Chapter 1 Parenthood #3
I lose it. "He's explaining that the red one in front is Gio's car, the boss, and the rest are his soldiers."
"OOOH, okay!" Lorenzo nods like he just cracked the code. "This one's your dad's?"
Antonio nods proudly.
"Nice... but, uh, I drive better than your dad."
And that's when it happens. Something no one saw coming. Antonio freezes. His tiny face falls apart.
And then he starts crying.
Lorenzo covers his mouth with both hands, his eyes go wide. I'm just as stunned, but Gio's already cackling. "Serves you right," Gio says, grinning. "He's my biggest fan."
"I didn't mean it!" Lorenzo blurts.
"Relax," I say, trying not to laugh. "He'll get over it in two minutes." Gio scoops Antonio up, wipes his tears. "Hey, champ. The uncle didn't mean I'm not a good driver, okay? You got sad 'cause he said he's better?"
Antonio sniffles and nods, tiny nose running. Gio chuckles, rubbing his back.
"Antonio," I say gently, leaning closer, "Uncle Lolezo just meant he's really good too, like Daddy! Sometimes one wins, sometimes the other. Both super good drivers, right? You've seen Lolezo drive lots of times."
Antonio sniffles again, wipes his cheeks with his sleeve. "Yeah."
"So why be sad then, huh?" Gio wipes the last of the tears from Antonio's cheeks and speaks with that dad-voice he gets when he's trying not to laugh. "Hey, listen to me for a sec, champ." Antonio sniffles, his little hands still clutching the red car.
"Okay," Gio says, "so, sometimes people say stuff we don't like. Does that mean we cry every time?"
Antonio shakes his head.
"Exactly. We don't cry, because it doesn't change what they said, right?
We just breathe, think about it, and move on.
" He taps the red car gently. "You know how this one's fast?
But there are other cars that are fast too?
Same thing with people. Daddy's a good driver.
Uncle Lolezo's a good driver. Dada's good at a bunch of things I'm not. "
Antonio tilts his head, thinking. "See? There's always gonna be someone who's good at something. That's cool. You can learn from them instead of getting sad. You gotta be proud of other people sometimes, yeah?"
Antonio nods slowly. Gio smiles. "Good. 'Cause you know what happens when you do that?"
"What?" Antonio mumbles.
"You get better too. That's how it works. Winners don't whine, they learn."
Antonio grins a little, probably because the word whine sounds funny. Gio ruffles his hair, using a softer voice now. "I'm proud of you, okay? You're allowed to feel things, but we don't let small stuff ruin our day. Deal?"
Antonio nods again, firm this time.
"Good boy," Gio says, kissing the top of his head. "Now go show Uncle Lolezo how you drive without crying this time."
Antonio jumps off his lap, runs straight to Lorenzo yelling, "RACE!" Gio leans back against the couch, smirking. "That's my boy," he mutters. "Drama fixed."
Lorenzo crouches down beside them. "Antonio, it was just a joke, okay? Even if I wanna be, your daddy's the best. Always. But don't cry, you're making me sad now, alright?"
Antonio nods.
"Good," Lorenzo says softly. "Now come here. Give your favorite uncle a hug. No hard feelings, right?"
Antonio shakes his head, climbs into his arms. Lorenzo hugs him tight, muttering over his head, "Jesus Christ, I almost had a heart attack." Gio smirks. "Yeah, you hit a sensitive spot. We'll work on that."
3) I’m Sorry
Gio
I put the little king down for his nap. Finally. Silence. Walk into the kitchen literally half-asleep, rubbing my eyes.
Rava is there. Leaning on the counter, hands planted on the corners. Head down. What the fuck now?
"Hey, what happened?" I mumble, touching his waist. He lifts his head.
Oh.
Jesus Christ. That look. "What the hell happened?!"
"Come here," he says.
That tone is not friendly. Not even close. He's standing in front of a glass of milk. Just staring at it.
He nods at it. "Put your hand in."
"...What?!"
"Your hand," he repeats. "In the milk."
I squint at him. "Rava, have you lost your damn mind?" He exhales sharply, and mutters, "Fine. I'll do it for you." He dips his hand in the glass, and when it comes back out... he's holding his AirPods and a flash drive.
"What the—what is that?"
He looks at me, cold. "The project I've been working on... for my students. The one I was planning to finish after Christmas."
His voice cuts clean, no emotion left. "It would've been fine if you'd just listened and locked the door like I said."
"Oh, so it's my fault now?" I shoot back. "Why'd you leave it where Antonio could reach it?"
His mouth falls open. "Unbelievable. You're blaming me? Should I apologize, too?!"
I rub my face. "I'm just saying, we've got a kid who spins like a damn tornado all day. It probably happened while we were cleaning the table or something."
"I don't care when it happened," he snaps. "I'm not blaming the kid, obviously. I'm blaming you, because you ignore me every time I ask you to do something."
"So you think I heard you and ignored you? Maybe it slipped my mind, or maybe you whispered it under your breath while the baby was screaming. Jesus."
He glares. "Now I'm supposed to lose all my work because you can't listen."
I throw my hands up. "Calling me deaf isn't gonna bring your damn project back, you know that, right? Stop looking for someone to crucify."
He goes quiet. Just one cold "Alright."
Then he walks off, leaving the wet flash drive dripping milk on the counter.
No. Fuck that. He's not walking away like that.
I never ignore him. I follow him down the hallway. He heads straight for the bathroom, pissed. The door is halfway closed when I shove my hand against it and walk in.
"I didn't hear you ask," I say. "So don't blame me for that." He turns and looks at me. "Sure. Pretend you didn't hear me. Let's say you didn't, actually. When you saw the door open, did it not cross your mind to close it?"
"Rava," I groan, running a hand through my hair. "I've been sleeping on my feet lately, baby. You too. You know what's been going on these days."
"I do," he says, quieter now, but not soft. "And I get it. But my work got ruined. My effort. Not yours. And if I'd done it to you, at least I'd apologize. I wouldn't try to win the argument."
Then he pushes the door. It clicks shut between us.
"Fuck," I mutter.
I go back to the kitchen. The milk's still there. I grab the flash drive and the AirPods, rinse the milk off with a bit of water, then try to dry them.
What am I even doing.
"Shit," I whisper. Did he actually tell me? Did I just miss it? No way I ignored him. No fucking way.
But Antonio was screaming like a siren, and I was half-dead, trying to find his clothes and everything.
How the hell was I supposed to hear anything through that chaos? I drop the flash drive on a towel, lean on the counter, head down.
…
The milk crime scene is gone, but the silence is still hanging, even after two hours. We're all at the kitchen table now. Papers everywhere. Markers rolling off the edge. Antonio is sitting on Rava's lap, his little feet kicking against his knees.
I'm right next to them, trying to act normal.
He's still not talking to me. He props his chin on his palm and starts sketching.
Three stick figures.
Him tall, perfect hair, little square glasses.
Antonio cute, smiling, messy hair.
Me bald.
No eyebrows. No mercy.
Antonio bursts out laughing. "Daddy got no hair!"
Rava fake gasps. "Oh no. Must've forgotten them. Can you fix it for me?"
Antonio leans forward, all serious with his tongue out, and starts scribbling on my head with a green marker.
Great. Now I look like a radioactive thumb.
I look at Rava, my eyebrows pulled down, not saying a word. His expression shifts, softens.
He looks like he didn't mean to actually hurt me.
Not like that.
Antonio glances between us, clueless little peacekeeper. "Daddy, can we color your tattoos again with Dada?"
Rava starts to say no, but I cut in fast. "Of course we can."
I take my shirt off.
Antonio lights up. I lift him onto the table, right in front of me. He grabs the purple marker.
Rava's eyes trace my chest, slowly. He doesn't say a word, just looks. I could tease him right now, say something dirty, something cocky, but not yet. Not when he still looks so sad.
"So," I say, grinning at Antonio, "which one do you wanna color first?" He points at my arm. "This one!" Then turns to Rava. "You, Dada, this one!" He taps the tattoo on the side of my neck, the one with empty space waiting to be filled.
Rava finally smiles. "Whatever the boss says," he says softly. Antonio giggles. "I'm the boss!"
Rava moves closer, quiet. Picks up a marker. Starts drawing too. Now both of them are using me as their canvas.
Antonio's perched on the table, concentrating hard. "You got so many tattoos, Daddy," he says, with wide eyes.
I smile. "You like 'em?"
He nods fast. "Yeah! You made them?"
I shake my head. "Nah, Uncle Noah did most of them. Some of Dada's too."
He switches colors, grabs an orange this time. We're all quiet now. Just drawing me. Then Antonio stops. Looks up at Rava with that serious little face.
Rava smiles. "What's wrong?"
"Dada… are you sick?"
"What?! Why would I be sick?"
Antonio frowns. "'Cause you don't do kiss-kiss with Daddy when he talks. You did that when… when you were sick."
Then, in a smaller voice, "You don't love him?"
Rava freezes. His eyes are wide open. Then he laughs softly, shaking his head. "Baby, no. Don't ever say that again." He lifts Antonio's chin. "Of course I love Daddy. So much. Nothing could ever change that."
He glances at me. "Sometimes people just get… upset. They make small mistakes, and that makes them sad. But they never stop loving each other."
Antonio looks at him. Rava continues.
"Like the day you dropped that vase and broke it," he adds gently. "Remember? We got mad, because it was wrong, but neither me nor Daddy stopped loving you."