Donna Teresa’s lips press together in a thin line.
The younger women are enthusiastic in their chorus of congratulations. The older women seem more reserved.
“Well, that was fast, wasn’t it?” his mother demands. “You’ve only been dating—what—a month?”
I nod. “Yes, just about a month.”
“What’s the rush?”
I have no intention of announcing my pregnancy to this room full of gossiping women. It’s not my baby shower—it’s not for me to steal the limelight.
I shrug and turn my attention to the visibly pregnant woman, Angela. “So when’s your due date?”
Angela rests her hand on her belly. “November 8th.”
“And when does Gerry get out?” another woman asks.
“A year from January. So the baby will just be walking by then.”
A wave of cold rolls through me, memories of my father’s incarceration making my stomach sick.
Don Alberto, Sr., Joey’s dad, was boss then, and he paid our mortgage, but still money was tight, and my mom had to get a job. She worked as a receptionist at a beauty salon to keep me at St. Mary’s Academy.
I remember Joey dropped off cash once. He was in his early twenties, and my mom had told me to ask him to wait until she arrived because her car had broken down, and she needed to talk to him about getting more cash than just for the mortgage. I made him coffee, feeling like a grown up playing hostess. When he grew restless from waiting, he said, “Just tell me what it’s about. Does your ma need more money?”
I’d loved the way he treated me like a grown up. Talked business with me. He was so good-looking, and I suddenly wished I didn’t have braces on my teeth or my school uniform on.
“Yeah, her car needs fixing. Eight hundred bucks, they told her.”
Joey nodded and stood up. He fished in his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. He handed them to me. “This should cover it.”
I realized it must be his own money. “Thanks. Thank you.”
“No problem.” He bent to give me a kiss on each cheek.
It was a terrible year. My mom was angry all the time, and when my dad got out, their fights only got worse. Mom refused to quit her receptionist job despite the fact my dad brought home plenty of cash, so that caused more fights. For my part, I held a grudge against my dad for abandoning us while he was in jail, acting out like a bratty teenager.
My nose burns and tears prickle. It’s a grudge we never resolved before he died.
And was this what I would be giving my baby? A daddy who might do time? A father with a high likelihood of dying a violent death?
I paste a smile on my face and suffer through the insipid baby shower games, the opening of presents, the brunch and the cake, all the while imagining this would soon be happening for me—the same guests, the same presents, the same food. What ifmyhusband was in lock-up?
After the presents have been opened, I help the other ladies bring the food and dishes into Carmen’s kitchen where Donna Teresa corners me.
“Why do you want to marry Joey?” she demands.
I grind my teeth. No suitable response comes to my lips.
“I know you can make him happy—I’m not worried about that,” the older woman says.
“I can?”
“But will you be happy? WithLaCosa Nostra?” Joey’s mother makes a grand gesture of her hand around the room. “Because your mother never was, and it caused misery for your father. You want that for Joey? Always having trouble with the other men over his wife?”
Trouble with the other men over his wife?
This was the first I’d heard of this, and it makes me want to lose my lunch.