Page 65 of Caught Up

“Sooo,” Taylor said, twirling a strand of her hair. “How you doiiing?”

I laughed, humorlessly, and took another swig.

The next morning, I still had no idea how to feel. Besides slightly hung­over. The night before seemed like a fever dream. And the fight with Junior...ugh.

I’d had previous partners say they were fine with my job, only to turn controlling, wanting to approve every sext I sent or limit how active I was on my page. One even went so far as to tell me I needed to stop camwork altogether if I wanted to continue dating them. I’d immediately broken things off and then signed them up for every newsletter I could find, turning their inbox into a hellscape of spam. Fuck you very much,Marcus.

In the heat of the argument, I’d been worried Junior was like that, that he didn’t see my work as valid or worthwhile enough to do for the long haul. And then he’d brought up me wanting a family, and all I could think of were my parents and the parallels between us and them. Before they’d gotten married, my mother had been gainfully employed and living on her own. Then my mobster father came along, knocked her up, and convinced her to quit her job to be astay-at-homemom, because no woman of his should work (whether they wanted to or not). The control hadn’t stopped there, turning from coercion to mental abuse, wearing my mother down until Nonna Bianchi said she hardly even recognized her own daughter. And then one day, Mom had finally had enough, packing her bags and leaving Kristen and me behind, my father coming home late that night to find us dirty and hungry.

I’d been so young that I had few memories of my mother, but every one was of an exhausted shell of a woman who winced at loud noises, never smiled, and had a haunted look in her eyes that I still saw in my nightmares.

I would nevereverlet anyone do that to me. It was one of my greatest fears, and that fear reared its ugly head last night when Junior started insinuating I would one day quit my job and settle down to take care of a family like a Good Italian Woman.

My fear had only swelled when I found the tracker. Junior clearly had zero fucking boundaries if he’d been stalking me. Stalking spoke of control on steroids. The need to always know where I was, always have access to me...it wasn’t okay. Made me feel like a caged animal.

And then there was the fight. He’d moved so fast, with zero hesitation, like violence was so normal to him that he didn’t even have to think about it. The way he’d smiled the whole time...I shuddered just remembering the look on his face.

Fuck, I shouldn’t have been turned on by it. But there was no denying that I had been. That my underwear was slightly damp from the memory alone.

I shook my head, reminding myself that I didn’t want someone prone to violence. I didn’t want a toxic partner. Life was complicated enough without adding ahigh-maintenanceman to it.

On the other hand, Ididwant someone that willing to explore their sexuality with me, Ididwant someone who spoke so openly about what they wanted from life, and I especially wanted someone who was quick to apologize and make amends when they fucked up. These things spoke of a person with depth,like-mindedopenness, curiosity, andself-awareness. Someone with drive.

Those were the traits I wanted in a partner, without question.

It left me wondering: Which version of Junior was therealone? Who would he be in a relationship?

My head was clearly scrambled, but one thing I did need was my phone back, so I called Nonna from Ryan’s and told her I’d be joining her at Mass. We met outside of her building, only a few blocks from the church, a little earlier than normal because she wanted to stop in at the local bakery.

“I want a good cup of coffee,” she said as we waited in line, “before I’m forced to drink that pig shit they brew at church.”

The woman waiting in front of us turned with wide eyes.

Nonna met her gaze with a challenging expression. “What? I’m not saying anything that everyone isn’t already thinking.”

The woman turned back around, looking scandalized.

I shuffled closer to my grandmother and dropped my voice. “Do you know her?”

Nonna shook her head and sent me a sly smile. She’d stopped giving a fuck five years ago, when Nonno died, and now spent her time living for the shock and discomfort of others.Age disgracefullywas her motto. I wanted to be her when I grew up.

“I need to talk to you about something,” she said after we’d gathered our coffees and sat at a small table in the corner of the shop.

“What’s up?” I asked.

She reached over and gripped my wrist. “Your father is missing.”

I went still in my seat. Was this how it started? With one forgotten conversation, and a year from now, Kristen and I would have to move her into a cognitive care facility? “Um...I know, Nonna.”

“Don’t look at me like that,” she scolded. “I haven’t gone organic.” She leaned in and dropped her voice. “He’sreallymissing, Lauren.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Apparently, he has a girlfriend.” She rolled her eyes and released me. “Can you believe that cunt tricked another woman into putting up with him?”

A startled gasp sounded from nearby. It wasn’t every day you heard an octogenarian drop thec-bomb, but I didn’t so much as bat an eye. This type of talk was par for the course with Nonna.

“Poor woman,” I said, taking my first tentative sip of coffee.

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