Page 80 of It's Always Sonny

“You, missy, like it.”

I can’t deny it.

His siblings finish yelling at us to fight for our right to party, and when they sit down, Nonna yells out, “Sonny and Cher, you’re up!”

I look around, trying to figure out who she means. I’m fairly certain I know everyone here by now. I guess it’s possible someone’s nickname is Cher. I’m a huge fan of the movie Clueless, though, so I definitely would remember if someone had said the name.

Sonny chuckles. “She’s talking about us.”

“Ooooooh. Yeah, no. Not happening.”

“I don’t keep you around to look pretty,” Nonna yells from across the pavilion.

My eyes pop, and I smile because everyone’s watching. But then I remember that Nonna can spot my fake smile a mile away, and I don’t need to fake smile, and I don’t know what facial expression to make, so I mutter. “Is she talking to me or to you?”

“You don’t want to find out.” He holds out a hand. “Looks like we’re up.”

“No! I can’t do this. I’ll look like an idiot.” I protest, digging in the three-inch heels of my sneakers, even as his strong hand grabs mine.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” His aqua eyes dance in the low lights.

“You know I’m not good in front of a crowd.”

“I’ve seen you debate people in front of huge crowds, and you were outstanding.”

“That’s not the same.”

“Exactly. Those people wanted to see you fail. You couldn’t fail in front of us. Don’t you get it?”

My eyes sting. “I don’t want them to think less of me.”

“Who would think less of you for having fun?”

“You know the answer.”

“They were wrong. Why can’t you just accept that and live your life?”

“I’m not going to live forever!” Nonna yells. “Amuse me, dang it.”

I snort in spite of myself and rub my nose. Sonny has to pull me along, but I let him pull. I should yank my hand out of his, but then I remember the way he used to thread his strong, graceful fingers through mine. The way he used to trace my fingers like he was captivated by them.

I haven’t thought about that in years.

But I’m thinking about it now.

The pavilion may as well be a football field for how long it takes to get to the front. As soon as we’re on stage, I drop Sonny’s hand. But he must have felt how it was trembling, because he says, “Just breathe. Don’t look at anyone but me.”

“I’m mad at you.”

“Perfect! You can’t be angry and scared at the same time.” Sonny turns to his family and his smile goes from impish to showtime! “So, what are we singing?”

“I Got You, Babe!” Sonny’s parents, uncles, and aunts shout.

“Seriously?” Sonny asks. One of the cousins gives us both a karaoke microphone. “We could sing ‘The Beat Goes On.’ ‘A Cowboy’s Work is Never Done.’ ‘All I Ever Need is You.’”

Nonna shakes with laughter, and the sight of her wielding more power than a dictator inspires me.

“Wow,” I say sarcastically into the microphone. And suddenly all eyes are on me. Every matriarch and patriarch in Sonny’s life is in this room, and they’re lapping up the idea of me putting Sonny in his place.

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