24. Lennie
Lennie
I get an entire train ride to imagine what I’m going to say.
Most of the speeches in my head sound great.
Half I’ll probably never have the courage to say and the rest fall somewhere between the lines of ‘I’m twenty-six and dating who I wish’ and ‘Please for the love of God don’t kill my boyfriend’.
Home is warmer than I expected it to be.
Mom’s style is traditional but it’s just as peaceful as Elijah’s open and airy space.
The rugs and dark hardwood floor give the place a warmth and the lights are a soft yellow.
Spices fill the air and I shake off my shoes in the mudroom and pad along until I’m in Mom’s favorite spot—the kitchen.
She’s chopping vegetables with a vengeance. Dark, caramel-highlighted hair shakes as she moves rapidly. Gold bracelets jingle on her wrist and she’s wearing a pretty blue sweater. Believe it or not, she and Elijah share a similarity—an aversion to sweatpants.
Mom glances up, doing a double-take at the sight of me. She lifts the chopping board, vegetables plopping into a pot on the stove. “My darling daughter. You grace us with your presence.”
“Mom.” I stop from rolling my eyes. If she had her way, all three daughters would live with her.
“I never see you these days,” she chides, grabbing more carrots. “Even Nat thinks you’re too busy. Can we expect to see you at the baby shower?”
Passive aggressive much.
“The one Ads and I are helping you plan.” I step further into her domain with its warm brown backsplash and smell of garlic bread. “Yes, of course, I’m going to be there.”
Nat won’t tell us if the baby is a boy or a girl and it’s driving Mom mad.
Her knife whacks into the carrots. “Lennie. . . I want to talk to you about something.”
I gear up for my speech. “Actually, Mom I was hoping?—”
“I want you to invite this Leopold to dinner.”
Everything I want to say mysteriously disappears. My head for one full second is nothing but a record scratch.
Mom peeks up, her hands still rapidly cutting veggies. Her face is serious, her mouth firm.
“Mom.” I struggle with the word.
She sighs, holding the knife upright, but momentarily stopping her actions. “Lennie, we know you’re dating someone. And Leopold is a nice boy.”
“W-what?” She throws me for a loop with that last statement.
She leans her hips into the island. The knife reflects a spotlight overhead. “I know that’s who you’re dating. It’s obvious. You went out and now it’s turning into something more serious. He’s a complete sweetheart. I don’t know why you’re ashamed of your family.”
“Ashamed of my? What?” Something doesn’t settle. “Mom, you sound like you know him or have talked to him.”
That’s not possible, right?
A mischievous smirk shows up on my mother’s face. “I ran into him in the grocery store.”
Nerves hammer through my body with a dull ache.
“What?” I ask.
She mistakes my horror for embarrassment. “I ran into him in the grocery store.”
Mom insists on going all the time because she wants to pick out the ingredients. I can’t say with certainty where Leopold does his shopping, but it sure as shit isn’t at our neighborhood market.
This fucking bastard.
Heat prickles my skin, scorching down my spine.
“Mom.”
She eyes me, smiling, as I try to dissolve the pins and needles.
“I’m not dating Leopold.”
The smile remains the same.
“I’m serious. I’m not dating Leopold. He’s actually kind of a creep.” It’s an understatement, but it’s too hard to explain further.
Her smile drops, but she analyzes me in a way that implies she thinks I’m lying. But I wonder how my mom can think I’m dating a man like Leopold. Sure, she might not know everything about him but does she really believe he’s my type? I’m hit with the possibility that my mother doesn’t know me.
“I’m not dating Leopold.” My voice grows a tad bit stronger. “But I am dating someone else.”
I stop to take a breath, my eyes finding a cream tile on the floor because I can’t handle the weight of my mom’s gaze.
“I know you’re not going to be happy.” On my next breath, I say, “But I’m dating Elijah.”
There’s only the sound of the bubbling pot.
Mom’s strangely still. She tilts her head slightly, but the only other source of movement comes from the boiling water.
“Um,” I say at her silence. “Elijah Zimin.”
“Yes, I know Elijah.” Finally, there’s movement, in the form of her brow knitting together. Her lips pucker and her hands move for another carrot.
“It’s kind of recent, but, um.” My fingers fidget together. My mother’s chopping grows louder. “Maybe he could come over for dinner.”
The past is all water under the bridge, right?
“Mom?” I worry when she refuses to look up.
Her hands move, cutting vegetable after vegetable, more than we’d ever need. “When?” she bites out.
She’s not asking about the scheduling for a potential meet-the-family dinner.
“A few months back,” I admit.
“How exactly?”
“Um, we just started texting.”
“Started texting.” She slams an onion onto the chopping board, her brown eyes glimmering as she meets mine. She can’t even hide her rage and the knife swings around as she talks. “Is this some sort of generational thing? That’s how you two decided to date. You started texting.”
“You know I’ve always known Elijah. We were friends.”
“Friends?” She points the knife at my scar. “Is that what friends do?”
“Mamma. We were kids. It was an accident.”
She mumbles under her breath. Shaking her head, like I’m foolish.
“Why do you act like it was something else? He didn’t mean to stab me with a butcher knife.”
“No, but he certainly knows how to handle one. Now and then.”
“That’s not fair. He was thirteen. Why don’t you ever get mad at William? He’s the idiot that grabbed the knife in the first place.”
“And who’s the idiot who went up to the kids waving knives around?”
My scar tingles but so do my hands as ice frosts my skin. All this time she let me get off scot-free when she really blamed me. I’m the idiot who didn’t know better. Then and now.
“Mamma,” but nothing follows.
She begins to chop again. “I raised you better than this.”
“You taught us to follow our hearts.”
“And the sneaking around. Did I teach you that too?” Her face tightens. “Huh? ’Cause I’m wondering why my sweet little daughter is sneaking around. Lying to her family. Now doesn’t that sound like Elijah Zimin.”
“I. . .” Lied by admission and can only stand there while she vents.
But this isn’t her normal venting. Her movements are choppy, her shoulders rigid. Barely concealed disappointment. Disappointment in me.
“You know I’ve spent my whole life protecting my daughters. I don’t deserve to be lied to.”
We should end the conversation. Let everyone process before moving forward.
Mom’s too brittle for that. “So do you live with him now?”
“No.” But I get her point. I’m never around anymore.
“Sounds like you’re building a life together.”
“It’s new,” I mumble. But yes. I am building a life.
“What was the plan, Lennie? Let us think it was Leopold the whole time. I guess we’d be lucky if we got a wedding invitation.”
“Mom.” Her dramatics make Adeline’s antics look like nothing.
“God, Lennie.” She smashes the knife hilt into the island. “How?”
How what? How can I be with Elijah? How can I stand here and tell her? Or how can I put someone before her?
“I want to be with him,” I simply say.
She scoffs. “Hidden affairs in our line of business never go well. What if this had been dropped on your father at a bad time? This affects our family, Lennie.”
She’s never placed that on Nat who’s dating the daughter of another mafia lord. She welcomed Adeline’s boyfriend when they were together. But my relationship might endanger our lives?
“That’s not fair,” I start to say when a figure appears in the doorway.
“What about our family?” Dad has no idea what he’s stepped into. His tie is gone, the first few buttons open to reveal a white undershirt, and he’s got his nightly glass of vodka in one hand.
Mom drops the knife, the metal clattering, and waves at me. “Your daughter got herself a new boyfriend.”
He looks between the two of us and I think he’s wondering why it’s me and not Adeline. She’s normally the only person to ever make Mom this mad.
He waits expectantly for my answer, his demeanor calm in a bid to de-escalate the situation.
“I’m dating Elijah.”
His brows lift but there’s no outward sign of emotion. This is the calm negotiator, the wise businessman appreciated by the bloody bratva.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right away.” It feels right to apologize, to acknowledge I’ve kept things away from them, even though, I have a right to privacy. “But it was new and I knew it might upset some people.”
“Then why?” Mom’s dark tone vibrates.
Dad lifts a hand, stopping her. “Our relationship upset some people too, Gia.”
He doesn’t move his gaze away, though, as he studies me. I’m standing in a hoodie and mismatched socks. My hands ball into fists at my side. Not because I’m ready to fight. It’s a way to anchor myself, to root my body to the floor instead of running away.
“So long as he respects you,” Dad says, “and respects our family, then I’m happy if you’re happy.”
“Boris!”
“She’s twenty-seven next month and he’s thirty-one. They’re adults. And at least we know the Zimins.”
“Oh, of course. The Zimins!” Mom throws her arm up in the air, rolling her eyes.
Gesticulating runs in the family because Dad reaches his arms out, his vodka sloshing around. “We know them. They’re already like family. It’s not like you and me.”
The star-crossed lovers. The Russian mafia prince and the Italian mafia princess.
Mom’s not giving up the fight, though. She pulls out the one card that normally works. “She’s been going out without her guard.”
Dad’s face darkens, but his thin lips hold back a sigh. “Now that is something I don’t like, Lennie. You shouldn’t be using your sisters to cover for you.”
Mom gasps, figuring out Nat and Adeline have covered for me.
“I will speak with Lev,” he declares, holding his hands up. “We’ll sort the guards out.”
“Please don’t.” Dad’s my only ally, but if I continue to let him call the shots with my security team, I’ll never learn to speak up. “I don’t need two overprotective dad’s.”
Mom agrees, but only because she hates Lev in this moment. “Two overprotective, matchmaking fools!”
Guess she knows Lev and Dad always wanted us kids to marry. Honestly, the pair are more sentimental than most of the women I know.
She waves a threatening hand, stomping a foot. “That boy is nothing but trouble. And now she’s sneaking around, lying. Getting rid of her security team. I can already tell this is his bad influence.”
“Mom!” I jump to defend Elijah.
She ignores me. “I didn’t raise my daughter like this. I didn’t raise her to?—”
“You raised me to hide!”
Something in my voice catches her attention. Both parents swing their heads toward me.
“You taught me how to hide,” I repeat.
“Hide?” She shakes her head, not understanding.
“All the guards around.”
“Darling, you know why—” Dad tries to interrupt but my next words silence him.
“I couldn’t even wear my hair in a ponytail.”
Mom frowns, tipping her head to the side in confusion.
“I covered my scar for years.” I point at my left cheek. “I kept my head down. I didn’t ever do anything.”
“You were shy.”
“That doesn’t mean I didn’t want to do things.”
“You’ve done lots of things.”
“I sat at home too scared.”
She opens her mouth, but no words come.
“I kept my head down. I never messed with the guards like Ads or Nat. I’m sorry, I didn’t tell you sooner about me and Elijah, but I didn’t want to hear all the reasons you thought I’d be wrong. I can’t keep doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“Getting worried that I’ll upset you.”
An eerie blank face stares back at me. “Well, you have upset me, Leonora. So don’t be offended by it. You are an adult. Almost twenty-seven like your father says. You want to go with this boy, fine. Go to the boy who cut your face wide open and let’s see how he’ll treat your heart.”
“Gia,” Dad murmurs.
Maybe this is also why I didn’t go to her about Leopold. That’d also be my fault, right? I’m attracted to bad things like Elijah and his butcher knife.
I head back to my shoes and backpack. Elijah’s got a washer and dryer so I’ll make do.
I leave Mom and Dad squabbling in the kitchen, but Dad hurries to me as I stuff my shoes back on.
“Darling.” Dad’s tone is gentle. He’s the voice of reason. “Don’t let this become a cliché where you walk out to be with a man your mother doesn’t like.”
“I don’t think Mom likes me.” I mumble into my shirt sleeve. No tears fall, I’m too cold for that.
Dad makes another tutting noise under his breath. “Your mother tries to keep her daughters in a snow globe because she loves you.”
“I don’t want to be in a snow globe.” I pull the handles of my backpack over my shoulders.
He places his hands on my shoulders, helping fix one of the straps, and smiles softly. “Sometimes the snow globe is safer than the world. Not better. But safer.”
“That’s why I never complained about the guards like Nat and Ads. But she’s wrong about Elijah. I’m safer there than anywhere else.”
His smile deepens and despite his raging wife in the next room, there’s something like a twinkle in his eye. “Careful or I’ll get offended. It’s a sad day when one’s daughter thinks her father is already dead and buried.”
“Don’t make this into some weird pissing match about security details.” Though, unnervingly, it feels very on point for our type of life. But it brings me comfort, knowing at least one parent is on board. Maybe it will make things bearable in the next coming days. I grab my house keys.
“Luis will take you in the car.” It’s a soft demand, which I easily agree to.
I linger by the door, not storming out. “I’m not trying to be dramatic. But I’m not going to deal with the passive aggressiveness.”
He takes in a deep breath. “Ignoring each other won’t be good in the long run.”
I nod understanding. He kisses my forehead.
“I don’t know why she’s worried,” he whispers. “I personally can’t wait to see how you make the little bastard worship the ground you walk on.”
A blush creeps across my cheeks. “Dad.”
He chuckles. “The Zimins are nothing but foolish romantics.”
So is he, but I don’t need to point it out.