Page 25 of Come Back to Me

“No, you won’t. Mom will hunt you down whether you like it or not. She’ll smile at you, then pointedly remind you that you have an invitation to dinner. No one disappoints Nonna.”

A smile dances on my lips. “I see where you get it from.”

“No way!” For a second, I think I insulted her, then she twists in the seat and I’m graced with the full-force of Christy ‘Tee’MacFarlane’s attention. “That’s the best compliment I’ve ever had.”

“I doubt that. I saw all your awards...”

“Awards mean dick.” She sniffs. “You heard Mom. She wants me to be a teacher in Dad’s faculty. You did too. Everyone wants me to be a damn teacher!”

“No shame in being a teacher.”

“Of course there isn’t. Where would we be without teachers?” The ‘dumbass’ goes unspoken. “But I’m not one. I’m not made for that.”

“What are you made for?”

“To make music, but music doesn’t pay the bills.” She heaves a sigh. “Mom taught me everything I know until I hit twelve. Did you know that?”

I assume that’s rhetorical because how could I know?

“You mean musically?”

“Yes. My maternal great-grandfather was picked for this fancy orchestra that would have played for Mussolini when my grandad was a boy.”

“Jesus.”

“Don’t worry. His parents decided that was the perfect time to get away from the motherland. Music’s in my blood—on both sides—and look what it got Mom.”

“She seemed happy.”

“Bitching at you about some bikes riding through town screams fulfilled to you? I love her, but she’s two iterations away from being a Karen.” When I snort, she hums that same tune again. “You know I’m right.”

“I’m trying to be polite.”

“You don’t have to be polite with me. I don’t appreciate bullshit.” Her fingers drum on the armrest. It takes me a second to realize that she’s moving them in sync with mine on thesteering wheel but adds tiny flourishes that make the dull thuds resemble a song.

The urge to touch her is an ever-present problem.

I’m not sure if it’s a sexual need or just a human one—I’ve written to this woman for years. I know her secrets. I know things she’s ashamed of and proud of.

I want to hold her and tell her everything will be okay, but I don’t have the right to.

I didn’t just end the link we have. I severed it.

No cauterization.

“Will your brother be there next Saturday?” I ask, trying not to notice the plane flying overhead.

She shifts in her seat and stares up at it. “That Colton?”

“Probably.”

Her hum drifts into a repeat of those same notes from before. “I’m surprised you didn’t ask to do the flyovers.”

“How do you know I didn’t?”

“Zee. She told me Colt offered. You said no.”

Right now, being on the road while he’s three thousand feet in the sky isn’t far enough away from the damn plane.

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