Page 82 of Until August
Nicola
Do you have a bed yet?
August
Does a mattress on the floor count?
“Do you know what Aunt Celia said?”
Nicola
It counts.
August
Then I have a bed.
August
I’ll see you later. After I drop off Sage, I’ll be here all night… waiting.
“She said that aliens have invaded the backyard….”
Nicola
I’ll be there with bells on.
August
Leave the bells at home. Just bring your sweet little ass over here. Clothing optional.
I was still smiling when I looked up from my phone and met Ari’s gaze. “And then I told her to shove it up her ass,” she said.
That caught my attention. “You did?” I looked through the open French doors and scanned the party in the backyard. With our family, she could have been talking about anyone. But hopefully, she didn’t say it to Nonna. Then there’d be hell to pay.
Ari rolled her eyes and leaned her hip against the kitchen counter. “You missed my entire rant, didn’t you?”
“No. Of course not,” I lied, fishing the lime wedge out of my sparkling water and ripping the fruit off the rind with my teeth. “I heard every word.”
She laughed. “Sure, you did. I know that look.”
“What look?” I averted my head and popped an olive into my mouth, already reaching for another. We were strategically positioned near the charcuterie board.
As always, my mother had gone over the top. There were at least four different varieties of cured meats and enough cheese to feed an entire village in Italy, along with fruits and nuts and homemade fig jam.
My whole family was extra.
Ari smirked, her gaze flitting over my face. “The look of a girl who just got a booty call.”
“I didn’t get a booty call,” I scoffed.
I totally did. Tonight we’d have an actual bed, and I was buzzing with anticipation.
But first, I had to get through a family gathering. No easy feat. Last time, Nonna went on and on about what a shame it was that Cruz and I never had kids. Now she was presiding over the picnic table, doling out her wisdom and advice. Which was why I was hiding out in the kitchen.
“So, what’s going on with you and August?” Ari asked, peeling the prosciutto off a melon slice. She ate the prosciutto and handed me the melon.
“Who’s August?” my mother asked, trying to foist a heaping plate of food on me. “Try the fritti. You love the zucchini flowers.”
