Page 18 of We Could Be So Good
“Yeah, you’re really selling it,” Andy had said. But of course he’s tagging along. He wants to meet the family that Nick has spent a year mentioning as infrequently as possible. It’s getting increasingly difficult to pretend not to be dying of curiosity when Nick drops a casual reference to some or another member of his family, like when he mentioned that one of his brothers is a priest. A priest! Imagine burying a lede like that.
Andy knows that the only reason Nick’s bringing him along is because he doesn’t want to leave Andy alone with his broken heart. And Andy probably ought to have insisted that he’s a grown man who can be left up to his own devices for a few hours and all that, but he’s only human, and he wants to meet the Russos.
“Why do you have to visit your mother today, anyway?” Andy asks. Over half the seats in the car are occupied, so they’re sitting immediately next to one another, and every time the train takes a bend, they slide together. Nick reaches out and braces an arm on one of the poles.
“It’s her birthday.”
“Her birthday!” Andy definitely does not shriek. “And we’re arriving empty-handed?”
Nick lifts the brown paper sack he took from the refrigerator that morning. “I brought meat.”
“You brought meat.”
“She always says there’s no good Italian butcher in the neighborhood, but really she just doesn’t like the butcher because he’sfrom Florence. So whenever I visit, I bring her some sausage and veal shanks.”
“But I don’t have anything for her.”
“We can say the veal shanks are from you. Or the sausage, if you want.”
“I’ll tell you what you can do with your sausage,” Andy grumbles, and then winces, because he didn’t mean to make a dirty joke but managed to do it anyway. When he looks over, Nick is shaking his head, but not unfondly, Andy hopes.
Many, many stops later, Nick nudges Andy and gets to his feet, and they emerge onto a platform that’s simply marked77in the usual tile mosaic. They climb the stairs and all of a sudden they’re on a street that’s lined with blocky brown apartment buildings and typical-looking storefronts, but along the side streets are these little houses that look like bungalows and make Andy feel like he’s far outside the city.
“So this is where you grew up?” Andy asks, very casual, as if he isn’t dying to know.
“No.” No explanation, no elaboration. Nick is clearly in a mood, his expression shuttered, his posture wary and tight, as if he’s expecting an attack. He’s prone to sullen moods and usually Andy just jollies him into a more cheerful—or at least less sulky—frame of mind. But something about his demeanor today seems serious, and Andy worries that if he tries his usual tactics, Nick will think Andy’s dismissing whatever’s upsetting him. He plainly doesn’t want to visit his mother—the mother he’s hardly ever mentioned—or isn’t delighted to have Andy tagging along with him, and both of these topics seem potentially dangerous, so he needs to step carefully.
“Do you want to tell me why all the plants are withering as we walk past?” Andy asks mildly as they turn onto a side street. “Andwhy all the animals are running away from you? I mean, you don’t have to, but it’s an option.”
Nick snorts. “Just grouchy.”
“Yeah, yeah. Likely story.” He nudges Nick with his shoulder and Nick nudges him back.
***
“Here we are.” Nick stops in front of a small white house. “You hold this.” He passes Andy the parcel of meat as they climb the steps. He holds up his fist as if to knock, then apparently thinks better of it and opens the door. “Mama!” he calls.
“Nicky!” comes a shout from inside the house, and then Nick is being hugged by a tiny round woman with salt-and-pepper hair. “Too skinny,” she says, looking him up and down. She turns her attention to Andy.
“Mama, this is Andy. I told you about him. We work together.”
Not sure what else to do, Andy holds out the meat. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs.Russo. Happy birthday!”
Nick’s mother shouts something in Italian over her shoulder and two small children come racing through the house, although how they’re managing to pick up that kind of speed in such a small space, Andy can’t fathom. In a sitting room, a couple of men sit in front of the television.
“Christ, Nicky,” says one of them, a dark-haired man who looks startlingly like Nick but maybe ten years older. “Nice of you to show your face around here. Who’s your friend?”
Beside Andy, Nick goes rigid. “Andy, this is my brother Michael.” Then he turns to his brother. “I just saw Chrissy and Danielle. Is Sal here? Where’s Bev?”
Michael ignores Andy and looks Nick over, radiating disapproval,although Andy can’t imagine at what—Nick’s wearing the navy crewneck sweater that Andy got him for Christmas and a pair of wool trousers. “Bev’s in the kitchen,” Nick’s brother finally says. “And Sal’s with her.”
There’s something about the man’s tone that makes Andy think that Sal, whoever that is, shouldn’t be in the kitchen. It also makes Andy think that if this is how Nick’s brother usually acts, it’s no wonder Nick doesn’t enjoy coming home. But what does Andy know? He doesn’t have siblings. He really doesn’t have any experience with family whatsoever.
Nick introduces Andy to two old women and one very old woman, all dressed in black. They’re apparently aunts, or something like aunts, and before Andy can figure out how there could be any doubt on that score, Nick is gone, and Andy’s left behind, attempting to have a conversation with three women who apparently don’t speak English. One of them hands him a glass of something sweet and alcoholic.
“Nick’s looking after me because my fiancée left me for her mother’s heart doctor,” Andy says when conversation flags. And by “conversation,” he means smiling broadly and then taking a long sip of his mystery drink, as if he’s on a television commercial for whatever this stuff is. It tastes a little like ginger ale but is a confusing orange color.
“Heart doctor?” repeats one of the women.
