“Longtime,” her father replied, wrapping an arm around his wife and kissing hercheek. “But it's been worth every second.”
“Ihope we're all that lucky,” I complimented, smiling at the genuine curl of herlips.
Hersmile faded as she asked, “Do you plan on getting married one day?”
“Uh...” I glanced toward the kitchen, wishing Andy would rescue me at that verysecond. “I mean ...”
“Don'tput him on the spot like that,” Andy’s dad said, reaching out to clap a handagainst my shoulder. “When he's ready to marry Andrea, he'll let us know.Right, Vin?”
Thecorner of my mouth ticked, twitching into a half-smile at the thought ofmarrying Andy and the idea of making her my wife. Could a future like thatreally be in the cards for a guy like me?
“Well,we'll see,” her mother quickly added, narrowing her eyes at her husband andthen at me. “That wouldn't be happening for a long, long time. And who knowswhat'll happen before then, right, Vinnie?”
Icould only imagine what she was implying, and none of it could be good. But, asmuch as I didn't want to admit it, she was also right. Who really knew? Therewas plenty of room for me to fuck things up, for Andy to find out about mylittle secret stash and leave. And then, what? Depression? Rock bottom?Overdose?
Thepossibilities were endless.
“Yeah,”I replied, my voice gruff. “Right.”
***
Ilearned something about Andy's family—both immediate and extended—that night.
Theywere all wealthy, and they were all, for the most part, assholes.
Asone of her parents' three daughters, she had deserted me on more than oneoccasion to help with the party, leaving me to stand alone in the middle of thedecorated yard, a ruffed-up mutt surrounded by wolves. I felt their eyes on me,curious and questioning as they picked apart my bargain bin button-up andhand-me-down slacks, as they wondered why I held a bottle of water and not aglass of champagne. They didn't know I had worn the very same clothes to myfather's funeral, just a couple of weeks before, but I did. They didn't knowthat one of their cars cost more than what I made in a year, but I did. Theydidn't know I had snuck a glance at the little bag of cocaine right beforeleaving the apartment, but I did. And with every comparison I made, the more Iwished for a drink, or better yet, the coke that I'd left taped to the medicinecabinet.
“So,what do you do?” her cousin, Brad, asked, sipping slowly from an etchedtumbler.
“Iwork at my family's pizza place.”
Henodded. “Is it just the one or do they own a chain?”
Thatwas what he asked, but what he really wanted to know was,how successful areyou?So, I replied, “Just the one. But that's intentional.” Which wasn't alie. After the restaurant took a turn toward success several years ago, Popscould have afforded to open up another Famiglia Bella in a different part ofManhattan, or maybe in Brooklyn, my old stomping grounds. But he decidedagainst it, realizing how thin he'd have to spread himself.
Brad'spreppy face wrinkled with disbelief. He couldn't understand why someonewouldn't want to expand and make more money, even if it meant sacrificing thequality of the product. But I knew it wasn't something I could explain in a wayhe'd understand, so I didn't try.
“How'dyou meet Andrea?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Well,we kinda met twice. Once outside of a show in the city, and the second time, inthe hospital.”
“Ah,right. She said your father was a patient.” He nodded. “Makes sense.”
Inarrowed my eyes at the remark. “Makes sense? What do you mean?”
Bradlaughed and I could smell the bourbon on his breath. My mouth watered asdesperation slowly crept in.
“Oh,I didn't mean anything by it. It's just, well, you know. I can't imagine whereelse she would have met you.”
“Hm,”I grunted, pursing my lips. “Well, I better go find her. Nice chat, Brad.”
Iwalked away before he could reply and I could once again catch a whiff of thebooze on his breath. I searched the yard, peeking into clusters of well-dressedpeople. Nobody said a word to me or acknowledged my intrusion. It felt likebeing invisible, and I didn't like it.
Ifound Andy in a garden, with a glass of wine in her hands. She never drankalcohol around me until now, and while it had never been a stipulation of mine,I was surprised to find that it hurt me, just a little, to see her take a sip.
“Whatare you doin' over here all by yourself?” I asked, approaching with my handsstuffed in my pockets.
Istartled her, as I emerged from the shadows to stand in the glow of well-placedlights. She smiled bashfully, holding up her glass.
