Page 52 of When Love Gives You Lemons
Though it feels delicate to do so, I hang back until it’s just me and Ricky.
“He just—he loses his patience sometimes,” Ricky says before I can say anything.
I’m surprised you deal with that.
He side-eyes me, and my cheeks heat.
“My lack of filter keeps getting me in trouble,” I say.
“Some things never change,” he says, and I wince. “Not that that’s a bad thing; I always liked that, you know.” He smiles, but it’s strained. “Easy to know how you felt.”
“Is that hard with Cam?”Oof, thisis weird. Sweat snakes down my back, sending rippling waves of shivers down my body. I don’t want to know these details about their relationship.
“He has a hard time expressing himself. He’s not like us, coming from loud Italian families that pry into our business and want to know every detail of our lives, whether we wanna talk about them or not. He grew up as one of seven kids, with parentswho didn’t care if he ever came home. So he’s quick to react when he feels left out. It’s a trigger for him,” Ricky says. “I feel bad. Sometimes he doesn’t know how to act around people. Doesn’t trust a lot, you know? I wish he didn’t leave, or act like that. It’s family.You,” he stresses, “know how important family is to me. I can’t just ditch.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, it’s not your fault,” he says, and I shrink down until I’m two inches tall. Itismy fault. I’m the one who threw away Cam’s ticket.
It’s not lost on me how Ricky, always the quiet rock, the one who shies away from vulnerability unless pushed toward it, is opening up to me, especially after how tense everything has been between us since the PJ. Hell, since I got that postcard.
“Thanks for listening,” he says.
“You don’t have to thank me,” I say.
He takes in a big breath.
“Least I can do,” I say. “Maybe I won’t be the monster in your head.”
That slipped out, unplanned.
I look away because to see any confirmation in his eyes would break me.
But he intentionally steps back into my line of sight. “What?” His face has softened, his eyes swollen with concern. “I—”
“It’s okay, I get it.” Lie. If anything, he should be my monster; instead, I’ve been pining for him and weaving my entire world around him, even in his absence. If he knew that, he’d think I’m pathetic. I know I do. For all the work I’ve done to make it seem like I could be a better version of myself without Ricky, admittingit was all for himto himdestroys the integrity of my entire plan. “Have you?” I whisper.
“Do you really want the answer?”
I shrug, then nod. “Rip the Band-Aid off.”
“Quanto basta,” he whispers and my breath catches.
A couple Januaries ago, I was out window-shopping at the bougie Westchester mall with Zia Gab, Zia Rosa, and Matty—one of our favorite pastimes, perusing stores we could never afford and pretending we would buy handfuls of items only to put them away decrying “practicality”—when Ricky called. The second I saw his name flash on my screen, I was flooded with unexpected dread. Intuition prickled my skin. He never called me when I was out with family—he knew it was sacred time.
When I picked up, he didn’t say anything.
“Ricky? What’s wrong? What happened?”
He was breathing heavy, and I knew instantly he’d been crying.
I ran through every scenario in my head. Fear wrapped my heart when Ricky hoarsely whispered one word: “Nonno.”
I looked up at my zias and Matty, who had huddled around me in the middle of the busy mall, confusion brewing like a cauldron.
“I’ll be right there.” I knew he couldn’t talk about it over the phone.
“Please.”
