his singing is dreadfully off-key.
And yet, in the end, he wins the shiny, gold trophy in a landslide.
“You were playing hardball, picking a song that the kids would like,” I tease him later, after the crowd disperses.
“I always play for keeps. Come on.” He holds the back door open.
Everyone else has headed out to the bonfire for s’mores, and it’s just Rocco and me in the kitchen.
I watch as he opens the fridge and pulls out a leftover container, then grabs two forks.
“What’s this?” I ask.
He slides the container over to me as I sit at the breakfast nook, my mouth agape. “You saved me pumpkin pie? How?”
Rocco laughs and sits down across from me, taking one of the forks. “It wasn’t easy. Your family is serious about this pie.”
It’s as delicious as always.
“Oh,” he says. “I almost forgot.”
Rocco goes back to the fridge and returns with the spray can of whipped topping.
He’s about to spray it on top of my slice of pie but instead, I point to my open mouth.
“Huh?”
I laugh. “Just spray it into my mouth,” I say.
“Phrasing,” he says, but does as I ask.
It’s all I can do not to spurt whipped cream out of my nose from laughing.
“I love you, Tiff.”
I sit back and stare up at him. “Now you.”
“Have I not humiliated myself enough tonight?”
“Go on,” I insist. “We may as well eat it all up and make more room in the fridge.”
“Well, if it’s for a good cause.” He leans back and sprays what remains of the can into his mouth.
“I love you too, Rocco.” And I have a feeling I will. For as long as there are Thanksgivings and pumpkin pies and movie marathons to be had.
THE END
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