Page 60 of Love at a Funeral and Other Awkward Conversations

After a few hours of being cajoled by Uncle Dominic, I finally relent and allow him to teach me how to play gin rummy. And after a couple big glasses of cousin Margo’s homemade wine, I really start to adore this huge, chaotic family. They’re nothing like I’m used to but also kind of great. Everyone has their own drama and eccentricities, so it’s easy to slip out of my own and into theirs. I cheer along as Mr. Mancini, who insists I call him Rob, sings “Mack the Knife” during karaoke, and I hold Aunt Jeanne’s hand as she describes her botched foot surgery. Then I fetch her another Chardonnay.

When the sun sets, Vince finds me next to his mom, listening as she gossips with Margo, Stella, and Aunt Mary. He holds out his hand. “Come on.”

I stare at his outstretched hand then meet his eyes. It’s different, agreeing to come here with his family, to take his hand now, to make the decision to go with him.

It’s weightier.

Meaningful.

Dangerous. For me, but especially him.

Except, when he smiles, I can’t say no.

Behind me, Cindy pats my back, pushing me to go with him, the others grinning happily. Because they know too. What this all means.

And I should not take his hand. I should ask him to take me home.

But I don’t.

Instead, I set my palm in his and let him wrap his fingers around mine.

CHAPTER 22

“Fireworks are starting soon.” Vince informs me, and I stand up from the Adirondack chair with his help, and he tips his head toward the house. “Let’s go to the roof.”

“The roof?”

He indicates the flat part above the garage then to the higher portion next to it. “Used to climb out from my bedroom window.”

“You snuck out a lot?” I ask, moving slowly from the wine.

He laces his fingers with mine and shrugs. “A few times. Sometimes, I’d sneak in. Until Mom caught me trying to get Amanda Bittmeir to climb up.”

I tuck my face into his shoulder, buzzed enough not to be jealous of stupid Amanda Bittmeir.

“Haven’t been on the roof for a while, though,” he goes on, leading me inside the house and upstairs. “Thought you might like the view better from up here.”

He opens the door to a bedroom at the end of the hall. With the navy walls and some memorabilia still around, it very clearly used to be his. I help myself to lounging on the bed as he opens the sliding closet doors to snag a thick quilt then leans over me for the pillows, his eyes roving over me. He smells of pine and the outdoors. I’m reminded of the time I was in gym class, sprawled out on the grass after “running” on the track. For some reason or another, Vince was speaking to the teacher and ended up flopping down next to me, our faces turned toward each other, his smile boyish, my heart leaping.

For a moment, I think he’s going to lie next to me now, but he only crosses the room to the window, shoving it up and open with one hand before tipping his head for me to get up.

“Go foot first,” he instructs. “The roof’s still pitched here, so be careful.”

When I make it out, he smiles. “Attagirl.”

Then he tosses the pillows and quilt out, easily ducking his long frame through the window. With everything in hand once again, he helps me hop down to the flat roof of the garage, where he creates a makeshift bed for us.

Below us, sparklers flicker, tiki lights shine, and voices carry, but up here, it’s muted, with the overhead sky nearly black. Like we’re in another world.

“Here, come here,” Vince says, opening his arm up to me so I’ll sidle next to him. I don’t hesitate.

Maybe because it is so dark on the roof, it doesn’t feel real.

“I’m glad you agreed to come with me today.”

“Me too.” Our thighs rub against each other, and my pulse pounds everywhere. In my wrists. My throat. My chest. Between my legs.

He inches even closer, his breath hot on my bare shoulder. “And I’m really sorry I made you uncomfortable in the car earlier.”

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