After the toilet-paper wedding dress competition, after we helped clean up and everyone had left, I walked my mother to her car.
I felt shy as I said, “Thank you for coming, Mom. It means a lot to me.”
She brushed my hair out of my eyes. “You’re my girl,” she said simply.
I threw my arms around her. “I love you so, so much.”
I called Jeremiah as soon as I got in my car. “We are so on!” I screamed. Not that we ever weren’t. Still, planning this wedding, being away from home, being in a fight with my mom—it’d had me in knots. But with my mother by my side, I finally felt like I could breathe again. My worries were gone. I finally felt complete. I felt like I could do this.
That night, I slept at home. Steven and my mom and I watched crime TV, one of those shows where they re-create crimes. We howled like wolves at the horrible acting, and we ate Fritos and the rest of my mother’s lemon squares. It was so good.
chapterforty-one
CONRAD
The day Belly went home, I went to visit Ernie, the old owner of the seafood restaurant I used to bus tables at. Every kid who ever went to Cousins knew who Ernie was, just like Ernie knew every kid. He never forgot a face, no matter how old he got. Ernie had to have been at least seventy years old when I worked there in high school. His nephew John was running the place now, and he was a prick. At first he demoted Ernie to bartending, but Ernie couldn’t keep up, so John had him roll silverware. John ended up cutting him out of the business completely, forcing him into retirement. Sure, Ernie was old, but he was a hard worker, and everybody loved him. I used to take smoke breaks with him outside. I knew it was wrong to let him bum a cigarette, but he was an old guy, and who can really say no to an old guy?
Ernie lived in a small house off the highway, and I tried to go out and see him once a week at least. To keep him company but also to make sure he was still alive. Ernie didn’t have anybody around to remind him to take his medicine, and his nephew John sure as hell wasn’t coming by to visit. After John pushed him out of the business, Ernie said John wasn’t his blood anymore.
So I was pretty surprised when I pulled onto Ernie’s street and saw John’s car on its way out. I parked in front of the house and knocked once before I let myself in.
“Did you bring me a cigarette?” Ernie asked me from the couch.
It was the same thing every time. He wasn’t even allowed to smoke anymore. “No,” I said. “I quit.”
“Then get the hell out.”
Then he laughed the way he always did, and I sat on his couch. We watched old cop shows and ate peanuts in silence. During commercial breaks, that was when we’d talk.
“Did you hear my brother’s getting married next weekend?” I asked.
He snorted. “I’m not in the ground yet, boy. ’Course I heard. Everybody’s heard. She’s a sweet girl. Used to curtsy at me when she was little.”
Grinning, I said, “That’s because we told her you used to be a prince in Italy but then you became a mafioso. The Godfather of Cousins.”
“Damn straight.”
The show came back on, and we watched in comfortable silence. Then, at the next break, Ernie said, “So are you gonna cry about it like a punk, or are you gonna do something?”
I almost choked on my peanut. Coughing, I said, “What are you talking about?”
He made another snorty sound. “Don’t be cute with me. You love her, right? She’s the one?”
“Ernie, I think you forgot to take your meds today,” I said. “Where’s your pillbox?”
He waved me off with one bony white hand, his attention back on the TV. “Simmer down. Show’s back on.”
I had to wait until the next commercial until I asked him casually, “Do you really believe in that? That people are meant to be with one person?”
Shelling a nut, he said, “Sure I do. Elizabeth was my one. When she passed, I didn’t figure a reason to look for another one. My girl was gone. Now I’m just biding my time. Get me a beer, will you?”
I stood up and went to his fridge. I came back with a beer and a fresh glass. Ernie had a thing about a fresh glass. “What was John doing over here?” I asked. “I saw him on my way in.”
“He came to mow my lawn.”
“I thought that was my job,” I said, pouring the beer into his glass.
“You do a shit job of edging.”
