Page 8 of Kingpin
Dominic
“There you go, sweetie,”
“Thanks, Ma,” I reply, immediately taking a sip from the Coke my mother just put in front of me. “I’m starving. This is gonna be so good.”
My mom, Gloria, takes her seat on the other side of the table and smiles. Her puffy cheeks have big dimples that always make me feel calm. She’s dressed up for dinner like it’s a special occasion, even though it’s not, with a black dress and a pretty silver necklace my father bought for her when they were still together. Dad doesn’t hang out here much because Mom doesn’t like what he does, which is why they never got married, but I can tell they still like each other. I like seeing them together, but I really like hanging out with my dad on the weekends, too.
“So, how was school, Dom?” she asks, looking up at me while she chews. I absolutely hate when she shortens my name to Dom, but it’s Ma, and when you’re dealing with Gloria Giaculo, fuhgeddaboutit.
“It was fine. Normal.”
“Normal? So, no trouble today?”
“No, Ma. No trouble today.” I know she’s really asking if I got into a fight today. It’s been a tough year in school for me, and that affects her too.
“That’s good,” she says, nodding. “Anything interesting happen?”
“Not really. Well, I may have made a friend. I don’t know, Ma.”
“A friend?” she chirps. “What kind of friend?”
“I know where this is going, Ma. Yes, it’s a girl. No, she’s not my girlfriend, and no, I’m not in love.”
“What? I didn’t even say anything.”
“Yeah, but I know you were about to.”
“No way. Of course not. I wouldn’t do anything to make you feel uncomfortable.” She takes a second to finish chewing, then she continues with what I knew was coming. “So, what’s her name? Is she pretty?”
“Ma!”
“What? I’m just curious if the girl’s pretty. What’s the big deal?”
“Ugh. What happened to not making me feel uncomfortable?”
“I love you, Dominic.”
“Oh, whatever. Her name’s Alannah.”
“And?” she says, grinning like The Joker.
“Yeah, she’s pretty.”
“Is she Italian?”
“I don’t know, Ma. I doubt it. Her father’s in the Air Force.”
Mom frowns. I know she’d prefer I thought an Italian girl was pretty, but we live in Belleville, Illinois. Italian girls are hard to come by.
“Well, does she at least look Italian?” she continues, not letting it go.
“I don’t know, Ma. WholooksItalian? She has dark brown hair and brown eyes. I didn’t know we had to look a certain way to be true Italians.”
She puts her hands up like she’s showing me they’re empty. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry. I just think it’s nice, that’s all. I hope you two can be really good friends. Dominic and Alannah. That sounds nice.”
“Oh my god, Ma.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Let’s talk about something else,” she says, but that sneaky smile is still lingering. “I forgot to ask you earlier since you got home so late; how was your weekend with your father?”
