It still drove him crazy, to be honest, but he’d gotten better at living with it. He could give Gabe his space. It wouldn’t kill him.
“Anything serious?”
Moms just loved to pry.
Dante looked past his mom’s shoulder to Gabe, who was sitting with Bryan on the floor, poring over the instructions for building an X-wing.
I’m pretty sure he’s working up the nerve to tell me he wants kids, Dante thought about saying. But he couldn’t; his parents would get their hopes up and it wouldn’t be right to have that conversation with her before he had it with Gabe, regardless of how long Gabe was taking to bring up the issue.
Gabe was working on being more assertive and communicative. Dante mostly had to work on patience.
“Nothing bad,” he promised. “He’s brooding, not stewing.”
His mother clucked her tongue. “You make him sound like a chicken.”
“Funny.” Dante reached for the cornstarch. “I’m serious. Don’t bug him about it at dinner, okay? He’ll get all squirrelly.”
“You’ll have a whole petting zoo.” She took the cornstarch from him and kissed his cheek. “I won’t mention anything, sweetheart. Now get out of my kitchen. It’s hot enough in here with just me and the turkey.”
Dismissed, Dante retreated to the living room and sat next to Gabe, who was still poring over the LEGO instructions. “How’s he doing?” he asked Bryan.
Bryan looked at Gabe, at the pile of LEGO, then at Dante. “Has he ever made anything out of LEGO before?” he asked dubiously.
For once Dante didn’t conclusively know the answer. On the occasions Gabe had tagged along to babysit, the kids were more DUPLO age, and it wasn’t like they had a lot of time for hobby building at home.
“I made a miniature hockey rink once,” Gabe said with a shrug.
Dante digested this. “Like with benches and penalty boxes and stands, or….”
Gabe’s cheeks pinkened.
“Oh man.Two dee?” Bryan said.
“I was busy with hockey practice!” Gabe said defensively. “I was only playing with LEGO because I had chicken pox.”
Dante edged the instruction booklet away from him and nudged it toward Bryan. “Maybe you should leave this to the professionals.”
Bryan grinned. “Mama’s the best at it”—Dante wondered which of the three wasMama—“but she said she can’t sit on the floor in that skirt.”
Rina, then. Dante looked up at her and smiled his most charming smile. “Any pointers?”
Rina sipped her wine. “Sit on a pillow,” she advised. “Hardwood floors are tough on the joints.”
Gabe stood, grimaced, and relocated to the love seat. He tossed Dante a cushion as Dante’s dad brought in two more glasses of wine.
“Thank for the advice.” Gabe tilted his glass in Rina’s direction.
Their conversation washed over Dante as he and Bryan studied the manual. Was he imagining it, or did Gabe sound a little wistful? Bittersweet?
“Okay,” Dante murmured as he tapped the booklet, “we’re looking for a piece that looks like—what is that, like, a little kazoo thing?”
“Got it!” Bryan said. “It looks like it goes… this way?”
Dante glanced back and forth between their pieces and the booklet. “I think so. Now we need the wings—”
“They’re called S-foils.”
Of course they were. “S-foils, how could I forget.” Something about itwasbittersweet, damn it. Otherwise why did Dante’s chest feel tight? He was pretty sure he wasn’t having a panic attack.
