Nothing has changed in this house, but it feels so different. It almost feels cold. I used to think a home was a place that had family pictures on the wall, a sister who stole all my things, a brother who never failed to claim the room’s energy, and loud shouting from a mother who couldn’t ever seem to shut up—but in the best way. While I love all that, it doesn’t feel like home anymore. Over the past few weeks, I have found such comfort with Gio. Being in his arms, hearing him laugh—that is what feels like home.
“Mon bébé,”Mama says, walking toward me, her arms wide for me. “You have a glow.”
I shake my head.Please don’t. Not in front of Papa.
“You are pregnant!” she says instead of asking.
“Oh my God!” I roll my eyes, trying to walk away from her, but she grabs onto my hands. “I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I. Am. Not.”
She scoffs, cupping my cheeks. “Ugh. I have missed you. I think I am empty nesting.”
I laugh and look at Papa, who is also laughing.
“How are you?” he asks as I walk over to him. “I trust things are well.”
“They are.” I don’t know what else to say. I want to shout at him for some reason. I almost never had this because of him. I would have had to marry an old man with no ear, or God knows who else.
“I am happy for you,piccola colomba.” He smiles.
I stare at him, shocked.
Little dove.
For some reason, my whole life I wanted him to accept everything I did, even though I went against him all the time. The past two years were the worst. We lost every connection we had.
But when he calls me “piccola colomba” like he used to when I was little, I can’t help but feel my heart warm.
“Thank you, Papa.”
* * *
Giovanni’s hand lowers to my back as we walk into the restaurant. We walk over to the table full of my family laughing together, sipping wine.
“Psst,” Gio says, tilting his head to the hallway as I grin at him.
I throw my head back as if I am upset.
I grab onto his hand as he opens the back door leading into the alley. “What are we doing, Gio? It’s freezing!”
He laughs as he takes his jacket off, placing it on my shoulders. I shiver even though I am a little bit warmer.
“You wore a beautiful dress.” He eyes me up and down.
I specifically wore red because I didn’t want to recreate the scene of having red wine all over a white dress.
“Thank you,” I say, shoving his chest.
He grabs my waist, pulling me closer to him, the heat from his body warming mine.“Je vous aime.”
My head jolts up to his. “That was French,” I say with a smile.
I love you.
“Did you learn French for me?” I bite down on my bottom lip.