“Oh,good,” she replied, breathing out a heavy sigh of relief. “I thought hemight've seen your dad again.”
Ishook my head. “Nah. At least, if he did, he didn't say anything to me aboutit.”
Justafter his second birthday, when we were still living in Jenna's basement,Vincent began to have conversations with Nonno. And it wasn't until Andy hadseen my father herself, that we learned that our son had inherited her abilityto see the dead. But unlike Andy's parents, we never discouraged him, or tookhim to doctors to try and rid him of his gift. Because, also unlike herparents, we already knew what it was, and we knew there was nothing he could doabout it. So, we taught him to embrace it, and that there was absolutelynothing wrong with him for being able to do what he could do.
Besides,who knows? He might one day decide to get into the family business.
“How'sTracey doin'? She comin' by tonight?”
Andyshook her head on her way to the fridge. “She's good, but she can't make it.Her producer has gotten crazy demanding.”
“Hey,she's the one who decided to get her own TV show,” I pointed out.
“No,I know,” Andy replied, pulling out packs of ground sirloin. “I think she's justtired.”
“Sheshould settle down. Get married or somethin'. Have a kid. Buy a house.”
“Oh,you mean, live our life?”
Ishrugged innocently, crossing my arms. “I mean, it's not the worst thing we'veever done, right?”
Then,her eyes filled with the pain of memories that hadn't faded enough, as shereplied, “Right.”
***
Timedoesn't heal all wounds. I would always mourn my father. I would always misshim with an impossible ache, eating away at my gut. But time had healed myrelationship with Andy's family, and for that, I would always be grateful.
“Yougotta flip those burgers, Vin,” my father-in-law commented, standing over myshoulder at the grill.
“Iwill.”
“They'regonna burn if you don't flip them soon.”
Iturned to him, lowering my brows. “I said, I—”
“Daddy,”Andy intercepted, shooting a stern glare my way, “Vinnie has barbecued athousand burgers. I'm sure he's fine.”
“Oh,I know,” he said, clapping a hand against my shoulder. “But he doesn't mindwhen I give him a few pointers, right, Vin?”
“Well,”I wobbled my head from side to side, “I mean, I guess it depends on what kindapointers we're talkin' about here.”
“Oh?”
“Absolutely,”I said, as I began to flip the burgers. “Like, on the golf course? You go aheadand give me all the tips you wanna give, 'cause God knows I still don't knowshit about golf. But when it comes to me and my cookin'?” I snickered, shakingmy head. “Man, you're better off keepin' your mouth shut, 'cause I ain't evergonna listen.”
Onceupon a time, if I had talked to Andy's father like that, I could've safelyexpected to never see the light of day again. But now, he only squeezed myshoulder and laughed heartily, bumping his arm against mine.
“Allright, all right,” he relented. “I'll leave you to it. Just don't burn mine.”
“HaveIever?”
“Nah,”he said with a chuckle and another squeeze of my shoulder. “You wouldn't dothat to me.”
Meredithand Willa sauntered over, carrying cans of diet soda. Ever since Andy and I hadgotten back together, the two of them had kept their alcohol consumption awayfrom us, and to say we appreciated it would be an understatement. I saw it asan olive branch of sorts, and a sign of their acceptance. They respected us, aswell as the burden of our lingering temptations, and that meant more to me thanthey'd ever know.
“Letme tell you something,” Willa said, poking one long-nailed finger against myshoulder. “Your son has a very special way of making us feel like idiots.”
“I'vetaught him well, then,” I jabbed playfully, shooting her a wide grin.
