Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Izzy
The cheesecake sits on my lap, my son is in the back seat, and my bodyguard is driving. Nothing about this street has changed. I used to come here three times a year for my first sixteen years. But today it’s different.
Lance pulls the SUV up to the driveway and gives a few head nods to the guys standing around the perimeter. Unlike a lot of the kids whose families are “made men,” we knew exactly what our parents did to pay for our piano lessons. But most of us are parents now, and we understand how the world worked. No sharply defined colors like red, blue, black or white. No, in our world, all colors have shades and hues, which make for a much more vivid picture.
Pressing the doorbell, I release one last sigh, trying to recall the madness I’m about to walk into. “Kiddo, there’s gonna be a lot of people. It’ll be intense.” `
He shrugs, “Ian will be here.” As if this fact alone is enough to make everything okay.
I take one fleeting glance up at Lance, his jaw firm as he scans the place. Thiago throws open the door. “Lance!” he yells, and the rest of the room bellows, “Lance!”
What?
Not exactly the reception I was expecting.
Thiago slaps Lance’s shoulder and smiles. “Maria, your boyfriend is here,” he calls out and a glittery pink explosion blurs past me and into Lance’s arms. If she wasn’t five years old, I might be jealous.
“LANCE, I LOST A TOOTH!” She points to the gap in her mouth, her perfect pigtails bouncing from side to side.
Lance gives her a squeeze and kisses her forehead. “Congrats!”
Maria twists around, and her fairy wings whack me in the face. “Hi, Sea Monster.”
Drew is already peering around my body to talk to the glitter explosion. He even gives her a little bow. “Hey, fairy princess of the Water Realm.”
Lance places her back on the ground and boops her nose. “Princess, huh? You got a promotion?”
Maria laughs, “We both know I am always a princess.” She grabs my son’s wrist, a conspiratorial smirk on her face as she whisper-shouts, “Come on, everyone’s downstairs. We’ve got to hurry, or Shae will get to pick the movie. AGAIN.”
Drew gives me a quick glance like I didn’t prepare him for this. And I guess I didn’t. Mostly because I didn’t know what to expect. Maria pulls him down the stairs. She’s strong for a little kid, or maybe he’s accepted his fate. He sighs like he’s too old for this. But the way he rolls his eyes when he’s halfway across the room, I realize it’s all for show, and he secretly loves it.
Thiago gives me a hug. “Welcome home.” More unexpectedness. He had a harder personality back when we were kids, but maybe being a parent has softened him. His family is a part of the Mexican Cartel, and he’s always been the most paranoid out of all of us. Honestly, I was shocked he opened up enough to get married. By all accounts, Monica is wonderful, but the only time I’ve ever spent with her was at Abuela’s funeral.
A squeal echoes through the hallway. Waverly. She’s elegant and comfortable in her chunky sweater and gold hoop earrings—a nearly impossible combination to pull off. “Izzy! Hi! I’m so excited you’re here!” She tackle-hugs me. Out of all the kids in my generation of the Four Families, I’m closest with Waverly. Her father, Duncan, runs the Irish Mafia.
“Hey, Lance.” She releases me and hugs my bodyguard. “Where’s Alana?”
He shrugs. “She’s got paperwork to catch up on and dinner with Hadeon and Penny.”
She pulls him from the doorway. “You better get in the kitchen and make yourself a plate, otherwise Nonna will never forgive you.”
As Lance steps in and makes his way back to the kitchen, she links her arm with mine. “Come on! Let’s go say hi.”
I want to argue with her, to tell her no, and find a closet to hide in. Maybe the upstairs bathroom. “Um…” My eyes betray me as I glance directly above me. “There’s no chance the joint I hid ten years ago is still here. Maybe?”
Waverly frowns. “The one in the bathroom? No, it got smoked after Abuela passed on. We all needed a break from the drama.” She sighs and whispers, “we ended up hitting another stash your brother hid here.”
“Of course.” At least my brother’s predictable.
The uncles pause their conversations when they see me. A mix of ethnicities, but all with various degrees of balding heads and styles of slightly out-of-fashion outfits—they all picked a time period and stuck with it. At least some things never change.
“Izzy!” Uncle Carlos jumps up, his knees cracking as he stands. He throws his big, beefy arms around me. He always smelled like meat, and it was a weird mixture of meat, too. Like I could never be sure if it was bacon, or beef, or fish, but he was a vegan’s worst nightmare. “You look great, kid!”
“Thanks.”
“Was that your little one? Although he’s not little anymore. I saw him running downstairs with my granddaughter, the glitter-bomb-ready-to-happen.”
“Yeah.”
“Welcome home, kiddo.” Uncle Carlos squeezes my arm and gives me a small smile before sitting and getting absorbed by the chair.
I still haven’t seen my mom or dad, but so far, the reception is warmer than I expected. By the time I navigate to the kitchen, I find Lance in the center of a gaggle of women with multiple containers of food.
“Is Alana eating enough?”
“Do you think she’d like an extra slice of cake?”
“Take these bottles of water home. I don’t think either one of you is drinking enough.”
“Did she like the tres leches cake we sent back last time?”
Lance answers the questions as fast as he can. “Yes, she’s eating enough, but it’s probably cereal so an extra slice of cake would be perfect, and she has an app to remind her to drink water. And she loved the tres leches cake, and I forgot to bring your plate back. I will send it in with Joey or Izzy.”
That’s the first time I’ve paid attention to him saying my name, and my insides melt. I’m normally, “Nessie or Your Mom.” How can a word I’ve heard my entire life sound so different coming from his lips?
His answers appease the women, who return to their chatter and gossip as another set of hands—older but just as steady as the others—grabs the top plate from him and wraps it up in tinfoil.
“You’re such a good boy,” Nonna coos and makes a kissy face at him.
He blushes. Actually blushes. His cheeks bloom pink like spring flowers, and my stomach does a little flip. Stop it. Stop it right now.
Nonna squints at me, and her whole body lights up. “Izzy Bear! Come, give me a hug!” I cross the sea of women to wrap my arms around her. It’s nice to hear Nonna’s voice in English, although I miss the Italian. She smells like roses and other old lady perfume, with a dash of vanilla from the icing she made for whatever dessert someone tasked her with today. She feels frail, like if I squeezed too hard, I might shatter her. Since her stroke a few years ago, she’s been living on borrowed time.
Nonna is the last of the Grandmas. Well, that’s what my generation calls them. They were the Wives, the Moms, and, finally, the Grandmas of the Four Families. Babushka died days before I left ten years ago, Abuela passed away six years ago, and Nana died last year. We had limited time with each other, filling it with laughter, love, and food.
Lance’s hands are overflowing before Nonna grabs him a plastic tote to take it all home. He looks at the food then at me. “This is a lot. Do you want me to swing by your place and leave some leftovers?”
I point to the room attached to the kitchen, also filled with food. “No. I’ll go home with enough food to feed Drew and me for the weekend.” No one leaves hungry. Ever.
Joey comes into the kitchen with a beer in his hand and notices the tote of food. Before he can say anything, Lance asks, “She’s safe here tonight, right?”
My cousin stifles back his laughter. “Of course. Is Specs coming to pick her up?”
“Yeah, he should be here around eleven.”
“Perfect, you’re off the clock. Go home,” Joey orders. Not sure if it was an order because he doesn’t want Lance around in family matters, or if he’s concerned about my bodyguard’s free time.
He nods and says, “I’m going to say goodbye to Drew. I’ll see you on Monday.”
Hmm, is that the first time he’s said Drew’s name and not his code name?
Now I don’t know what to do. Do I hug him? Shake his hand? Wave awkwardly? Text him when I get home. Kiss him. Okay, I know the last one is the wrong answer. But still.
I settle with an awkward wave and remain in the kitchen.
It isn’t until he leaves that it strikes me—everyone knows Lance. But he isn’t a member of the Four Families. He’s not tied to us through ABBA or shared family trauma. How exactly is this happening?
Waverly takes a long sip of her wine. “Dammnn he looked good tonight.”
Tia adds, “He always looks good.” Yes, that’s true. He did. I see no lies there.
But Joey whips his head around, “ABSOLUTELY NOT! No. Everyone from Mastodon is one hundred percent off limits.”
Nonna pats him on the chest. “But Alana is such a nice girl. I could set you two up.”
Joey’s face is as red as a maraschino cherry. He’s so flustered, but takes one deep breath and drags his hand down his face. “Listen, right now, Alana is a family friend, but she’s not IN the family. If she were ever to cross over from one to the other, it would be minutes before she took over the entire Four Families’ operations. First step Four Families, next step the world. Keeping her close but out of our beds is the best thing for humanity as a whole.”
Between the eye rolls, dramatic turns away, and bursts of laughter, it’s clear none of that seems to impress the women. When he doesn’t get the reaction he expects, he throws his hands in the air and stomps away.
Nonna fixes me a plate of baked ziti and an empanada. “Lance doesn’t have world domination goals,” she adds under her breath. “And Alana doesn’t need anyone who still has crusty socks.”
The snort escapes my nose. I meet Waverly’s eyes, and she crosses the room, grabs my plate, and we walk into the living room. Eating with a plate on my lap is a skill I forgot until now. Knees tight, I balance the plate and decide to eat the ziti first since I don’t need to cut anything.
Waverly beams at me. “Girl, I’m so glad you’re back.” Yeah, but for how long? “I’ve missed you.” She throws her arms around me, and the plate comes dangerously close to falling off my lap. “The guys don’t want to talk about fun stuff. It’s all work with them.” She frowns. “I guess I missed the meeting when they decided I wasn’t allowed to join their reindeer games.”
It’s true. And there was actually a meeting. It was decided long ago that Waverly was never allowed to be brought into the fold. “But that doesn’t mean the family doesn’t have plans for you.”
She picks a piece of broccoli off my plate and pops it in her mouth. “Nah, all the family plans got ditched when you left.”
Oh fuck. I really did screw up everything. I pop some ziti in my mouth to keep the panic inside.
Waverly seems completely unfazed by her comment, and her eyes light up. “Oh, did you hear the new Amanda Chase album?”
At least this topic won’t result in the demise of multiple generations. “It’s okay, but I’m a Lena Goodlove girl. Her music is easier to work out to and doesn’t make me want to cry into a glass of wine.”
Years ago, Amanda Chase and Lena Goodlove were pop star icons, best friends, and everyone loved them. But there was some huge falling out between them, and now the entire industry is either team Chase or team Goodlove. This could be the thing that breaks us. Can I revoke godmother status?
My bestie gasps in her fangirl horror. “What? The new album is so danceable, but like it has a depth in the lyrics. It’s a borderline masterpiece.”
“Yeah because she has that guy writing all her music.” I take another bite of my ziti.
Waverly straightens her shoulders. “First of all, they co-write her music, second, he also wrote most of Lena’s biggest hits, and third, he’s so hot it’s basically a sin.” She pulls out her phone and taps away. “There are three guys I use to get myself off when Adam is fucking me.”
She hands me the phone, and holy Hannah! Dark hair, chiseled jaw, sad and tortured eyes, forearms covered in tattoos. How do men like this exist? His chest and shoulders have tattoos of various styles but still look uniform and cohesive. I zoom in on the picture. “What’s on his chest?”
Waverly grabs the phone. “I think it’s a phoenix. It’s lighter than the others, so it might be older.”
Shaking my head, I gasp, “I didn’t know guys like this really existed, but clearly I’m wrong.” Raising an eyebrow, I ask, “Who else is in your flick the bean rotation? Hot song writer guy and who are the other two?”
She gets quiet. “Well, the actor who plays the Pirate King from The Knights of the Night, and someone who I probably shouldn’t be thinking about.”
Ohhhhh. “You never think about your boyfriend to help finish the job.”
She furrows her brow. “Why?”
I side-eye her like she’s insane. “Um, yeah, I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to.”
Her upper lip curls as she sighs. “I guess the down side to dating your best friend’s brother is it makes it hard to break up with him.” She deflates until her phone chirps. Her eyes get wide, and her jaw opens. “No!”
“What’s wrong?”
“Angie picked out the bridesmaids’ dresses.” Her eyes are filled with panic when she shows me the screen. The dress is a pretty emerald green color, strappy, kind of a draped neckline. I don’t understand her fear until I see the back. Or lack thereof. It’s borderline obscene. She groans. “What am I going to do?”
Waverly has the worst tattoo in the history of time on her lower back. It’s why she only wears dresses or long shirts. She never wants anyone to see it. I saw it once when she came to visit and got drunk on box wine. I still have nightmares about it. “Do you have time to laser it off?”
“No.” She shakes her head, and her soft strawberry red hair sways. “I’ll have to do something way worse…” She hangs her head in her hands and sobs, “My life is over.”
Joey stands across from us, watching Waverly, and mouths to me, “Is she okay?” I give a little shrug. Knowing there isn’t much he can do about our Irish friend, he juts his chin out to me before saying, “Your dad wants to speak with you.”