Page 62 of Straightened Out

I smile at that.

“In fact, I’ve got a newfound appreciation for the arts,” he adds, winking at me. “Now, it sounds to me like this Ms. Beechers needs to have her eyes checked.”

“She’s danced on stages all over the world,” I argue. “She knows what it takes to make it and I respect her opinion.” Well, that’s partially true. I also think she’s a bitter hag who can’t stand me for whatever reason, but I don’t divulge that much. The truth is as talented as I am, I’m not sure ballet was the best choice for me. I probably would be better suited for hip hop or even contemporary dance. Instead of losing ten pounds to fit in with the crowd and audition for a part I might not even get, I’d be working in music videos or some shit like that. Who knows I might even be a backup dancer for Lady Gaga. It’s not Lincoln Center but playing Vegas night after night isn’t a bad gig either.

“What’s with the look?” Rocco asks, drawing my attention back to him.

Exhaling slowly, I shake my head.

“Just having a moment,” I admit, twisting in my stool to face him. “For as far back as I can remember all I have wanted was to become a ballerina. I wanted to see my name in programs and dance on stages all across the world, but sometimes I feel chained to the choices I made. I don’t know if I’m just discouraged or if I’ve outgrown my dreams. Does that make sense?”

He silently reaches for his wine glass and I watch as he brings it to his lips, draining it in a single gulp. Setting it back on top of the counter, he turns to me.

“It makes perfect sense. Sometimes we think the grass is greener on the other side, then we cross over, and we realize we’ve been had.”

“Is that how you feel now?”

He looks at me for a moment, contemplating his response as he sucks in a deep breath and I instantly regret asking the question. Tonight isn’t about the mob or his regrets, it’s about freeing him from the heavy burden.

“Don’t answer that,” I say, laying my hand over his. His eyes meet mine and I lean closer to him, desperate to change the conversation. “So, you really like my empanadas?”

“They’re better than your mothers,” he says, lacing his fingers with mine.

“Oh, don’t let her hear you say that, or she might smack me again.” The words leave my lips so quickly that I don’t even realize what I’ve said until his fingers tighten around mine and his dark eyes drill a hole into the side of my head.

“What does the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he growls.

There’s no backpedaling when it comes to Rocco and to be honest, I’m tired of defending and protecting my mom. I take my wine glass but before I can bring it to my lips, he takes it out of my hand.

“Violet.”

Blowing out an exasperated breath, I force my gaze back to him.

“First, I want you to promise not to make a big deal out of this. It was just a slap across the face, I’m fine.”

His eyes widen at the last part of my sentence before they narrow into tiny slits and his hand curls into a fist.

“Why would she put her hands on you?” he growls, his jaw clenching with every word.

“Rocco, look, just forget I said anything. You’re making it bigger than—”

“Fuck that, Violet,” he shouts. “Your mother has been acting like a world class cunt ever since your brother told her he was going to be moving with me to Miami. She wants to hate me, that’s fine. She wants to push her only son away, that’s her choice too. But she doesn’t get to take that shit out on you. She doesn’t get to put her fucking hands on you especially after what you did for her.”

“Yeah, but she doesn’t know that.”

“Maybe she should.”

“No,” I argue, shaking my head. “I appreciate the concern, but this is my problem. You know I’m starting to realize Joaquin has the right idea when it comes to our mother, I just have to figure out how to let go the way he has.” I pause for a moment. “I need to put space between us. Maybe it’s time I get a place of my own that way she isn’t in my business all the time.”

“Violet,” Rocco calls softly, and I turn my head. He opens his mouth to continue but his phone starts to ring. Muttering a curse, he pulls it out of his pocket, and I spot my brother’s name flashing across the screen. Before Rocco can decide if he wants to accept the call or not, I take it out of his hand and swipe my thumb across the screen. Rocco’s eyes flash with fury as I smile sweetly and lift the phone to my ear.

“Well, well, you can pick up the phone to call your friend, but your fingers seem to be broken when it comes to returning your sister’s calls,” I say into the phone.

Rocco raises an eyebrow and when Joaquin replies, I understand my mistake.

“Why are you answering Rocco’s phone?”

Shit.

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