2. Talia
two
Talia
Can I be more pathetic?
No, you can’t, you weenie, my inner snark says, hitting me with the painful truth. But avoidance is my best friend.
Music plays softly overhead as I sit in the corner booth of our family’s little Italian bistro, Belladonna, doing side work before tonight’s dinner service.
My hands deftly fold, roll, flip, and tuck the royal blue fabric laid out on the walnut table in front of me into delicate napkin roses for the place settings. I watch my fingers move quickly, the muscle memory ingrained bone deep, as pots clang and my cousin Sofia yells from the kitchen.
My stomach growls at the savory scent of tomatoes, garlic, and basil wafting through the air. I missed being here for family dinner. It’s been too long since I have ventured out of the house to do something besides studying for my nursing boards.
A wave of anxiety rolls through me, twisting my stomach in knots. I breathe through it, focusing on the starchy fabric between my fingers.
It’s going to be okay because you passed, I remind myself, repeating the mantra.
Pretending I live in the stone age without access to the internet isn’t working. I don’t know why I’m afraid to check the results of my nursing board certification .
After endless nights of studying, I was prepared. I walked in confident to take that test. What I wasn’t prepared for was walking out like a baby deer walking on wobbly legs, unsure of what move to make next.
It’s unlike me to harbor these types of anxieties. Being ready to tackle the next challenge without reservation is what I’m good at. I’ve had my life mapped out from a very young age, with an extensive list of accomplishments waiting to be checked off.
I’m about to be a nurse practitioner at Los Angeles Mercy Hospital—one of the best hospitals in the state. My dream job is in the pediatric ward, just like I always wanted.
After graduating from nursing school with my Doctor of Nursing Practice (DNP) and taking my board certification, I expected to be settled and stress free. I worked my butt off throughout my schooling and hospital training to prepare for that exam. I knew the answer to every question, and I should have left that testing room relieved.
But I’ve yet to experience any sort of peace. Instead, I’m spiraling.
All I’ve ever wanted was to be a nurse. Take care of people, especially kids. I love children—their simplicity, their honesty, and their sweetness.
I have a knack for understanding people and getting a sense of someone’s needs before they can put a voice to them—a talent I have honed while working as an emergency room nurse throughout grad school.
My aunt, Zia Rose, says I have a strong bullshit meter, but I think it’s more than that. I’ve always had this innate ability to bond with people and get a read on them. Being a nurse allows me to use those abilities to connect with patients and their families on a deeper level.
I want to use my gift to help pediatric patients and their families during the medical process; most of them are overwhelmed and suffering to come to terms with varying diagnoses. My role as the medium between doctors and nurses will be critical. I’ll be playing the role of primary caretaker during their hospital stay, and educating patients and their families throughout the process of their disease.
I hope to bring light to my tiny patients and just maybe experience small, daily miracles in an otherwise dark world as some of those kids recover and live the full lives they deserve. It’s because of this I’m excited about starting my new position.
But what comes next?
I haven’t got a clue. All I know is that outside of work, my life is … boring, lackluster. I can’t put my finger on why. I have a wonderful family who loves and supports me and a fulfilling career ahead of me.
And yet … something is missing. But what?
The question plagues me as I recount the last couple of years. I rub at the empty ache in my chest as my stomach knots, and the back of my neck breaks out in a layer of sweat. Why didn’t I think about what comes after I get the career? Why didn’t I make any plans for the rest of my life?
Breathe.
A small, warm hand lands on my shoulder, pulling me from my gray thoughts. “What’s the matter, piccolina ? Are you still worried about the test?”
My mother’s heart-shaped face greets me as I open my eyes. She doesn’t look a day over forty, but her gray eyes betray her. Life hasn’t always been kind to her. She’s spent years working long, arduous hours in a restaurant she started when she became a single mom.
I don’t like Mamma to stress over me. She doesn’t need to burden herself with my existential crisis. So, I do what I always do. I hide my feelings.
Pulling my shoulders back, I tilt my chin up, slap on a smile, and fib, “Just nervous.”
What’s another tiny white lie ?
I avoid making waves and calling attention to myself. It’s what my family needs from me, and I am happy to provide that security for them. Especially my mom. She’s the strongest woman I know and has sacrificed everything for me and my brother. My father left when he found out she was pregnant with me, leaving her to raise me and my brother alone. A lesser woman would have crumbled.
Not Caterina Romero. Nothing keeps her down.
Instead, she opened Belladonna with my Zia Rose, who moved into our family home with her three daughters in tow. We’re one big happy family, like the new version of Full House , where all the women are raising their kids on their own.
Only, we’re crazier.
You put seven hot-blooded Italians under one roof, and it’s utter chaos.
As the youngest of the Romero line, I found it easier to work hard and keep out of trouble. My brother and cousins were quite the handful growing up. I took it upon myself to make it easy on my mother, so she could concentrate on taking care of the restaurant and lug my big brother around to all his baseball games.
Mamma cups my cheek tenderly, and my chest pinches in a way that reminds me of her love. It flows from her down to my soul, soothing me. “You have worked so hard these past years. I know you passed with flying colors. My baby girl is the smartest of them all.”
This is not the first time I’ve heard this. But she doesn’t realize I’m flailing, nor does she know about the amount of pressure I put on myself, striving to be perfect for everyone. The smartest. The quietest. The least needy. To not let anyone down.
It’s been exhausting.
I keep all this to myself and go with, “You don’t know that for sure, Mamma.”
“Yes, I do. You never disappoint me, Lia. You’re my perfect girl,” she states proudly, calling me by my family nickname.
My eyelid twitches at her praise.
Perfect little Talia, my brain taunts .
Mamma doesn’t miss the reflex and sighs. “Lia, you are a special girl. So much light inside you. But you carry too much on your back and in your heart. You need to have some fun before you start work. Free up some space in here.” She places her hand on my chest over my heart.
I can sense her underlying worry. My heart beats harder and faster, feeding my anxiety.
“Of all of us Romeros, you have the biggest heart. It is one of your many super powers. But you must take care of it too.”
She’s not wrong.
I have spent my entire life with my head in my books. For the last nine years, I have done nothing but study and work my way through college and graduate school. I can’t even remember the last time I took a day off to relax. I have no life beyond school, no relationships outside of my family. Hell, the last guy I dated turned out to be a total douchebag.
Ugh, Kyle.
He is the assistant to Nico’s sports agent, Damien Barnes, and the slimiest tool I’ve ever met. If I told Nico the truth about what happened with Kyle, he’d beat the crap out of him, and I can’t let Nico go to jail for me.
“I know, Mamma. I will.”
“That’s my girl. You need a vacation more than I do. It will help you recharge and get ready for your new job. Have some fun. Meet someone.”
“Mamma.”
“What? I’m just saying. Maybe you need a little”—she points down between my legs—“tune-up.”
“Oh my god, you did not just use tune-up as a euphemism for sex.”
Mamma barks a laugh.
I cover my face with my palms. “You’re so embarrassing.”
She grabs the plastic bin of napkins and rests it on her hip. “Why can Zia Rose say stuff like that without you freaking out? ”
“Cause she’s not my mom,” I quip.
“Whatever you say, dear.” She makes her way to the storage closet, leaving me to wipe off the water spots on the utensils.
The bell above the door rings, drawing my attention.
My big brother, Nico, struts in, looking like he was just crowned king. He’s wearing a black dress shirt that’s almost unbuttoned to his belly button and shiny charcoal dress slacks. His hair is slicked back, and he’s wearing a thick platinum chain with his number eighty-two encrusted in diamonds around his neck.
Nico is objectively handsome with his dark olive skin, lots of tattoos, thick black hair, and foggy-gray eyes—identical in color to mine. But right now, he looks like a modern Italian mobster standing in the middle of our family restaurant with a grumpy scowl on his face.
A chuckle erupts from my chest at the sight of him.
His thick brows pinch together as he turns his angry glare on me. “What are you laughing at, Lia?”
“You.”
“What the fuck for?” he growls, sending me into a fit of giggles.
Nico has a huge personality, and it ranges from one extreme to the next. He can come off as conceited and rude as hell, but I swear he has a big heart. You just have to dig deep—like, really deep, below all the layers of asshole—to find it.
“You look like a stereotypical mafioso in that get-up.” I run my finger up and down his body, and his eyes follow the path.
Nico’s frown breaks into a smile as he chuckles. “So I do.”
“Should I start calling you capo ?”
“Fuck off, Lia. This is Brioni, and I look good.” He pulls the cuff of his sleeves down and smooths out his shirt, shooting me a cocky smirk.
That grin might work on some dewy-eyed girl with dreams of being a baseball WAG, but not me. I’m his sister, and it’s my job to knock him down a peg or two.
“Sure.” I scoff at him. “If you’re into that whole Soprano thing. ”
“I’m going to kick your ass, you little shit.”
“You wish.”
“Nico!” Mamma shouts in delight, cutting us off.
She rushes over to fawn over her baby boy, and I roll my eyes as I watch her wrap him up in one of her big hugs that is like love incarnate. He lets her fuss over him and kiss his cheeks. It’s sweet. And annoying.
“What brings you to the restaurant? Didn’t you have your big signing today?” She brushes imaginary lint off his jacket and looks two seconds away from licking her thumb to get dirty off his cheek.
Leaving the Southern California Saints after seven seasons, my brother officially signed with the L.A. Evaders. He’s looking for a championship, so he left them. San Francisco offered him more money, but he opted to stay here in Los Angeles. As the only man in a house full of women, Nico has made it his job to take care of us, so of course he chose the team that would keep him close by.
See what I mean? Big heart.
When he got drafted into the MLB, he was in his early twenties, and while most guys his age would have gone on shopping sprees buying fancy cars or expensive watches, my brother went out and spent his hard-earned paycheck on his family. He bought Mamma and Zia Rose new cars, remodeled our childhood home, sent my cousins to fashion and culinary school, and he even helped remodel Belladonna.
When he demanded to pay for me to go to the best private school for my senior year and my college tuition, I let him. There is no negotiating with Nico once he sets his mind on something. It’s not worth the fight. He’s a good brother. In some ways, he’s more than a brother. He’s been like a father to me.
Five years older, at thirty-two, Nico has carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, taking on more responsibilities than a brother should .
“Yeah, the press conference was this morning. Then I had to meet with my new manager.” His demeanor flips again as he stomps towards our table, my mother in tow.
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end as controlled rage boils off him in waves.
Oh boy. Here we go.
“Get this. The manager is forcing me to make nice with that pretty boy, Miller. Fucking entitled prick,” he mumbles under his breath.
I inwardly groan as he plops down in the booth and runs his hands over his face, trying to tamper down his anger.
“Language.” Mamma hates it when we curse.
“Sorry, Ma.”
“You knew you were going to be on the same team if you signed with the Evaders, Nico. You’re going to have to control your temper,” Mamma continues, scolding him like she would a little boy throwing a tantrum.
“I know. I made my peace with that. Being here for you is more important.” He drops his head back on the back of the booth, staring up at the ceiling. “What I wasn’t prepared for was being torn a new asshole by Coach Anson.”
“You just joined the team. What could you have possibly done already?”
I listen without a word, wiping knives and slinking into the background.
“Apparently, Anson is less than impressed with my attitude. He thinks I need a lesson in teamwork.”
“He’s not wrong.”
“What the fu—”
My mom glares daggers at Nico.
“Sorry. Heck . Why aren’t you on my side?”
“I’m always on your side, figlio . But sometimes you put your foot in your mouth. I told you to leave it alone a long time ago. He’s not worth ruining your career over. ”
Nico groans.
Mamma is right. She repeatedly told Nico to put his feelings aside and focus on the game. Unfortunately, he can’t help himself. He’s a total hothead and can hold a grudge like no other. I don’t know what went down, but one thing is for sure…
Nico hates Cameron Miller.
I bite my lip and turn away. I’m ashamed to admit that back when his feud with my brother began, I looked up Cameron on the internet.
Saying the Evaders’ number-one pitcher is handsome is an understatement. The man oozes charisma and sex appeal. He looks like the player my brother says he is. Women probably line up outside the locker room for hours, hoping he chooses them to go home with for a night spent in his bed.
My tummy somersaults and the spot between my legs tingles as I think about his thick broad shoulders, bubble butt, hazel eyes, and smoldering smile. How his wavy hair curls out the bottom of his baseball hat. The way his enormous fingers wrap around the ball, making it look microscopic in his palm.
“Lia.”
I snap out of my daydreams about a certain pitcher at the sound of my name.
“What?” I hope no one catches on to my guilty thoughts. Maybe I do need someone to give me a tune-up. I should not be lusting over my brother’s enemy.
“Mamma said you’re stressed over your test and that you need a break. That true?”
Guilt washes over me for thirsting after my brother’s mortal enemy. Then Nico’s words register, and I lock eyes with my mother.
Why? I silently scream.
She shrugs.
Ugh. This is why I need to move out of the house and make some new friends. Then maybe she’ll stay out of my business.
“I’m fine, Nico. ”
His brow crunches, determination flashing in his eyes. “Come with me.”
“What? No.” I can’t spend two weeks with my annoying, overbearing, always-in-my-business brother.
“Go with me to Arizona for spring training. At least for the first two weeks before I travel. I could use the support.” He pops his lip out and turns his puppy eyes on me.
I hate this plan. There is no way I am going to Arizona with him. It’s a bad idea in the making. My overprotective brother drives me crazy on a regular day.
Two weeks of undiluted Nico time?
“No. Nope. No, thanks. Pass.” I shake my head.
“It would also be a great way for me to get out of rooming with Miller. Coach won’t make me stay with him if you’re there. The team has some rental properties designated for us players, so you’ll have your own room at the house.”
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll pay for everything,” he sings. “How does a spa day sound?”
Damn, that sounds tempting.
“Lia, go. Take some time for yourself before you start work next month. Nico will be on the field most of the day. You will have lots of time alone to decompress. Catch some sun. It will be good for you,” Mamma says, trying to sweeten the deal.
“Ma’s right. You’ll only see me for dinner, if that. I have a few sponsorship meetings to attend.”
I weigh the offer over in my head. It would be nice to get out of town for a bit, and a spa day does sound amazing. Wasn’t I just complaining about not having taken a vacation in forever?
“Just say yes,” Nico pleads, his previous scowl now morphed into a hopeful grin.
“Okay, fine. You win. I’ll go.”
What’s the worst thing that could happen?