Page 78 of Come Take Me Now

After nonstop meetings, the convenience was appealing, and now that my appetite is restored, I need to take more breaks during the day.

She looks back at me and smiles. “Perfect.”

We eat off paper plates and share the salad directly from the plastic container while streaming an episode of this season of American Ninja Warrior in the family room.

“I could see you killing it on this show,” I tell her.

Tilly glances at the flatscreen TV and back to me. “No way. The girls on this show are gymnasts. I tried as a kid, and it wasn’t for me,” she replies. “You could probably do it, though.”

I shake my head and fork a piece of arugula. “Not now. Not with my back. Robby probably could have when he was ripped.”

“Did fatherhood do that to him?” she asks.

“I think Appa did. He loves cooking and is more adventurous than I am in the kitchen, especially with our Nonna’s recipes, and his priorities changed when they got serious.”

“You never cook anything Italian.”

“Not really. Nothing can compare to her cooking,” I trail off.

Nonna couldn’t help me, so she sent me Tilly.

“Do you miss her?”

I glance into her eyes. They’re always different depending on the lighting. Sometimes warm and light brown, other times deeply green like my old Tahoe was. “Of course. She was my grandmother.”

“What about your grandpa?”

A small smile hits my lips. “Nonno was awesome.”

“Who’s the most like him?” Tilly asks.

“Rob or Alex. Robby as well, being so much like Rob,” I answer. “My dad and Bruno take after Nonna’s side more. Then, my aunt…you know, Adri’s mom. She’s a mix for sure.”

She rests her head on her wrist, supported by the arm of the couch. “I love hearing about your family, and I’d love to go to Italy someday. Even Sicily would be amazing.”

I shake my head. “I never want to go back to Italy,” I think aloud.

She narrows her eyes at me. “Wait, why? It must be so pretty.”

I take a swig of my whiskey. It burns all the way down. “Well, since you think I won’t tell you about my family, here’s a doozy for you. When I was eighteen, the fam went to Italy, and I was supposed to meet my mom.” I don’t look at Tilly while I recount my last trip to Europe.

“You were?” she whispers, and I nod.

“Yeah, on the fucking Amalfi Coast. She didn’t show up. I swore I’d never go back.” I get the words out before I lose my nerve or my emotions take over. I should be numb after fourteen years, but I’ll never understand why she didn’t show.

Tilly gasps. “E, that’s fucked up.” I don’t respond and instead stare at the wall above the TV and slowly sip my glass again, needing the hurt it brings.

When we finish our pizza and the episode, I absentmindedly swirl the last sip of liquor in my short glass. “Are you staying over?” I quietly ask.

Tilly finishes chewing and nods. “Yeah, if you want me to.”

“Always.”

Her face brightens, and she sits up a little straighter. “Good.”

“I’ll be cautious about how I touch you.”

“I feel like you’re being hard on yourself about that. I like it when you’re a little rough,” she argues.