Chapter 1 Parenthood #8
Marco snorts. "Same. Try working in a law firm full of them. Nightmare."
I rip the next strip. "YOU BITCH," Noah screams again, flailing like I just exorcised a demon from him. I'm crying from laughing so hard. Literally wiping tears from my face.
We manage to sit down for the movie. Lights off, snacks out. Gio is curled up next to me with Antonio sprawled half over his chest. It's kinda perfect, except for the fact that Noah loses his mind every five minutes.
He's biting his knuckle, trying to stifle a scream as he checks his leg again. "You son of a bitch," he hisses at me. "This is sick. LOOK AT THOSE MUSCLES."
Gio doesn't even look up. "Shut up. You're being dramatic. And do it faster. I want my man back." Noah throws his hands up. "Thank me for telling him to kiss you."
Gio groans. "Dude. That was… years ago. Enough. HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO SAY THANK YOU."
Noah grins. "Until you die. Say it again."
Gio sighs. "Thank you, Noah."
"Good boy," Noah says, and that's when I yank the next strip off his leg with more force. "AY! That one had hatred in it!"
I nod, totally serious. "Gio is mine."
And then Antonio twists around. "Daddy is mine!"
Everyone starts cracking up. Gio scoops him up immediately and falls back on the cushions with him in his arms. "Baby, I'm yours. And Dada's, okay? I love both of you so much." Antonio nods, satisfied. Melts into Gio like a little koala.
Valentina's crying again. "I'm sorry," she says, wiping her eyes. "It's the hormones. That was just... so sweet."
Marco wraps an arm around her. "Don't worry. Your time will come. Just hang in there."
She nods, snuggles into his side. We all turn back to the movie. For about thirty seconds. Then Noah screams again.
And again.
And again.
Every goddamn minute. We're not even watching anymore, we're just bracing for the next yell.
7) Why?
Rava
The place is a damn circus.
Pink balloons everywhere. Kid-sized chaos. Antonio's little playground friend is turning four today, so here we are, in a space full of tiny humans and exhausted parents.
Antonio's inside the play area.
He is dead in the center, surrounded by a whole army of toddlers, bossing them around. They're talking to him, they are following him, showing him toys, asking him stuff.
And I don't regret shit.
I taught him never to sit alone in the corner acting like he's lesser than anyone. Taught him to stand tall, even if he's two and a half and wearing dinosaur socks. But I also taught him this: If you see a kid in that corner, you go first.
You bring them in.
You make them feel like they belong. And he does it. I can see it. He's growing right. Rava's a huge part of that too.
Speaking of Rava... God help me, he's priceless right now. He's sitting at our table, filming the documentary of Antonio's life. He keeps giggling, covering his mouth, hitting record again and again. His camera roll is probably at full storage and screaming for mercy. He's adorable.
Earlier he was sitting with a group of moms, explaining, with full passion, how to make the perfect fruit purée. Like actually begging them.
"Please trust me, it's so easy, it's so good, I swear he eats the whole bowl every time—no, no, don't add that, it ruins it, listen to me, ladies, I'm serious."
It was hilarious. They were staring at him like he was some childcare guru. Now we're eating what's left of the aggressively pink birthday cake. It tastes like pure sugar mixed with... more sugar.
We're wearing birthday hats. Paper ones. Mine has a unicorn on it. I'm not taking it off. That's life now. Once upon a random Tuesday, I was running from cops, always dealing with something ugly. Now, on that same random Tuesday... I'm at a kid’s party.
Pink cake. Birthday hats. My son being the charismatic little chaos machine he is. My husband filming every second of it. My family. Nobody treats us weird here. Not one dirty look.
Not one whisper. No one's staring at me and Rava like, ugh, here come the freaks raising a kid without a mother. Nothing like that. They just see us as two more parents at a kid's birthday party. As they fucking should.
Actually, let someone try to make it a problem.
I'm begging for it.
I've got zero fear when it comes to my family. Zero. I take another bite of cake and hold the fork out to Rava so he can taste it. A chunk falls straight onto his black turtleneck. He looks at me with this devastated little face.
I laugh and pull him into me. "Sorry, baby. I was trying to be sweet!" He raises an eyebrow. "If we weren't surrounded by people, I'd make you lick it clean." He smirks. "You're lucky."
Antonio runs back to the table out of nowhere, sweaty as hell. His chest goes up and down. Poor kid looks like he's been fighting for his life in that playhouse.
He squeezes between us, trying to catch his breath. "Come here, bean," Rava says, already helping him hold a water cup. Antonio chugs half of it in one go.
The cup fogs up instantly. We're both laughing because he looks like a tiny athlete after a match interview.
"Having fun?" Rava asks, excited. Antonio nods hard, still gulping air.
"We're leaving soon, it's getting late, okay?
Start saying bye to your friends," I tell him.
"Okay, Daddy," he says and then he's gone again.
We say bye to every parent at the party, and somehow Rava manages to schedule us for another kid birthday next week. My man is too friendly. I love him, but Jesus Christ, we're gonna spend our whole lives surrounded by cake and balloons.
Now we're in the car. Total silence.
Antonio isn't singing his silly songs…
He isn't humming…
He isn't tapping his little shoes on the seat…
Rava tried to start one, but Antonio didn't follow. He looks genuinely sad. Like something punched straight into his tiny heart. My pulse picks up.
Did we do something wrong? Did someone hurt him? Did he fall and I didn't see it?! I have no idea.
We get home. Shoes off. Jackets off. Rava notices Antonio's sadness immediately. He kisses my cheek. "Go take him for a bath. I'll cook. If you need anything, I'll come and help, okay?"
I pull him closer for a second. "You're the best, Ravioli." He blushes a little. I go.
…
Now I'm sitting by the bathtub with Antonio in front of me. I'm washing him gently, watching the way he won't look at me. Time to find out what the hell happened...
"Hey," I say, lifting his chin with my fingers. "What's going on? Why the sad face? I thought you had fun today." I'm already scared of the answer.
I hate that I'm scared, but I am.
"Antonio," I try again, "did someone bother you?"
He nods. Oh God.
I swear I feel heat in my palms. I'm about to get mad at a four-year-old. This is where we are in life. "What did they say, baby?" I ask, keeping my voice calm even though I feel like exploding.
He wipes soap from his cheek. "Rio... he asked... how big my grandma and my grandpa are."
Okay. That sounds... harmless?
"Do you mean he asked how old they are?"
Antonio nods. "Yes."
"Okay," I say slowly. "And what did you tell him?" Antonio's lip trembles. He looks away.
"I said... I don't know where my grandpa is." The sadness hits him all over again.
"And what did he say, sweetheart?"
Antonio swallows hard. "He said… that he is… not here anymore. And… he said, you and dada are keeping secrets from me."
I shut my eyes. For one long second.
Jesus fucking Christ, Rio. With all due respect, I hope Santa brings you nothing but ugly socks this year.
"Rio was… older than you?" I ask, washing the soap off his shoulders. Antonio nods. "Yeah. He big. He know everything. Like Dada."
I want to punch a wall. Or cry. Or both.
Not like this, man... Not from another kid. Not as his first time hearing something so heavy. I take a deep breath, scoop warm water, pour it gently over his back.
Trying to cool down my own anger before I speak, because right now I'd fight a toddler for him. And win proudly. Because now I have to explain death to my son without breaking him.
Or myself.
"Antonio," I whisper, brushing the water from his eyelashes. "Look at daddy for a second." His eyes lift. They're shiny.
God, that kills me. "Listen… what you heard today, it's hard stuff. Even for big people. Even for me." I touch his cheek with my knuckle.
"But you didn't do anything wrong, baby. You didn't say anything wrong. And we didn't keep secrets because you're a kid. Me and Dada just wanted you to have a little more time! A little more childhood before learning about things that hurt."
He looks sad. But I have to do this.
"Your grandpa... he's not here with us. Not in the kitchen, not in the living room. But he's here in all the ways that matter."
I place my palm on his tiny chest. "Right here. In every good thing about you." He stares at my hand, then at me.
"You know why you're brave?" I whisper. "Because he was brave. You know why you're gentle? Because he was gentle. You know why I love you the way I do? Because he taught me how."
Antonio blinks tears away.
"And baby... he didn't leave. People don't leave the ones they love. They just move to a place where we can't see them right now. But he watches you. Every day. Every time you laugh too loud or hug me so tight I can't breathe, he sees it."
I choke for a second but swallow it fast. "And he's proud of you. Oh my God, he'd be so proud of you, Antonio. You have no idea. He'd brag about you to everyone. He'd tell them you're strong, and kind, and smarter than anyone your age. He'd tell them you're everything."
Antonio's little hand reaches out and touches my jaw. "He likes bikes too?" he whispers.
I smile, trying not to burst into tears. "He loved bikes. Just like me. Just like you. If he was here, he'd take you on the tank and let you pretend to drive, exactly the way I do."
"So you knew him, daddy?" he asks again, smaller this time. I press my forehead to his.