Chapter Fifteen
Diagram of conception: Pictures of Earth
So, we got back together. We avoided your mom as much as we could.
She wasn’t thrilled that we were a couple again, but she wasn’t nearly as pissed as I expected, maybe because she started seeing that guy, Jake Gooligan, who did some kind of work with golf courses.
Janite was the last person you’d expect to see on a golf course, but so was he, so who knows.
I met him maybe twice, a big bald guy who obviously still smoked cigarettes, from the smell of his clothes and his yellowing fingernails. You saw him more than I did.
And we started to hang out at my house. We never had that “meet the parents” dinner, but I introduced you to my mom one day, just out of the blue.
We walked in while she was staring into the fridge and she startled, and stammered, like we’d caught her watching porn.
He’s really sweet, she said later, but I wished she’d said how great you were, and how happy we seemed, and, well, just more.
I wanted her to pour down the compliments that you deserved, but I also just wanted her to see you.
I wanted her to understand what happened between us, all of it.
Finally, I brought you to Papa Angelo’s to meet Dad, too.
God, you were nervous, remember? I was. It seemed like a better idea to do it with my brothers around.
My dad stuck his hand out to shake, and I could tell he was doing the alpha-male move, squeezing too hard.
Your eyes narrowed in a wince. I’m so sorry.
I wanted to kick him, my dad in his signature tracksuit with the stripes up the sides, his hairy wrist sticking out, his big hand swallowing yours.
“This is where the magic happens, huh?” you said.
“I can’t even believe I’m here.” It seemed like a kiss-ass thing to say, but you meant it.
And my dad could tell you meant it. I can always spot a bullshitter, he’d say.
It was something he prided himself on, a trophy he awarded himself, though that shelf was fairly full, to be honest.
“I’ll take you back,” my dad said.
Arthur was there. He said a reserved hello and stood back, watching things play out.
In my family, when something happened to one of us, everyone knew about it, so Arthur was aware, I was sure, about the blowup after your mom found us.
When Dad offered to take you to the kitchen, Arthur looked at me and raised his eyebrows.
I thought it was a warning look, and I gave him a horrified oh my God face.
I started to follow you two to ward off any bloodshed, but Arthur stopped me.
It wasn’t a warning face after all. It was an astonished one.
For a second, I wasn’t sure which one of us read the moment more clearly, but Arthur always knew.
He’d had seven-plus more years of reading our father than I had.
“Are you sure?” I asked Arthur. I was worried about letting you go with my father without a bodyguard.
“Yup.” Arthur was a man of few words, but I trusted every single one of them. It’s part of what made him such a good dad.
I paced the black-and-white floor squares of the small dining area of Papa Angelo’s.
I almost had stopped seeing that room and the restaurant in general, the way you do with the places and things of your daily life.
But now I took it in, the handful of tables, the red-checked tablecloths, and napkins in metal holders, the shakers of red pepper.
The window covered with the Papa Angelo’s red script and the green-and-white triangles.
The counter, with its fishbowl of chocolate mints wrapped in green foil.
I texted Addison. You and me—we’d even hung out with her and Liam one time.
Priya and Maddie were there, too, thank God.
We went to Shilshole, but it was cold and we didn’t stay long.
Liam kept talking about that protein powder we always joked about, and then challenged us to play volleyball, three against three.
The sandpits were empty. Liam kept spiking the ball hard over the net, and Maddie lunged and hurt her knee.
It didn’t go great. It was as awkward between you and Liam as I’d imagined, but you and Addy and Priya really got along. It was a start.
THEY’RE ALONE, I told Addy in all caps. HE TOOK MARS TO THE KITCHEN WHERE THERE ARE KNIVES. I added a knife emoji and a scream face.
It’s going to be okay, she texted back, with prayer hands. She’d been my friend for so long that she understood—when you have anxiety, it’s all you need to hear sometimes. Someone else having that certainty helped you believe it, even just a little. The little got you through.
I peeked in the rectangular windows of the doors to the kitchen.
I couldn’t believe it. There you were, behind the long prep counter with Dad.
You had plastic gloves, as baggy as anything on your narrow hands.
You were spreading sauce on dough with the back of the ladle, until Dad snatched it from you and showed you how to do it right.
“Oh my God!” I said to Arthur. “Look!”
Arthur only smiled. Then he grabbed my shoulders and gave me an affectionate shake-squeeze. What did I tell you? he said without saying.
“Did you have something to do with this?” I asked him. My brothers—they’d talked to Dad, I was sure.
“I think he did,” Arthur said, indicating you.
I watched you pile on the cheese. You and Dad were chatting away.
I couldn’t hear it, but I saw it—animated conversation.
You had all the ingredients in front of you, and, oh, God, you were wrecking it now.
Two discs of salami soppressata for eyes, a mushroom-slice nose, anchovies arranged in a smile. Arugula hair.
But my father only scoffed. It was an indulgent scoff, not a pissed-off one.
The two of you emerged a few moments later, and you were carrying your finished creation on the long-handled wood pizza peel.
You were sporting a Papa Angelo’s apron now, too, and had a Papa Angelo’s bandanna tied around your head.
“The kid likes anchovies,” my dad said proudly. To him, it was a mark of character, for sure. I’d been pretending to love them since age five, at least.
“Gorgeous, huh?” you said about your first pizza. “I’ve got a long way to go, but she’s friendly looking, right?”
“She?”
“He’s aiming for a new menu item.” Now my father did the exact same thing Arthur had just done to me. He put his big hands on your shoulders and gave them a shake-squeeze.
“A new menu item?” I got a little worried, to be honest. I’m sorry, but I was concerned that the menu might soon be sporting a Janita, with soppressata and anchovies and arugula.
But my dad only winked at you—he winked at you!
—and you only winked back. I’d never seen you wink before.
And you clearly didn’t do much of it—both of your eyes sort of closed, haha.
It was honestly adorable. I couldn’t wait to tell Addison how great it went.
I couldn’t wait to tell Maurice, either.
Maybe he’d finally bring Sandrine around more, too.
After we left, carrying your pizza in a signature Papa Angelo’s box, the bandanna still tied in your hair, I stared at you in disbelief.
“Did you spike his coffee?”
“I kind of loved him.”
“You what?”
“I was totally freaked out to meet him, but I kind of loved him. Maybe he just felt that? He’s one of those old-timey guys, you know? They hide how lost they are with a lot of bluster and hypermasculine shit.”
I never thought of my dad as lost before. It was almost making me feel sorry for him. Bad, too, for all the bad thoughts I’d had about him. “It’s no excuse for being an asshole, though.”
“Of course it isn’t. There’s never an excuse for that.
” You’d had plenty of experience with those, I’d forgotten.
From what-was-his-name Abadias, and a few other of Janite’s boyfriends.
She’d told you, her confidant, every gruesome, worrying detail.
“Hey, did you know that your dad did a report on Voyager when he was in elementary school?”
“You’re kidding.”
“He was born the day after the launch of Voyager 2, which would be August twenty-first, 1977?”
“Right.”
“His own dad thought that was so cool that he made a big deal about it. He always got a rocket-ship cake on his birthdays. So, when they had to write a report in the fifth grade, that was his topic.”
“I never heard this. That’s wild.”
You just smiled. “I think it was a huge thing to those kids in the seventies.”
“What did you…do? I mean, he’s never told us that. And…” I gestured to the pizza box and the bandanna. Seriously, I was in shock.
“I didn’t do anything. I was just excited to be there and make a pizza. I was interested in his interests, and he was interested in mine. I told him how much you respected him, too. You know, having that place. It being such a success.”
“I don’t remember ever telling you that.”
“You didn’t have to,” you said. “I heard it, every time you talked about the place.”
“Huh,” I said. It was a huh. I’d learned a bunch of new things, and we hadn’t even tried the pizza yet. After we did, there’d be another. Anchovies went really well with soppressata and arugula.
You stuck your nose to the box and inhaled. “Mmm. Man, this is a day I won’t be forgetting.”
“Wait,” I said. I fished my phone out of my bag. “Do what you were doing.” You looked so cute, you know, in that bandanna. You pretended to take a bite out of the box, and I snapped it, because you mattered most of all.
You tapped the name written there. Papa Angelo’s. “Legendary,” you said.