Page 18 of The Almost One

“Yeah, they said we can go in and see him. He should be waking up any time now.”

“Okay, we’ll be right there. Thank you.” I end the call, a little disappointed that our bubble has dissipated but equal parts eager to see my father.

“Let’s go, big guy. Papà Mancini needs our support.”

Christ, I love this woman.

* * *

“Basta, Gabri. I’m fine, stop fussing.” My father traps my mother’s hand in his as she tries to cover him up with the hospital blanket just as I walk in the room with River at my side.

“Papà, let her dote on you or else she'll take it out on me.” I lean over him, squeezing his free hand, and whisper in his ear. “Don’t do that again. Too close of a call.”

Shrugging, he chuckles like it was nothing.

“I’ve survived worse. I’m not dying of a damn heart attack.” Turning to my mother, he holds her with his don stare. Little does he know, that look hasn’t scared my mother in ages, if ever. “I won’t give up mysalsiccia.” I roll my eyes as my mother nods. That’s code for, “We’ll see,” which means she’ll get her way.

When a nurse walks in, my mother gives her the necessary space to do whatever it is she needs to do, standing beside me and River.

“I’m going to step out, get us some coffee.” I kiss River on the forehead as a thank you and reluctantly let go of her hand. “Glad you’re better, Papà Mancini.” The room snorts and my father’s face erupts in a great big smile. Oh, he likes that one.

“I want my grandbabies to call me that,” he booms out to River, who just pretends she didn’t hear him. “Mi hai sentito?”

“She hears you, Papà, and is choosing to ignore you. Plus, she doesn’t understand Italian.”

“You need to teach her, Son. Your children must learn our family language.” Yeah, yeah, this conversation is not fit for a hospital room.

Enzo walks in with Lina and as soon as I see him, I feel the ice of his presence. He loves my father like his own and seeing him like this hurts him as much as it hurts me.

“What are you doing?” Following his gaze, I see the nurse checking my father’s IV bags, taking notes on her tablet and fussing over the needles. She’s so busy with her job she doesn’t even realize Enzo’s speaking to her. “Hey!” At that, she looks up, startled, then looks around the room.

“Me? I’m making sure he’s got his morphine and fluids.” She’s flustered and I feel bad for her. Enzo can be a lot, but it always comes from a good place. Of course, he doesn’t apologize, just grunts like a fucking caveman.

“Sorry, we’re a little on edge.” River is teaching me to apologize. That was my attempt and I think she’d be proud.

“No problem. I’ll just leave you to it.” Taking all of her equipment, she bows her head and scuttles out the door.

“Christ, Enzo, nurses are the lifeline of a hospital. Do not ever piss them off,” Lina scolds him in a whisper-yell before she walks over to my father and kisses him on the cheek. “You look good, Papà.” She’s lying and everyone knows it. He’s pale and tired but he’s alive and I’m okay with that.

“I need to speak to Marco before these meds make me sleep again.”

Enzo nods, leaving with Lina after she kisses our father again. Mother fusses just a little more until my dad kisses her knuckles—all four—then lingers on her wedding band.

“Ti amo, Cucciola.” I never understood his term of endearment for my mother—calling her a cub seemed strange—until I found River and realized certain words should hold meaning only for them.

“Ti amo tanto, amore mio.” They hold each other’s gazes as she pats his hand then smiles up at me. I feel like an intruder, but I was raised in this environment, where loving your spouse is more important than anything else in the world.

Once we’re alone, my father’s bravado suddenly evaporates. He’s exhausted.

“We can have this conversation later. You need to get some rest.” He tuts at me, waving off my concerns like they’re based off of nothing.

“Have you told her?”

Fuck. This now?

“No.”

“Okay, you need to tell her. Everything, Marco. Life is too short. Also, the Napolitanos aren’t going to sit back and take it. You have to be proactive. Always watch your back. I’ll support you in whatever way I can. Got it?”

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