Page 18 of Innocent Union
Looking at them more closely, I can definitely see Franco within them instead of my father. The hair that’s almost black, so different from any of my other siblings. The nose that is slightly more pointed. The eyes that stare intently at you. How could I not see Lucia and Luca are Franco’s kids?
I sit across from them. “Hey.”
They both turn to me, and Lucia’s jaw drops. “Why are you saying ‘hey’ to me? You hate me.”
Luca sniggers as he stuffs more waffles into his mouth. Mom, who is by the sink, tenses as she looks at me.
“Just wanted to see how you guys are doing,” I say.
Luca shrugs. “Fine, I guess.”
“And you, Lucia?”
Lucia rolls her eyes so dramatically; I’m shocked they don’t fall out of her head. “I’m fine, Mia. Go bother someone else with your questions.”
Now that I know the truth about the twins, I’m not as bothered by Lucia’s behavior. She lost the only dad she knew, even though she doesn’t know Franco was her actual father.
I remember when I lost my dad. I was eight and a complete mess.
It’s just a shame Franco was never warm with the twins like my father was with me.
My favorite memory of him was when I was seven and in my first play at school. I was playing a talking mushroom, and when it came time for me to say my lines, my mine went blank.
I stared out at the sea of people before me, shrouded in darkness, and I wanted to cry because I couldn’t remember my lines. I’d been practicing for weeks with my oldest sister, Emilia, and then it was like it didn’t even matter.
The crowd of people was quiet. Someone cleared their voice.
I was about to run off stage when I heard my father speaking. “And how does Mayor Fish feel about that?”
I blinked. That was one of my lines. My dad remembered.
It gave me the confidence to finally speak. The rest of the performance, I said my lines to perfection.
Once the show was over, I ran to my family waiting for me in the hallway. “You did great, kiddo,” Dad said, pulling me into his arms for a hug.
“Because you helped me,” I whispered into his shirt. He always smelled like mint tea.
“No. You did it yourself.” He squeezed me before stepping back. The rest of my siblings congratulated me.
That experience couldn’t have been more different from a memory with Franco and the twins.
One time, when the twins were seven and I was sixteen, we were working on homework in the kitchen. I had to do algebra problems and write an essay about the Salem Witch Trials, while the twins were practicing their reading and writing skills.
Lucia was struggling to read the assigned paper when Franco came into the room.
“Having trouble?” he asked.
Lucia slammed the paper onto the table. “It doesn’t make sense.”
He grabbed the paper from her, took a moment to read it, then gave it back to her. “It should make sense. Look at your brother, figuring it out. You need to learn to be as smart as him.”
“But how?”
Franco shrugged. “Figure it out. You’re not a baby, Lucia. It won’t be long until you’re a grown woman.”
“She’s seven,” I pointed out.
Franco leveled his dark gaze onto me. “I’m aware of that.”
