Page 75 of Married With Malice

“Bowie?”

He quits whistling and turns around with a quizzical look.

“I just wanted to say thank you for loving my sister. You’re a really good guy. I should have told you that sooner.”

His smile lights up the room. “Thanks, Anni. And it’s never too late.”

He picks upJingle Bellsright where he left off and trots back to the kitchen. I have a feeling his final comment had something to do with Luca. Big Man Bowie might possess more wisdom and depth than I ever guessed.

I’m still standing around and eating my hamburger when a flood of people and food trays arrive. Mama throws me an irritated look, as if I’m a kid caught with my hand in the cookie jar. Tough. Big Man Bowie wanted me to have this burger and I’m going to keep eating it.

At least she’s too busy with serving food to chase me around. The wine is poured, enough food is added to the table to feed a stadium and people start plopping down into chairs. I end up sitting between Big Man Bowie and Sabrina with Luca seated directly across.

He shakes his napkin out with one angry motion and then tensely waits with both hands curled into fists on either side of his plate.

“This is perfect, Giulia,” says my father and presents his cheek for my mother to kiss.

She blushes and pecks his cheek, willing to accept any crumb of affection from the man who scarcely notices her most of the time.

One particularly annoying feature of family mealtimes is how my mother still serves my father his food. She darts around the table and quickly spoons helpings of his favorite dishes onto a plate until it’s full.

Watching this play out is a stark contrast to Big Man Bowie and Daisy. It’s fun to watch him run around, making sure my sister has everything her heart desires so she doesn’t need to lift a finger.

“Babe, you want some of this macaroni stuff? How about some butter for your bread?”

She’s still wearing her Bowie Loves Daisy apron and somewhere she found a poinsettia flower to stick in her hair. She gives her husband an indulgent smile and lets him pamper her, which he clearly enjoys doing.

Across the table, Luca frowns at the food and only takes meager portions. I’ve just realized that he’s lost weight lately.

Beside me, Sabrina chatters excitedly about her latest video game design to Aunt Donna, who must have made the mistake of asking her about school.

I hear my name and look to the head of the table to see my mother pointing in my direction.

“And Annalisa made mytorta di melethis year,” she says with pride and holds up the glass dish up for all to see.

I wish she wouldn’t do that. My contribution looks distinctly unimpressive when compared to the rest of the table and we’re not even having dessert yet.

But now my father is squinting at me. “You made this?”

“Yes.”

He nods with approval. “I’m glad to see you’re learning some useful skills. Cut me a piece. And cut her husband a piece as well. He deserves it.”

Talk about pressure.

I glance across the table at Luca but he’s not looking my way. His frown has deepened as he watches my mother cut small pieces of cake. She places them on small plates and hands one to my father. The other one is carried to Luca, who doesn’t seem too excited to receive it.

He stares at the slice, pokes it with his fork, then quickly looks up at me. He opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by an outbreak of gasping coughs coming from the head of the table.

My father’s face is bright pink and he’s choking out wet crumbs. “WHAT IS THIS?” he demands and then starts choking again.

Mama thumps his back and hands him a glass of water. I’m clueless about what just happened but I can tell it isn’t good.

Did I leave the freaking cake in the oven for too long? Did I forget to add an ingredient?

“Anni,” Luca says but I ignore him because I have bigger problems right now.

My father’s face is contorted with anger and he points a finger of accusation at me. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

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