Page 57 of The Butcher's Wife
You’ll get a hump if you keep doing that.
I glance over at Carlo, slumping into the chair next to me, posture-be-damned as he drags the bottle to his mouth.
“You really think they look that bad?” I ask.
“They look drunk.” Grinning, he takes a swig of beer to punctuate his point. He glances at Eduardo in the living room and leans toward me. “Don’t sweat it. Mom said she can hire someone to make the design if you can’t hack it.”
I fume. “Well, you can tell Mom?—”
“Whoa, whoa.” Carlo throws his hands up in a “don’t shoot” pose. “I’m just the messenger. Take it up with Mom. You bringing this attitude to Dom? Because that would explain a lot.”
I try not to look too interested as I focus on tidying up the flower petals on the table. Even hearing his name sends a pulse through me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means he was in a weird mood today. Barely gave me any shit about last night and could hardly pay attention to Dad.”
I bite back a smile. “Oh.”
Carlo leans forward, squinting at me like I have something on my face.
“What?” I ask innocently.
He jerks back in his chair. “Oh!Ew!Fuckinggross!”
“What?”
“Youknowwhat, you sicko. That’s nasty. I don’t need to know about my sister like that.”
“Oh!” I throw my hands up. “Like I didn’t have to sit in the samefuckingliving room while Alexis Harris gave you a handy under the blankets. Newsflash—you guys werenotsubtle about it. I had to burn that blanket after!”
Carlo slams a fist on the table. “That was Alexis. Fucking. Harris. She could’ve offered me a handy while I lay bare-assed on the front driveway, and I would’ve accepted!”
I snatch a rose off the table and whack him with it, and we both burst into laughter. When we finally catch our breaths, Carlo stands, tosses his bottle, and picks up his coat.
“Just stopping by to traumatize me, then?” I tease, following him into the kitchen.
“Yeah.” His smile drops a little. “About that… about last night. I just wanted to say, I didn’t think things were gonna go off the rails like that.”
Listening to Carlo dance around an apology is about as fun as pulling teeth.
“Don’t sweat it.” I wave him off and glance toward Eduardo to make sure he’s not listening. I lean in, muttering to Carlo, “Speaking of last night, were Russell and Serafina ever, you know, athing?”
Carlo bursts out laughing. “Fuck no. He wishes, but she never gave him the time of day.”
I want you to think about who loves the real you.
I smile despite the lingering doubt in the back of my mind.
Carlo pulls me in for a side hug. “Thanks, sis.” He shuffles his coat from hand to hand. “The, uh, other reason I’m here is because I’m going to seeherlater today. I wanted to know if there’s anything you wanted me to bring.”
We don’t need to say her name. We already had this conversation several times in the past month while I stayed at Mom and Dad’s house. Carlo thinks he’ll find closure by visiting Serafina’s grave, but there’s nothing there besides a bunch of rotting bones. She’s gone—in every sense of the word—completely smudged out of existence like she was never here in the first place, all at the hands of a careless man. Maybe Carlo will find closure there, but there’s nothing there for me to visit.
“I’m good.”
“I think it’ll be good for you?—”
“No.” I smile. “Thank you, though. Seriously.”
“Alright.” He nods toward the lunch sack he left on the kitchen counter. “Mom told me to bring that to you. She said it was real important.” At my expression, he laughs. “Just think, it probably can’t be worse than anything you dealt with last night. Take care, sis.”
