Page 2 of Audiophile

I roll my eyes and shift Hailey in my lap. Her chubby cheeks round out as she laughs and grabs my nose, pulling me close with her sharp baby nails. Livi is always happy to pass Hailey over for a couple hours, and I soak up every minute of being an auntie that I can. Still, I wish she’d use her baby talons to rip my ears off so I don’t have to listen.

Livi murmurs something, and Ma scoffs. “Papa would have Petronia stay here for a thousand years if he could live that long,” Mama complains.

“If they saw my spiraling depression, they’d think differently,” I tell Hailey. She can’t understand me, but she smiles when I wrinkle my nose at her. I break the family rules—feeling more guilty about it than anyone over thirty should—by tucking an earbud into one ear. The sounds of a gently running spring make it easier to tune Mama out. She keeps talking, but I don’t pay her any more attention. Instead, I heft Hailey onto my hip and make my way into the living room, where there’s a soccer match on the big screen.

“Thisscemo!” Papa yells, gesturing wildly. “Clear shot, and what does he do?”

“Trips,” Darin mumbles. It’s obvious this is a taped match. Darin is the only blond in the room, and the reason Hailey’s eyes haven’t turned brown like the rest of ours. Not yet, at least.

“Trips over his own foot! If they had Totti—” Papa keeps going, and they hardly notice me as I settle in on the sofa. My brother, Tommy, catches my gaze and rolls his eyes. He’s too handsome for his own good since he seems to get out of any meaningful punishment, which means he’s still playful and immature at twenty-six.

Eventually, Papa overcomes his exasperation and greets me with a whiskery kiss to my cheek. His short beard is streaked through with gray, and his dark eyes have a blue ring forming around the iris. Not that he’ll see the doctor about it.

“How are myprincipessas?” Papa asks, squeezing Hailey’s little hand.

“Fine.” I force a smile, and it comes out as a grimace. “Want to hold her for a while?”

Papa shakes his head, shadows in his dark eyes. I hate that I put them there. “This is your favorite part of the night, my Petra. Another time.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “Thank you.” He nods, turning back to the game, and my phone pings in my pocket.

It’s a text from Silla.

Thinking of you. How’s dinner? What am I missing? Livi still being annoying?

Silla and Livi get along fine now, but I know what she’s doing. She’s always trying to cheer me up.

It’s fine. Ma would love you and Josie to come sometime.

Soon! Once Josie has some PTO from her new job, we’ll come down.

She sends three more texts, but I ignore them. One response is all I can muster.

“Dinner!” Mama yells loud enough to hear three houses over. I avoid attention as we dish up, quietly feeding Hailey small bites from my plate.

“I heard you arrested Georgie the other day,” Aunt Carla says. Her eyes are hungry for gossip as she leans in toward Darin.

“Georgie Faulk?” Mama asks. “He’s such a sweet boy! What’d he do?”

Darin rolls his eyes. “The kids just took a prank too far.”

Georgeissweet, and I want to know more, but the topic changes. I’ve forgotten basic conversational skills, and I’m rusty on how to navigate us back to Georgie’s predicament.

When we finish the first round, Ma stuffs second helpings down everyone’s throats. She huffs at me, mouth tight, while Tommy scrapes my uneaten portion onto his plate instead. “More for me.” Tommy shrugs and throws me a grin.

Livi slaps him upside the head, and then the twins copy her, slapping each other anywhere they can reach. After that, dinner falls into chaos. Stuffed full, Hailey nods off against my shoulder, and I’m left to fend for myself.

Mama sighs. “Tommy, it’s your turn for dishes, baby boy. I’m going to put my feet up.”

Tommy groans, but I see my opportunity. “I’ll do them,” I offer, and tuck Hailey into Papa’s strong arms. He melts as he gazes at her, and rubs circles on her back to soothe her.

Tommy’s charged with clearing the table, and he piles dishes in the sink faster than I can rinse them. When he bounds over to drop more in my way, he laughs and pinches my hip.

“Knock it off, Tomasso!” I slap his hand away with a glare. His grin drops, and his whole body deflates like I’ve shoved a puppy. Guilt stabs at my chest. “Tommy, wait—”

“It’s fine, Petra,” he grumbles, and retreats to the living room. He doesn’t come back.

Something pricks, hot and needlelike, at my sternum. It’s been five months of pushing my family away, and I can’t stop. I hurt them over and over, the way I’m hurting, and the shame of it swallows me whole. I drown in it the entire time that the water runs and dishes clink.

---