Page 23 of Shield and Savior
The uncles pause their conversations when they see me. A mix of ethnicities, but all with various degrees of balding heads and styles of slightly out-of-fashion outfits—they all picked a time period and stuck with it. At least some things never change.
“Izzy!” Uncle Carlos jumps up, his knees cracking as he stands. He throws his big, beefy arms around me. He always smelled like meat, and it was a weird mixture of meat, too. Like I could never be sure if it was bacon, or beef, or fish, but he was a vegan’s worst nightmare. “You look great, kid!”
“Thanks.”
“Was that your little one? Although he’s not little anymore. I saw him running downstairs with my granddaughter, the glitter-bomb-ready-to-happen.”
“Yeah.”
“Welcome home, kiddo.” Uncle Carlos squeezes my arm and gives me a small smile before sitting and getting absorbed by the chair.
I still haven’t seen my mom or dad, but so far, the reception is warmer than I expected. By the time I navigate to the kitchen, I find Lance in the center of a gaggle of women with multiple containers of food.
“Is Alana eating enough?”
“Do you think she’d like an extra slice of cake?”
“Take these bottles of water home. I don’t think either one of you is drinking enough.”
“Did she like the tres leches cake we sent back last time?”
Lance answers the questions as fast as he can. “Yes, she’s eating enough, but it’s probably cereal so an extra slice of cake would be perfect, and she has an app to remind her to drink water. And she loved the tres leches cake, and I forgot to bring your plate back. I will send it in with Joey or Izzy.”
That’s the first time I’ve paid attention to him saying my name, and my insides melt. I’m normally, “Nessie or Your Mom.” How can a word I’ve heard my entire life sound so different coming from his lips?
His answers appease the women, who return to their chatter and gossip as another set of hands—older but just as steady as the others—grabs the top plate from him and wraps it up in tinfoil.
“You’re such a good boy,” Nonna coos and makes a kissy face at him.
He blushes. Actually blushes. His cheeks bloom pink like spring flowers, and my stomach does a little flip. Stop it. Stop it right now.
Nonna squints at me, and her whole body lights up. “Izzy Bear! Come, give me a hug!” I cross the sea of women to wrap my arms around her. It’s nice to hear Nonna’s voice in English, although I miss the Italian. She smells like roses and other old lady perfume, with a dash of vanilla from the icing she made for whatever dessert someone tasked her with today. She feels frail, like if I squeezed too hard, I might shatter her. Since her stroke a few years ago, she’s been living on borrowed time.
Nonna is the last of the Grandmas. Well, that’s what my generation calls them. They were the Wives, the Moms, and, finally, the Grandmas of the Four Families. Babushka died days before I left ten years ago, Abuela passed away six years ago, and Nana died last year. We had limited time with each other, filling it with laughter, love, and food.
Lance’s hands are overflowing before Nonna grabs him a plastic tote to take it all home. He looks at the food then at me. “This is a lot. Do you want me to swing by your place and leave some leftovers?”
I point to the room attached to the kitchen, also filled with food. “No. I’ll go home with enough food to feed Drew and me for the weekend.” No one leaves hungry. Ever.
Joey comes into the kitchen with a beer in his hand and notices the tote of food. Before he can say anything, Lance asks, “She’s safe here tonight, right?”
My cousin stifles back his laughter. “Of course. Is Specs coming to pick her up?”
“Yeah, he should be here around eleven.”
“Perfect, you’re off the clock. Go home,” Joey orders. Not sure if it was an order because he doesn’t want Lance around in family matters, or if he’s concerned about my bodyguard’s free time.
He nods and says, “I’m going to say goodbye to Drew. I’ll see you on Monday.”
Hmm, is that the first time he’s said Drew’s name and not his code name?
Now I don’t know what to do. Do I hug him? Shake his hand? Wave awkwardly? Text him when I get home. Kiss him. Okay, I know the last one is the wrong answer. But still.
I settle with an awkward wave and remain in the kitchen.
It isn’t until he leaves that it strikes me—everyone knows Lance. But he isn’t a member of the Four Families. He’s not tied to us through ABBA or shared family trauma. How exactly is this happening?
Waverly takes a long sip of her wine. “Dammnn he looked good tonight.”