Page 152 of The Holiday Hate-Off
“I love you too, Dancing Queen.” I bend my head and kiss her before turning to the cat to rub his little head. “What are you going to name him?”
She grins at me, then at the kitten. “He looks an awful lot like a Lobster Stalker.”
“A terrible name, Lucia.”
“It’s a perfect name. Incidentally, it’s time for your present, but it’s going to look lame in comparison now.”
“Excellent,” I say, tapping my fingers together. “I’m pleased to have won the gift-off.”
She laughs and kisses my cheek before going to the hall closet to pull out a wrapped gift. “Do not, under pain of death, shake it, Enzo. You’ll ruin everything.”
I open it—and laugh my ass off when I see it’s a framed poster forCatsthe movie. “Do I have to put it up?”
“It’s a joke,” she says, nudging my shoulder with hers. “Open up the frame and take the poster out.”
I painstakingly follow her directions, and what I find has me grinning stupidly at her. Beneath theposter is a big-headed sketch of us, like the bobblehead caricature drawings she talked about the night she was drunk off buttered rum. The sketch portrays her drawing a mustache on my face with a green marker.
“This is epic,” I say, kissing her. “But it was red.”
She laughs. “It looked like you a had a bloody lip, so we had to stretch reality.”
“Did you get Charlie to do this?”
“She took a break from her oil painting of the German shepherd because she loves me.”
“It’s going over our mantel.”
She raises her eyebrows, but there’s a smile dancing on her lips. “Pretty presumptuous.”
“Damn straight. It won’t happen today, and it probably won’t happen next week, but it’s going to happen.”
“Well, if Enzo Cafiero says it’s going to happen…”
We walk to my grandmother’s house, hand in hand, carrying Lobster Stalker in the pet carrier that’s been hiding in my closet. My heart is full, and I have nothing but goodwill in my chest for everyone we pass. Even Hudson.
When we get to my grandmother’s house, I knock on the door, and Aria answers. She has a deep tan, offset by her red sweater, and her dark hair is loose around her shoulders.
I nearly drop Lobster Stalker’s carrier.
“You little fucking liar,” I say, setting him on the doorstep. I squeeze Lucy’s hand and then hug my sister, who’s laughing maniacally.
“Finally. Finally, I got one over on you. It’s only taken twenty-five years.”
I give her a hug powerful enough to lift her off her feet. When I release her, she turns toward Lucy and immediately wraps her in a bear hug. “Oh my God. I’m Aria, and I can’t wait to become friends with you. I’ve been trying to imagine the woman who could get through to Enzo, and I just know thereality is going to be better than my imagination could ever be. How did this asshole win you over, anyway?”
Lucy grins and looks at me affectionately. “He crashed my date and drew a poster of me with a hairy mole on my forehead. Then he lent me his scarf without telling me everyone in Hideaway Harbor would know it was his.”
Aria laughs, delighted. “What a charmer! And you fell for him anyway. Good for you, Enzo. Too bad for you, Lucy, but I’m not sorry about it.”
Lucy wraps her arms around my waist. “Neither am I.”
“She left out the part where I saved her from a Porta Potty,” I say, and Lucy tickles me. Sheticklesme. And I’ll be damned if I don’t laugh.
Christmas music starts playing inside the house—Nonna’s choice, I’m guessing, because it’s Dean Martin—and Giovanni dances into view with a nonexistent partner.
“Dance with Nonna, you goon,” Aria yells, and we walk inside with Lobster Stalker.
“I warn you now, Lucia,” I tell her, “we converse by yelling in this family.”
