who had been dead a good ten years now.
But no one had too much time to wonder over Artie, now that Tracy and Timmy had launched a full attack on the living room. They had already pulled all the cushions off the couch and were about to proceed with a pillow fight when my mother swooped down to hug them and shower them with the gifts she kept handily beside the sofa they had all but destroyed. It was as if she would gladly have taken on Tracy and Timmy, who with their big blue eyes and curly brown locks were irresistible, and put Miranda, who stood by gazing on the scene with love, out to pasture.
But whatever lingering animosity there was, it was immediately dispelled when, moments after Nonnie went into the kitchen to check on the sauce, she returned and announced, “Dinner’s ready. Let’s eat!”
Once we were all settled around the table, with me sitting between Tracy and Timmy to keep them from tearing at each other’s hair while we were eating, it suddenly occurred to Sonny that my other half was missing.
“Hey, where’s Kirk?” he said, between mouthfuls of eggplant and linguine.
“Who’s Kirk?” Tracy asked, completely forgetting the guy who had kept her giggling all afternoon with his silly little jokes the last time we were here.
“You idiot,” Timmy declared. “Kirk is Angela’s boyfriend.”
“I’m not an idiot, you’re an idiot,” she said, reaching behind me to yank her brother’s hair and sending my head jutting out neatly over my plate, giving my mother an easy aim as she set about taking it off.
“He went home to see his parents,” my mother supplied, eyebrows raised as if inviting speculation about Kirk’s intentions.
“Oh, yeah?” Sonny said. “I didn’t think that guy had a home, judging by how often he eats with us.”
“Doesn’t his family live in Massachusetts somewhere?” Vanessa said, clearly proud of herself for remembering the details of my boyfriend’s life. For whatever you wanted to say about Vanessa, she really did make an effort when it came to family.
“Newton, Massachusetts,” I replied, leaning back and neatly frustrating Tracy’s effort to get a grip on her brother’s head in turn. With a glance at my mother, I continued in what I hoped was a matter-of-fact voice, “It’s about six hours by train.” Not that Kirk ever took the train. He had so many frequent flier miles, he could probably take us both on the shuttle out of LaGuardia without making a dent in his considerable savings account. The jerk. Still, I had an argument to win here. “So it’s not exactly a hop, skip and a jump from New York.”
“I didn’t say anything!” my mother protested, completely denying the subtext her raised eyebrows were sending everyone at the table.
And just in case anyone missed the subtext, Miranda innocently laid it out for all to see. “Have you ever met Kirk’s parents?”
As I stumbled toward an answer, my mother declared, “No, she hasn’t. Don’t you think that’s wrong?”
“Wrong?” Joey said, as if he weren’t following.
“I just think that if a man is serious about a girl…” my mother began.
“What? You thinking of marrying this guy?” Sonny said, as if marriage for his baby sister was an option he had yet to think of.
“I don’t know what I’m—” I began.
“Why shouldn’t she be thinking of it?” my mother chimed in. “She’s thirty-one years old.”
“Believe me, you’re better off waiting,” Miranda said. “I married Fred when I was twenty-five, and look where that got me,” she continued with the habitual roll of the eyes she made whenever she referred to her ex-husband.
My mother’s mouth dropped open, then she shut it soundly. But her expression, as it roamed over her prized firstborn son sitting next to his bride-to-be, said that she didn’t think Miranda had done too badly in the long run.
“Hey, Vanessa was only twenty-five when she married me. And you’re happy, baby, aren’t you?” Sonny said, turning to his wife, who scrunched up her nose and rubbed it against his, as her hand roamed over her ever-present abdomen. Somehow the sight of them made me feel…wistful. But only for a moment.
“Well, I was a young bride, too,” Nonnie said, “and all that made me was a young widow,” she continued, giving Artie a significant look. “But things are different today. Women today like to date around. Test-drive a man before they take him home for good.”
“What? I was wrong to marry my husband at twenty-two?” my mother said defensively. “We were in love. We wanted to be together.”
And there, I thought, lay the thing that stabbed most about Kirk’s weekend away. Did he even want to be with me? Really be with me?
“Tell you the truth,” Sonny said now, “I always liked that first guy you went out with. Vincent Salerno. Whatever happened to him?”
“Married,” my mother said, as if whatever point she was trying to make was already proved. “For over nine years now.”
“Whoa-ho,” Sonny said with a barely contained laugh. “Another one bites the dust. And didn’t you recently go to the wedding of that guy you went out with in college? What was his name? Randy?”
“That was five years ago already,” my mother said. Clearly she was a stickler for details tonight.
Oh, God, please don’t let them ask about Josh next….
But Sonny didn’t even need to ask about Josh to make his point. “Hey, you wait any longer, Ange, and all of the good ones will be taken,” he said.
“Not all of them,” Nonnie said, giving Artie a look that stopped his fork midway to his mouth.
Even my own grandmother was going to beat me to the altar, I realized now, judging by the blush that was crawling up Artie’s neck.
“Angela’s different,” Vanessa said in my defense. “She’s artistic,” she declared, her thick Brooklyn accent making the word sound more like “autistic.”
“Hey, Angela, can you do that headstand for us again?” Tracy asked, remembering a Rise and Shine routine I once demonstrated for her in my mother’s living room.
“No headstands,” Joey said as Tracy began to scoot out of her chair. “You gotta eat first. Then Angela will do her tricks for you.”
Tricks? Oh, brother.
When had I gone from “artistic” to circus sideshow freak?
I sighed. Maybe there really was something wrong with me.
4
I just called…to SCREAM…I LOVE YOU!
There is only one thing worse than returning to an empty apartment on a Sunday night—that’s returning to an empty apartment littered with the remains of someone else’s good time. Specifically, Justin’s and—judging by the two wineglasses nestled cozily together on the dining room table—Lauren’s. Apparently they’d come home early from the Hamptons. Candles littered the windowsill; the smell of burning wax was still in the air. A note left by the answering machine indicated in Justin’s loopy scrawl that he had taken Lauren to the airport. Which meant, since Justin didn’t have a car, that he was taking an expensive round-trip cab to LaGuardia, just so he could spend an extra hour with the woman he once described to me as “the best thing that ever happened” to him.
I sighed. When was I going to be anyone’s best thing?
As I headed into the living room and saw that sofa #3 had been maneuvered from its position in the middle of the room to a less prominent place in front of sofa #2, I realized I did have something to be thankful for. At least Lauren had used her considerable influence over Justin to persuade him that his most recent sofa acquisition