Chapter 6
He taps the stick legs.
"And why are my legs like a Wi-Fi signal. I look like I fall over when air moves."
He stabs his finger at the hands, laughing. "And what are these???" he asks, barely able to talk. "Paws? Claws?? Am I about to play the piano or cast a spell?"
Antonio is fully cackling now. "No, listen," Gio says to me, dead serious. "If this guy knocked on our door, would you let him in? Be honest. Look at this face. This is 'Hi, I'm here to talk to you about your car's extended warranty' energy."
I'm crying. "And don't even get me started on the smile," he adds. "That is not a normal human smile. That is 'I haven't slept in twelve years, but I just found a coupon' smile. Why do I look like I know secrets I shouldn't know?"
"That's happy Daddy," Antonio says, laughing like crazy. Gio pauses. Looks at it again. "Damn," he mutters. He clears his throat, flips instantly into dramatic mode.
"Okay, official review," he says, holding the drawing like a critic. "The proportions are insane, the anatomy is illegal, the eyes haunt my soul, but the vibe is ten out of ten. Mentally unstable, emotionally available. You nailed me."
He kisses Antonio's forehead. "I'm putting this on the fridge," he says. "So every time I go for a snack, I remember that in your heart I look like a cracked-out Muppet."
He hands the drawing to me. "Scan this. If I ever die, this goes on the funeral program."
"Gio," I groan, laughing. "Relax."
"No, I'm serious," he says. "People will walk in, see this, and go, 'Yeah. That tracks.'"
I have to look away for a second because, yeah, my heart can't handle that. "Okay," I clap my hands once. "Next. Self-portrait. Draw yourself."
Antonio groans dramatically. "Fine," he says, dragging out the word. He is acting like we're forcing him into unpaid labor, but deep down, I know he enjoys it.
He grabs a fresh sheet and starts again.
"Make your hair good," Gio says. "You have better hair than us. Show off."
He does. Antonio slams a new page on the table like, boom, family album. "ALL," he says. "Everyone."
Gio leans over, looks once... and absolutely loses his mind. He throws his head back and starts laughing so hard no sound comes out. "Oh my— Rava. Rava. Look at us," he wheezes. "Look at this little LGBTQ parade. We're literally four Skittles under a rainbow."
I lean in and yeah, it's... all of us?!
Four stick people, all different colors, giant smiles, little noodle legs, a rainbow exploding over our heads. Antonio is vibrating with pride.
"Okay, wait," Gio says, wiping his eyes. "Point and explain. Who is who."
Antonio points. "This is Dada," he says, tapping the pink one. "This is Daddy." He points at the big blue head.
Gio squints. "Why is my head the biggest again. Why do I look like I came here to eat the other three."
"This is me." Antonio points at the purple one, laughing.
"And the cursed salad at the end?" Gio asks. "Who is Shrek over there in green?"
"That's... Blu," Antonio says, very serious.
I choke. "You made the dog a person?"
"He walk," Antonio shrugs. "He is people."
Gio slams the table, crying. "I fucking love this kid." He leans closer to the paper, still laughing. "Okay, let's start from the top," he says.
"First of all, the rainbow. Iconic. Love the gay agenda. We didn't even tell him and he said, 'Yeah, my parents are under a rainbow 24/7.'"
He points at the pink stick. "Dada looks... nice," he says. "Look at the arms. Too open. Very 'I will listen to your problems and bake cookies about it.'"
I snort. "I mean, yeah?"
"Then you've got purple Antonio," Gio continues. "He looks emo."
Antonio giggles hard. Gio taps the blue one, him. "And then there's me," he says. "Why am I this shade of blue. Why do I look like a Twitter logo."
I'm gone. "Also," he continues, "these legs again?? I look like I'll snap in half if someone sneezes too close to me. Antonio, baby, do I really look that skinny to you?"
"Yes," Antonio says, absolutely no hesitation. "Damn," Gio says. "Our kid is blind, Rava."
We laugh in silence. He moves to the green stick. "And here we have Blu," he announces. "No ears, no tail, just... suspicious little man. Looks like he sells weed behind the playground."
I gasp, laughing.
"No, seriously. Tell me I'm wrong," Gio says. "Look at this face! This is 'woof woof, give me your wallet' face."
Antonio is squealing. I scoop all the papers into my hands. "Antonio," I say, absolutely serious, "you outdid yourself. For real. These are insane. You're a hidden talent."
He lights up. Gio nods, still laughing, eyes shiny from crying. Antonio suddenly throws his arms around me, little body pressing into my side.
I melt instantly. "Oh, come here," I murmur, dropping the papers on the table and wrapping him up completely. I pull him onto my lap and kiss his cheek, his hair, his forehead.
"We're living with an artist, Gio," I say into Antonio's hair. "You need to respect that."
"I do," Gio says. "I respect him more than I respect myself at this point." Gio scoots closer and just grabs both of us, one arm around me, one around Antonio, dragging us against his chest.
Antonio squishes between us, giggling.
"Okay," Gio says quietly, kissing the top of Antonio's head and then mine.
"New house rule. We listen to the artist. Whatever he draws, we are." Antonio leans back. "I draw more later," he announces.
"Can't wait, king," Gio says.
26) You’re Not Pregnant
Gio
We're sitting at the police station, right across from Tweedle-Dumb and Tweedle-Dumber, and plot twist: I don't even fucking know them. The thieves.
At all.
They know me, though. Of course they do. Everybody knows me. Rava is a genius, officially.
They actually came back for round two. Only this time, not only did they not take shit, we got to find out where all our things from the first robbery are.
Not in our hands yet, but we know where they're stashed. All of it. His stuff. My bike. Everything. These guys are bricks. I'm serious. They didn't sell anything, didn't move it, didn't strip it, nothing. Just kept it for themselves.
Like, what's the plan here, my guy?
You think you're gonna ride my BMW around town and I'll just be like, "Oh wow, crazy coincidence, some random dude has the exact same custom engraving as mine with the letters G, R and A, what are the odds, must be the universe."
Idiots.
I hope they have a great time in prison. Really. Spa retreat. Because apparently this isn't even their first rodeo. They've got a whole file. I saw the folder and wanted to beat them with it.
I feel stupidly grateful that the only thing missing from us was objects. Things. Metal, leather, plastic. Not people.
If even one hair had moved from Rava or Antonio, I swear to God I would've killed them right there and I'd be the one in a cell and they'd be in a coffin.
Rava is next to me.
He's here as witness, ready to sign everything. Me too. Let's just get this shit done.
Stamp, signature, bye-bye. Close this chapter. Because we have somewhere to be today.
Valentina finally has an ultrasound we can actually make it to on time. No cops, no chaos, no last-minute "sorry, there was a robbery and we're traumatized" excuse.
We're going. I'm not missing my daughter on that screen again. Every time we go, it's the most embarrassing thing ever. Rava cries quietly and then lies about it if you bring it up.
"No, I didn't, it was allergies."
Yeah okay, king, allergies to your unborn child's heartbeat. We ask the dumbest questions, too. Stuff like, "Can she hear us if we argue?"
"Does she know we're gay?"
"Can she be stressed already or is that just us?"
The doctor laughs every single time. Valentina is always just as lost as we are. Every time the doctor says something new about the babies, she just stares like, "Wow, they come with that too?!"
It's like watching someone read a manual while the device is already running inside her.
Honestly, we couldn't have found a better girl to carry our kid. She's responsible, she listens, she doesn't disappear, she takes care of herself, she takes this seriously, but not in that dramatic, self-sacrificing way.
Thank God she's not one of those: "Oh no, I gave birth and now I'm devastated because I feel like I'm giving my baby away." I swear, sometimes I feel like some of them don't fully understand what they signed up for.
Valentina knew exactly what she was doing. She's doing it because she wants to help us have a kid, not because she wants a free emotional meltdown at the end.
I've met women who get paid, sign the papers, carry the baby, give birth, and then suddenly start playing victim like, "They're taking my child from me."
Be for real. You weren't upset when you saw the money, huh? You weren't crying when you signed the contract and picked the stroller with your paycheck in your head. But now it's magically your baby? I don't get it. At all.
Valentina is the exact opposite. Every time we see her she's like, "The next one, you're carrying, Gio, I'm tired," and then laughs.
Chill as hell.
Zero weird guilt, zero drama, zero "this is secretly mine." She knows exactly what she's doing and why she's doing it.
"Fontana?" the officer calls. We both stand up at the same time. I smile. We walk over to the desk. I lean in and kiss the top of Rava's head as we go.
I swear, sometimes I want to punch him. His perfection is irritating.
We sign together. Done. The officer thanks us, says the usual shit about "we'll keep you updated," and I glance back at the two idiots in cuffs.
I give them a little nod like, have fun, boys. That's all they're getting from me. Then we're out.
We step outside into real air, walk to the car. Valentina is in the front passenger seat, Antonio in his car seat behind her, turned slightly so he can lean forward.
He's mid-presentation. As soon as the door opens I hear him: "AND THIS ONE—" in his tiny voice. He's holding his drawings with both hands, showing them to her.