Page 32 of It's Always Sonny

“So hardcore,” the teen named Noah says. “What happened after that, Nonna?”

Nonna shrugs. “He picked up after his dog.”

More uproarious laughter follows.

I listen raptly to every tale, marveling at the matriarch of this huge, tight-knit family. At one point, I spot Sonny watching me from his table. I feel stupid, like I’ve been caught pretending to be one of them rather than the hired help, but he hobbles over to the hot chocolate bar, where I’m standing. He has on shorts, a hoodie, a beanie, and a pair of white sneakers.

But it’s the brace around his knee I can’t help noticing. When he gets to me, he grabs a cup and starts pouring from the spout of the industrial hot cocoa machine. He hands the first cup to me, and then pours his own.

“Nonna’s pretty cool, isn’t she?” he asks, stirring in hazelnut creamer.

“That’s an understatement,” I agree, putting in a splash of vanilla creamer before taking a sip. “She’s so bold. I can’t even imagine.”

“Sure, you can,” he says. “Parker Jane doesn’t take trash from anyone.” He means it as a compliment, but it’s so far off the mark, it bounces off of me.

We turn around to face his family, but we’re both angled slightly toward each other. I’m powerless to turn away, and my brain is angry about it.

My body isn’t.

“You look happy,” I say. Then I scramble. “Right now, I mean. I haven’t been watching you, or anything,” I lie.

“Happiness is my thing.” He takes a slow sip, and his lips curve around the cup in a way that entrances me.

“Yeah, but something about all of this is different.”

He leans closer to me, but he looks out over his family instead of letting his gaze drill into me. “Yeah, it’s something else, isn’t it?”

I hold the hot chocolate closer to my body, shivering.

If he could only see himself now, the way he isn’t merely lighter but the way he almost floats with his family. He watches everyone so intently, but there’s no trace of judgment. I didn’t realize until I met his family during Christmas break our freshman year that such adoration was even possible. They all flew out together to spend the weekend in Chicago before going to Virginia to be with Nonna for the holiday.

They were warm and playful and funny and competitive and totally loyal to each other.

I assumed they were putting on a show. Even my parents could do that. But I saw them too many times in the year and a half after that. Every time I met them, they showed me their love was the rule, not the exception.

Seeing them all together now makes me realize it’s not just Sonny’s immediate family, it’s the whole Luciano crew.

Mothers watch their toddlers with exhausted yet indulgent gazes. Dads coo at babies like they can’t believe such perfection exists. Parents tease their teenage children. They talk and debate and laugh together.

Love is everywhere.

And Nonna looks over the pavilion with a look of satisfaction on her beautiful lined face.

And all I can think is … how?

She’s so flinty. She’s hard and fiery, and I bet she could even be explosive if pushed.

How did she create all of this?

And if she could … can I?

As dinner winds down, one of Sonny’s nephews—Felix—jumps on his chair and knocks his plate to the ground, and I freeze.

Anthony and his wife, Amber, share a tired look, and Anthony exhales forcibly.

I break out into a cold sweat seeing Anthony’s visible frustration.

I brace myself for a wave of cold fury. A memory flashes in my mind of a five-year-old Parker. My family was at a fancy party celebrating some achievement of my father’s, and I was too hungry to keep waiting while they gave my father his award, so I stood on my chair and reached for the breadbasket. But I was so tiny and off kilter that I tipped forward and fell on my table setting, causing a clank loud enough to draw attention from everyone in the room. My father was on stage, but his eyes flashed to my mother’s, and the next thing I knew, my mother was escorting me from the room.

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