Page 150 of Say It Isn't So

Allie leaned against the counter. “You guys, what’s up? Why are we in here when the fireworks are about to start out there?”

“Yeah, Frankie’s outside waiting for me,” Perla said.

“Basta!” He said as Maria set out five cordial glasses and went in the liqueur cabinet. “Those boys of yours can wait.”

“But—” Perla shut up when Dad gave her a look.

“This family has been through enough. I’ve been through enough and I’ve made some mistakes. Now I want some time with my girls. Some time to do my old ticker good and create new memories to erase all the bad ones from this year,” he explained, patting his chest.

I didn’t say a word, I knew what he was referring to. I also didn’t want to dwell on things. I was considering it a miracle that it was all finally over and we could move on. To bigger and better, as they say.

Maria poured limoncello in everyone’s glass. “I’m glad we’re doing this,” she expressed.

“Me, too,” I admitted and reached for Daddy’s hand, squeezing it. He only winked at me, but it was enough. I knew we were good and I was so happy to finally be able to share a space with him again without wanting to pull my hair out.

He reached for his glass first and waited for us to pick up ours. “Salud.”

We sipped.

The sweet, citrusy drink burned as it went down—definitely not my favorite. “Thank you,” I finally said what needed to be said. “Thank you,” I repeated, looking at my sisters, “for being there for me.” Then I turned to Dad and smiled. “And thank you for finally seeing Knox for who he is—a good man.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Sure. A goodAmericanman.”

My sisters and I laughed in unison. Of course he’d say that.

Then, he went on, saying, “I, too, am glad you girls were there for your sister. You watched out for her and protected her in a way I couldn’t. Your mother and I were always glad you have each other.”

The four of us locked arms and put our heads together. It was true, they were my ride or dies and I couldn’t imagine my life without them.

“I just don’t understand why you couldn’t be more like Perla and find a nice, Italian boy. You had to meet an American,” he said with just a hint of disgust.

I swallowed a laugh. Leave it to Dad to ruin a perfectly nice moment.

“Ugh,” Allie groaned. “Dad!” She spoke on behalf of us all if I was being honest.

He put his hands up in the air. “No, I’m not forbidding it, I’m just saying.”

I let out the laugh I was holding in. “You know we are American, right?”

“Technically, we’re Italian-American,” he returned. “It’s different.”

And this time we all laughed.

Perla shot her arm out and reached for Dad’s hand. “Whatever. He wants you to be like me. I heard it. I’m his favorite. Here I always thought it was you, Bibi, but obviously I’m the model daughter, thus the favorite.”

He raised an eyebrow and took a step back. “I don’t have a favorite.”

That’s what he said, but I have a feeling that’s a lie—I’m his favorite. That’ll just be our little secret, though.

His eyes met mine over the counter and he smiled at me.See, I’m right.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” he continued, “Italian-American also works just fine. If you don’t want to take Perla and Frankie for example, then just look at Maria and Dom.”

Okay, where was the old man going with this?

Not that I believed we’d ever find out, because then Maria got her feathers up—“There is no Maria and Dom. In fact, I’m actually dating Pedro now.”

“Pedro? Who the hell is Pedro?” Dad asked, his eyebrows shooting up so fast and high they practically hit his hairline.

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