Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
And while, yeah, that shit was on my mind too, I was okay with us taking our time to get there. We were still young.
We were currently having fun arguing over what kind of house would be perfect.
New builds were out, obviously. But I didn’t want a huge fixer-upper, either. I wasn’t like Nino. I didn’t want to spend years fixing up a place. Cosmetic shit was one thing, gutting the place was a complete other.
We both wanted a yard. Traveler, because she wanted a “native pollinator paradise.” Me, because I wanted to see kids playing in it one day. Even if I wasn’t looking forward to the yard maintenance.
“There won’t be any lawn maintenance since we are planting a clover lawn,” she’d argued.
“Clover means flowers and flowers mean bees. The kids could get stung on their feet. We could get stung on our feet.”
So, yeah, it was going to be a fucking process still.
Wedding and kids would be something to talk about sometime down the road.
“Yeah. She wants to be done over there, so she can really dig into the house search.”
“Good. I’m glad. You need a home. I keep telling your brothers,” she added, raising her voice as we walked into the kitchen where Dante and Santo were standing, immediately stiffening at hearing her talk about them. “No woman is going to want to get serious about a man who doesn’t have a house for her to make into a home.”
“Love you, Ma, but it’s not the nineteen-fifties anymore,” Santo said, shaking his head at her.
“Yeah, maybe Santo wants to be a kept man,” Dante teased, making our mom’s eyes go small.
“Not my son,” she said, shaking her head as she went to the stove. “I raised my boys to be providers.”
“But what if she likes her career?” Dante pressed.
Dante, the clear middle child of the family, did enjoy starting shit with our mom sometimes. Nothing ever serious, just getting a rise out of her.
“Well, of course a woman could work if she wants to. But no son of mine will marry someone until he is able to provide for her should she want to stay home and keep house and raise the babies.”
And that was the end of that.
Because we all agreed with her.
Luckily for us, given our profession, if we were willing to pay our dues, then bust our asses for just a few years, we were set. There would never be any concerns about money. For us, our wives, or our kids.
“Did Traveler like the gnocchi?” my mom asked as she pulled garlic knots out of the oven.
“Ma, Traveler hasn’t encountered a dish from you that she hasn’t loved. Apparently, she put on five pounds since moving here,” I said. I hadn’t noticed. Not that I would care even if I had.
“A little meat on a woman is a good thing,” she said.
“Can’t argue with that,” Santo said, smirking.
It was no secret in the family that Santo preferred curvier chicks.
“Oh, well, finally,” Ma said as the back door opened, and Valley moved inside. “Nothing like helping your dear mother make dinner,” she said, shaking her head.
“When have you ever needed help, Mama?” Valley asked, but moved immediately to put the knots into a basket with a tea towel to keep them warm. “Oh, tell Traveler that the school jumped on her little recycling initiative,” she said, smiling at me.
I had no idea about a recycling initiative for Valley’s fancy-ass prep school. But it didn’t surprise me. Traveler had been on the phone with Valley for hours when she answered my phone for me when I’d been out picking up coffee.
“What? You’ve met Traveler?” Mom cried, eyes wide. “She’s met my future daughter-in-law before me?” she asked, turning her outrage on me.
This was definitely not a good time to let her know that Smush had met Traveler on no fewer than three occasions already.
“We talked on the phone, Ma,” Valley said, barely able to suppress her amusement.
“Oh, that’s fine then,” Ma said, starting to plate the pasta, and pouring a healthy amount of meat sauce on top.
Behind her back, Valley and I shared a smile.
“Alls I know is you better set up a date for those two, or Ma’s head is gonna fucking explode,” Dante said as he followed me to the table.
I didn’t want to spoil the surprise.
But Traveler had been working almost nonstop for the past week, trying to perfect a “real Italian dinner” to try to impress my mom with.
She’d settled on eggplant rollatini as the main dish with herb bread, a mediterranean salad, and finishing off with something she’d never doubted herself about. Tiramisu.
She’d also been frantically trying to make my place feel more “homey” to, I think, show my ma that she was going to make a good life for her son. “Nesting,” Smush had called it as she helped Traveler hang art and roll out rugs.