Page 53 of Forbidden Girl

“You mean you want us to take them to dinner?” He regards me with blatant concern—though for what, my wellbeing or his, I’m unsure—mixed with a hint of incredulity. He’s not obtuse. He wouldn’t have amassed his empire if he didn’t dwell in a state of perpetual suspicion. I can’t say I blame him for being wary of me. Anyway, he’s right. I am going to pull a Brutus and stab him in the back. He’s lucky I don’t stab him through the heart.

Sell the shit out of it or you’re screwed. “No, I meant what I said. It goes back to wanting to be an adult and, yeah, wanting to distance myself from you. You told me people fuck up under pressure and I’m no exception, but every time I’ve made a mistake, you’ve fixed it for me. You got the bullet from my gun out of Gino. You erased any traces of me from his body. I fucked things up with the Rossis. I hurt Elisa. This is my mess; let me clean it up. Otherwise, I’ll never be able to own this city or do with it as I please.”

He’s glaring into my eyes, searching for any sign of deceit. I’m praying to a God I don’t believe in that he either can’t see it, or he refuses to, because I know it’s there. I’m the bearer of the heaviness, and maybe it’s a lie too cumbersome for me to camouflage.

“I’ll set it up for tomorrow night,” he finally says. “You’ll have to go to the North End. They’ll want you off your game in their territory.”

I mask my relief with an indifferent shrug. “That’s fine. I’m in the mood for some gnocchi. Suggest Giacomo’s to Alfonso. I dig their pasta sauce. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m fucking exhausted.”

As I stand up to take my leave, he goes for his phone. Before he dials Alfonso, he says, “I’m proud of you, kid.”

“For what?” I used to live to make him proud. I coveted those words. He’s given them to me at last, and I’d rather he suffocated on them.

“Embracing your destiny.”

“Thanks.”

That’s it. If I don’t leave this room this instant, I’m going to lose my shit. I have to see Jules. I need her in my arms, if only for a minute. She steadies me when I feel unsteady, like a mooring to a ship in a storm. She’s my anchorwoman. All my life I’ve been petrified of letting anyone be that for me, but who wants to go through this dark, terrible world without someone who knows how to hold you together when you feel like you’re falling to pieces? She wants the job. She can handle the job. I’m going to give it to her.

Before I hung up with them this morning, Jules’s mom insisted on two things: That I call her Maria, and that I save her phone number and use it any time. I love her for both of those things. The second my bedroom door closes, I’m dialing.

I expect Maria to answer, but it’s Jules’s voice I hear. “Step one complete?”

“Yeah. Are you home?”

“No, still out on good behavior. Teague is staying with us until he’s recuperated enough to fend for himself, so Mom’s keeping me out for as long as possible. We’re at the Pru.”

“You’re alone with your mom? Can I see you?”

“Yes and yes, please.”

“I can be there in twenty.”

Shopping malls suck. I’m jittery. More so than usual. I’m not the type of girl anyone is eager to introduce to their parents. Technically, I’ve already met Maria, though a few phone conversations and once in person while being shot at and hiding for our lives don’t really count, do they? This is closer to how parental introductions are supposed to be done, in a chill environment, probably with some alcohol. The food court of the Prudential Center will do.

I spot Jules and her mom through the crowd. They’re at a booth with faux leather seats and a black lacquered table near Boston Chowda Company. Maria sees me first, smiles and waves me over. She’s warm and inviting in all the ways I imagine a mom to be, which is pretty impressive given the lifestyle we’re all accustomed to. Jules doesn’t wait for me to approach the table; she gets up and meets me halfway. As I’m watching her saunter toward me, it occurs to me that meeting halfway is more than a metaphor. It’s what love is, at its core: Two people with independent wills, with their own ideas and dreams and goals, making space for each other and shaping new dreams and goals together.

I manage to get out the words, “Hi, gorgeous,” and then her lips are on mine and her arms are around me, and she’s pressed against my chest so hard it’s like she’s trying to climb inside me. My gaze wanders over to Maria, who’s watching us and seems seconds away from tears. I guess a mother knows whose hands are safe for their children. I think my mother would feel that way about Jules. I slide my fingers into her hair and kiss her forehead.

“This has been the worst weekend of my life. I’m so glad you’re here,” she says.

“Same.”

She lets go of her hold on me, takes my hand. “Come say hi to Mom.”

Maria stands up to greet me. In the height of awkwardness, I offer her my hand to shake. “Oh, no, sweetie, in this family we hug.” I’ve gone seventeen years without a mother’s embrace. I forgot that it feels like coming home. I have to force myself not to cozy into her, as if I were frozen to the bone in the dead of winter and she were a flaming hearth. “Now help us with this food, would you? Our eyes were much larger than our stomachs.”

I want to tell her that I’m a terrible New Englander who detests clam chowder, but there’s a basket of cheese biscuits calling my name, so I shut up, sit down, and dig in.

The three of us laugh a lot throughout our impromptu early dinner. It’s nice to be ordinary for a change. Maria takes the trays topped with trash to the bin and, when she returns, her eyes are on Jules’s and my intertwined digits atop the table. “I’m going to pop down to Newbury Street. After the last few days, your father owes me a very expensive tennis bracelet and maybe a necklace to match, don’t you agree?”

Jules nods. “He def does. Tiffany?”

“That’ll be my first stop, then on to Cartier.”

“Oh my God, Mom, I love that for you,” Jules replies with a chortle.

I take it as a signal that we’re leaving, but Jules stops me. “Mom prefers to shop for jewelry on her own. Some people go to church to have religious experiences; she goes to jewelers.”

---