Chapter 1 #2
"Too bad," I say. "Anyway. I dramatically escape my house like I'm the main character in a depressing movie and go sit on the roof of some random building.
My traitor of a brother tells you where I am.
You show up with beers, sit down next to me, and just..
. drop your whole lore. Your dad, the accident, everything.
And my emotionally unstable heart starts feeling bad for your misunderstood ass. "
He snorts against my chest. "I start seeing you differently," I go on.
"Then I hug you. And my heart is beating like I'm a teenager touching his crush for the first time.
Then you edge me—" I tap his head lightly and he laughs.
"You leave, I go home, have a full sexuality crisis while jerking off in the shower, and then I go trauma-dump on Daisy because of you. "
He laughs and squeezes me tighter.
"And then," I add, "you destroy me and emotionally flatten me by acting all hard-to-get the day I first met Lorenzo." He laughs harder.
"Don't laugh! I was so miserable. It was torture!"
He kisses my neck, lips burning hot from the fever. "I'm sorry, Ravioli," he mumbles there. I lay his head back on my chest and stroke his hair. "I forgive you. Now sleep a bit. Don't be sick on New Year's Eve."
He nods and closes his eyes.
"Don't you dare leave," he whispers.
"I'm not going anywhere," I say. "Sleep. I'm right here."
19) Happy New Year
Gio
I button my shirt all the way up to the top. It's 10 PM, we're all getting ready to eat before the year flips, and outside the room the house sounds like a zoo on fire.
I feel better.
I don't think I qualify as sick anymore. I actually feel good, thanks to Marco, Rava, and the healing kisses of my son, who literally swore I wouldn't get better if I didn't let him kiss me a hundred times.
I'm stupidly excited for tonight. It's the first time we're finally doing New Year's all together. I step out into the hallway and find Noah wrestling with a very nervous-looking pink microphone.
"What the hell is that?" I ask, laughing.
"Get ready," he says. "Here, take this." He shoves his phone into my hand. "Start recording, baby. It's showtime." He smacks the mic once. "AAAH," he yells into it.
"What are you doing?" I'm already cracking up.
"Testing if it works." He clears his throat like he's on stage. "ANYWAY."
I hit record. He straightens up, flicks his hair back like there's an audience of fifty thousand.
"GOOD EVENING, ladies and gentlemen. This is your favorite tattoo artist, your one and only, Noah Kaiser.
Tonight we're interviewing every living creature under this roof.
" He glances back at me. "We ready, Fontana? "
"Yes, sir," I say, already grinning, and start following him. "Follow me, please," Noah announces, and struts out. "HELLO HELLO HELLO," Noah yells, almost blowing my eardrum out. "Here, ladies and gentlemen, we have our first victim. Mr. Rava Fontana, also known as Ravioli."
He shoves the mic under Rava's chin. "Sir, can you tell the camera how many hours you've been cooking for these ungrateful pigs?"
Rava laughs and pretends to think, looking up at the ceiling. "About... four."
Noah stares into the camera like he's on a documentary. "He says four, but trust me, it feels like twelve. This man hasn't stopped cooking since he opened his eyes, I swear." He swings the mic back. "How does it feel to be the backbone of this circus, chef? Speak into the mic, please."
"I'm about to cry, honestly," Rava says, smiling. "I need to pee and nobody is watching the food so I can go."
"Okay," Noah says. "We caught the chef at a vulnerable moment. He's about to piss himself." He shrugs at the camera. "Still, he looks very pretty. Cameraman, please zoom in on our chef's beautiful face."
I move in, bring the camera right up to Rava's face, and he laughs. I kiss the top of his head, because obviously. Noah points the mic at him again. "Rava, if this dinner burns, which one of us are you blaming first? Please answer honestly for legal reasons."
"You," Rava says instantly.
Noah turns to the camera. "Our chef is clearly homophobic, you all saw it."
He doesn't even give him time to answer. "Anyway. Rava, is this the same little bowl you were using in Canada when you were sad and cooking alone, or are we in your healing era now?"
Rava huffs out a laugh. "I think we're in the healing era. That was a different bowl." Noah spins toward me like he just broke a major news story. "You ALL heard it. Healing era confirmed."
He pats Rava on the shoulder. "Thank you very much, chef. Let's go bother the next victim—" he looks into the lens, dramatic again, "—the chef's husband."
He grabs the phone out of my hands. I fix my hair in like two seconds and clear my throat. "Breaking news, guys," Noah says, turning to the camera. "Local mysterious bad boy has a fever and is still hot. Let's investigate."
He comes right up in my face.
"Mr. Fontana, you look... exhausted. How are you feeling on the last day of the year?" I laugh. "Better than yesterday, thank you for asking, sir."
"On a scale from 1 to 'I'm fine', how close are you to actually collapsing?" he asks.
"I'd say... 2.5." I lean closer to the camera. "Mostly because my husband is extremely hot right now." Noah flips the camera to Rava immediately. "Of course, Mr. Fontana does not miss a single chance to hit on his husband," he narrates, then flips it back to me.
"Can you walk the viewers through your outfit tonight? Very 'sick hot dad' of you."
I look down at my clothes. "Rava picked them. I just nodded and put them on."
Noah laughs. "Look at that. What a good husband."
He narrows his eyes a bit. "Rumor has it you're still a little sick though. Are you planning on doing stuff with your husband tonight?"
"What kind of stuff?" I ask.
"The kind that makes aunties clutch their pearls."
"Oh, yeah, definitely. I'm gonna make sure the new year really enters him—"
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I apologize for this man," Noah cuts in, raising his voice. "Next question." He leans on the mic again. "Gio, be honest. Who's babying you more right now, Rava or Marco?"
"Rava. Marco keeps telling me to 'hydrate' like I'm a plant. He's not joking."
"Valid," Noah nods. "Next question. Your son is currently chewing on a wheel. How do you feel as a parent?" I glance over at Antonio gnawing on a toy car. "Proud. He's training his jaw for when he starts talking back at fifteen."
"What do you wanna say to him when he watches this video in ten years?" I lean in close to the camera. "Go to sleep. It's past your bedtime."
"Perfect," Noah says. "Alright, sick king. I'm gonna go bully the others now. Follow me."
He shoves the phone back into my hands. I start recording again and we head toward the living room. "Where are we going now, reporter?" I ask him.
He looks over his shoulder at me. "To the love of my life. My sexy lawyer."
Of course. He walks straight to the couch where Marco is sitting and just drops himself on top of him. "Good evening, sir," Noah says, shoving the mic under his chin. "Quick interview for national television. Please state your full name and crime."
Marco laughs. "Marco Vitale – Tree Guy. And my crime is dating you." Noah looks straight into the camera. "You heard that, people? Victim blaming."
He throws an arm around Marco's shoulders and sinks even more into him. "Mr. Lawyer, on behalf of the jury, how does it feel to be dating the hottest man in this house?"
Marco laughs. "First of all—"
"Please answer the question, sir," Noah cuts in. Marco grabs the mic, still smiling. "Exhausting." Noah whips his head to the camera, horrified. "WRITE THAT DOWN. We have emotional damage on record."
He clears his throat. "Anyway. Serious question now. Mr. Lawyer, on a scale from 1 to 10, how likely are you to keep defending me in court when I say things like 'your ass should be illegal'? Your answer will heavily affect our plans for tonight."
Marco takes the mic again. "Zero. I'm switching sides." Noah drops his head. "Fucking betrayal. On New Year's Eve."
He looks over at me. "Gio, are you getting this?"
I nod, laughing. "In 4K."
Noah turns back to Marco. "Okay, what else... hmm. Would you say the defendant, me, is guilty of loving you too much?" "Yes," Marco says into the mic.
"And would you like to press charges?" Noah asks.
Marco leans in a little. "No."
Noah bites down on a smile and looks at the camera like he's about to cry. "He loves me. Cut the cameras. I can't be seen being soft." Marco kisses him on the cheek. Noah looks back into the lens and drops his voice.
"For the record, ladies and gentlemen, this lawyer is mine. Any attempts to steal him will be met with legal action and emotional terrorism. That's all I have to say."
We move on. "Who's next, reporter?" I ask. He looks deadly serious for half a second. "To our next guest: our local alcoholic, future father, current menace... Mr. Lorenzo Fontana."
Lorenzo is sitting in the corner because his phone's charging, looking bored, until he hears his name. "INTERVIEW TIME?" he lights up, grabbing the mic.
"Please do not eat the microphone, sir," Noah says with a straight face. Lorenzo ignores him completely and walks over to me with the mic. "This part is for the cameraman," Lorenzo tells the lens. "Come to my room after midnight." He winks.
"GET IT TOGETHER, SIR," Noah says, laughing.
"LET ME SPEAK MY TRUTH," Lorenzo shoots back.
"Shut up, you freak," Noah mutters. "Okay, let's begin." He turns fully to the camera. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are here with Lorenzo Fontana: ex-menace, current husband, future father. Sir, how do you feel knowing a child will call you 'dad' one day?"
"I feel like crying."
"Beautiful," Noah says. "And what are you most excited for?"
Lorenzo takes the mic. "Matching leather jackets. And teaching them how to flip people off with class."