14. Eric #3
Mom, bless her, reaches out to me and lays her hand over mine. “I’m so proud of you.” Because I am doing what my dad couldn’t even do for his own blood. “You’re going to be a wonderful dad, mo stoirín,” she says, her voice shaking slightly. “That baby’s already lucky.”
My throat feels thick. There’s a certainty in her voice that makes me think of the boy I was, starving for affection, and the man I’m trying to become, still desperate for something out of reach. Amanda turns to her, relaxing beside me, as if Mom’s comment has steadied her too.
“Well, Sandro,” Kate says. “Get your daughter some orange juice.” Sandro does, pressing Amanda into his chest, then patting me on the shoulder once before going into the kitchen. Kate resumes once Amanda has her pregnancy-safe flute. “To a new life. And old beginnings.”
There’s a swarm of reassurances from Aunt Kate as the conversation shifts to names, due dates, cravings.
Amanda eats some ciambella and white pudding in the same forkful as if it’s the best thing she’s ever had.
Mom offers Irish remedies for nausea. Until Sandro rises from his seat and holds my gaze.
“Eric.” His voice is meant only for me, even if it is heard by everyone. “Can I borrow you for a moment?”
The table quiets again. Amanda’s hand tightens around mine before I let go. I nod, press my lips against her hair, and rise slowly. My chest is already tight.
“Of course.”
I follow him through the sliding glass door and into the backyard. The wind’s picked up. The sun’s fighting to break through the clouds. We’re barely ten steps into the grass when he stops, hands on his hips, eyes on the hedge line like it’s got answers for him. He speaks without looking at me.
“About three years ago, my daughter changed.” Sandro’s after that makes my stomach knot.
Everyone wants to talk about the worst mistake of my life, except the one person who can help me move past it.
“She was gearing up for study abroad. Always planned to do it. Italy, the language, the heritage, the whole thing. She’d talked about it since she was a teenager.
But it wasn’t supposed to be like that. Not moving up her start date.
Not visiting us back home a single time.
Not shutting down every conversation about the people here.
” The wind tugs at the trees, and he inhales deeply before adding.
“Didn’t take much to figure out you had something to do with that. ”
“I made a mistake,” I say without hesitation. I’ve been owning it since the moment I saw her eyes that night. “I hurt her.”
He turns to me and wraps his fingers around my shoulders, squeezing with purpose but without malice. The pressure and weight of him helps ground me and keeps me focused for what I’m sure is coming.
“You’ve always been a good kid, Eric.” He tightens his grip.
“I remember throwing a football with you right here in this yard. You were yay-high.” His hand drops to the height of his hips for a second.
“Spent half your childhood at our place while Ellie worked evenings. You’d try to carry all the groceries at once—drop half of them on the way in.
Then, when your mom started struggling, you didn’t want to play ball anymore.
You wanted to learn how to cook. Pasta, risotto, things that didn’t cost much. ”
His voice softens.
“You’ve always carried more than your share, son.
And I’m sure that’s left marks.” Another squeeze.
“Some things can’t be fixed by knowing how to stretch a budget.
” His gaze drops to the grass before lifting again.
“This kid’s going to need steady hands. The kind that don’t shake when the weight gets heavy.
” He breathes out slowly. “As someone who cares about you almost as much as I care about my daughter, I need to say this. There are many things you can’t unburden yourself from.
But this one… This doesn’t have to be yours to carry. ”
It takes a second for me to register what his green eyes are implying. Fuck that.
I step back. His hand falls from my shoulder. Both of us square up, and only now do I realize that I’m taller than him. He’s not a father figure right now. And I’m not some overwhelmed kid.
“Amanda and this baby are not a burden,” I say, steady. “They’re mine. And they’re a privilege. My privilege. Every part of them.”
His eyes widen—a flicker I’ve seen in Amanda’s face too many times to count.
Then he chuckles. He shoves his hands into his pockets.
“Somehow, I saw it happen right in front of me, and still missed it.” He exhales.
“You’re not a kid anymore. And neither is she.
I don’t get to pretend you are.” He licks his lips.
“You think you’ve got that in you, then? Steady hands?”
“Yes, Sandro. The steadiest.”
He watches me for a long moment, then nods—once, firm. “Good.” He claps my shoulder again, warm and heavy. “Right, then, son. You’re going to make a fine partner.”
He pulls his arms around my shoulder and brings me close to him as we head toward the house. I don’t correct him, don’t deny the word. Partner. I want it too much.
“Now, let’s get back in there before they start thinking I’m yelling at you.”