Tossed Into Love
Page 36
“We’ll talk soon, cara.”
“Soon.”
I hang up, then dial my mom’s number.
“Honey,” Mom whispers. I squeeze my eyes closed. “Are you okay?”
“Fawn and Mac are here,” I answer without answering.
“Good. I’m coming into the city. I’m getting ready to leave now.”
“Mom, you don’t need to do that.”
“Yes, I do,” she affirms. “I love you. I’ll be there soon. We will talk then.”
Great.
“Okay,” I agree. “Love you, too.” I hang up, then look over at Fawn and Mac. “Mom’s on her way.”
“You’re going to need more alcohol,” Mac mutters, picking up my still-full wineglass and bringing it over to me.
Hearing pounding on the door, my heart leaps in my chest. It crashes when Miss Ina shouts, “Open the door!”
“Great. This is just getting better by the second.”
“At least you know you’re loved,” Fawn tells me, handing me a plate of pancakes.
Mac opens the door to let Miss Ina inside.
“Took you long enough,” Miss Ina snaps at Mac.
“It took me half a second to open the door,” Mac replies with a roll of her eyes.
“Whatever,” Miss Ina grumbles. Then her eyes move over to me.
“Are you okay?”
“Peachy.” I hold up my glass of wine.
“Morning drinking. Lord. It’s worse than I thought.”
“Are you going to hug me again to make it better?” I ask her, and her dark eyes narrow. “Just asking.”
“Your mom is on her way. When she gets here, we’re all going to Bloomingdale’s.”
“What?”
“Therapy, child. I’ll even buy you something.”
I really must be broken, because for the first time in my life, shopping is not something I want to do.
“I’d rather stay in.”
“And what? Get drunk and watch TV?” She shakes her head. “We’re getting you out of this apartment for the day, getting your mind off things.” She pulls her eyes from me before I can tell her that I’d really rather not. She looks at Fawn. “Where’s my coffee?”
“I didn’t know you wanted coffee.” Fawn flashes an amused smile at the old woman.
“You didn’t ask. What’s with you kids nowadays and your lack of manners?”
“Miss Ina, stop being a grouch,” I tell her before taking a huge gulp of wine. “And I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying in, drinking wine, watching movies, then going to bed early since I have to work at the salon tomorrow.”
“Fine,” she huffs as Fawn brings her a cup of coffee.
I smile at both my sisters, then settle back against the couch with my pancakes.
An hour later, Mom shows up. When I tell her that I don’t feel up to going out, she leaves to get us all lunch. We eat in front of the TV—even Miss Ina eats her sandwich sitting on the couch next to me. Okay, so she complains the whole time about eating in front of the TV, but I ignore that and focus on the good part. The being-surrounded-by-love part. I also drink wine. Lots of it from my never-empty wineglass. We watch movies—all of them scary—and when everyone leaves, I go to bed and once again cry myself to sleep while holding on to Pool. He doesn’t seem to care at all that his fur is soaked through.
Chapter 16
SWALLOW MY PRIDE
ANTONIO
When my cab drives past the pizzeria, I can’t help myself. I look out the window and see the new sign over the shop: PRINCESS PIZZA. She changed the name to Princess Pizza, with a bright-pink fucking sign.
Fuck . . .
My chest tightens, and nausea rolls in my stomach. Seeing the new name on the shop doesn’t hurt—it kills. It’s been two weeks, two fucking weeks, since I’ve seen Libby. In that time, I’ve gone from being pissed at her to pissed at myself. I fucked up. I let my anger get the best of me, and I walked away when I should have stuck around. I should have let her explain. Hell, I should have let her explain all the times she tried to talk to me about the pizzeria before I found out she was buying it. I never did. Every single time she started to bring up the shop, I would shut her down. I didn’t want to hear her tell me that she thought I should take it over from my parents, that she thought I was making a mistake. I had put her right into the same box with my ex and closed the fucking lid on them both again.
I rub my palm against my chest to try and get rid of the pain there, even though I know it’s useless. Somehow I ended up falling in love with Libby. I don’t know how it happened or when it happened, but there is no denying that I love her. I love her. And now . . . now I don’t know how to get back to where we were before I so royally fucked things up between us. Honestly, I’m scared as hell that she won’t want me back when I finally get up the courage to go to her.
“You’re here,” my cab driver says when he pulls up in front of my parents’ place.
I haven’t only been avoiding Libby these last two weeks—I’ve also been avoiding my parents. I always felt like the pizzeria was the one thing in life that my parents and I disagreed about. My dad and mom have always loved the shop, and I have always resented it for taking them away from me when I was growing up. Over the years, I have become so focused on the bad that I forgot about the good times I had at the pizzeria as a kid. I forgot about my dad teaching me to make pizzas, forgot about my mom throwing me birthday parties at the shop, forgot about any sports team I was on eating for free after each game. I also knew my father was disappointed in me for not following in his footsteps. That guilt I’ve been carrying around only seemed to get heavier when he had his heart attack. He said he understood my reasons for turning down his offer, but I could still see the defeat in his eyes when he told me he and Mom were going to sell the shop.
Making it up the brick steps, I ring the bell. I wait with my hands tucked in the front pockets of my jeans. My mom peeks through the side window, and a relieved smile lights up her face.
“You know you don’t have to knock or ring the bell. I gave you a key for a reason,” she says as soon as she opens the door.
“I left my key at home,” I explain as I bend down to kiss her cheek. “Is Dad around?”
“Yes. He’s here. He’s in the living room, yelling at the television.”
“Who’s playing?”
“A red team and a blue team; that’s about all I know,” she says with a laugh as I follow her to the living room.
My dad is indeed yelling at a soccer game on the TV. As soon as I step into the room, though, he reaches for the remote and shuts it off.
“Took you long enough to get here,” he says by way of greeting.
The tension I’ve been holding on to releases instantly.
“Sorry. I should have come sooner.”
“You should have,” he agrees. He gets up from his recliner and walks toward me. Meeting him halfway across the room, I wrap my arms around him.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not me that you need to apologize to,” he says gruffly, pounding his fist into my back.
“I know,” I agree when he lets me go.
“She’s a good girl. I hope you figure out a way to forgive her for not telling you, but I want you to know now that I get why she didn’t. You’re not the easiest person to talk to when it comes to discussing the pizzeria.”
“She tried to tell me. I just didn’t want to listen,” I admit.
He shakes his head, takes a seat back in his recliner. I take a seat across from him, on the couch.
“What are you going to do to win her back?”
“I don’t fucking know.” I scrub my hands down my face. “I fucked up, big-time. I’ve been hiding like a coward since then.”
“My son’s not a coward,” he states firmly. I meet his gaze. “You need to go to her.”
“What if she says she doesn’t want to see me again? Worse, what if she tells me to fuck off?”
“I can’t imagine Libby saying that,” Mom offers as she comes into the room and sits next to me.
“Soon.”
I hang up, then dial my mom’s number.
“Honey,” Mom whispers. I squeeze my eyes closed. “Are you okay?”
“Fawn and Mac are here,” I answer without answering.
“Good. I’m coming into the city. I’m getting ready to leave now.”
“Mom, you don’t need to do that.”
“Yes, I do,” she affirms. “I love you. I’ll be there soon. We will talk then.”
Great.
“Okay,” I agree. “Love you, too.” I hang up, then look over at Fawn and Mac. “Mom’s on her way.”
“You’re going to need more alcohol,” Mac mutters, picking up my still-full wineglass and bringing it over to me.
Hearing pounding on the door, my heart leaps in my chest. It crashes when Miss Ina shouts, “Open the door!”
“Great. This is just getting better by the second.”
“At least you know you’re loved,” Fawn tells me, handing me a plate of pancakes.
Mac opens the door to let Miss Ina inside.
“Took you long enough,” Miss Ina snaps at Mac.
“It took me half a second to open the door,” Mac replies with a roll of her eyes.
“Whatever,” Miss Ina grumbles. Then her eyes move over to me.
“Are you okay?”
“Peachy.” I hold up my glass of wine.
“Morning drinking. Lord. It’s worse than I thought.”
“Are you going to hug me again to make it better?” I ask her, and her dark eyes narrow. “Just asking.”
“Your mom is on her way. When she gets here, we’re all going to Bloomingdale’s.”
“What?”
“Therapy, child. I’ll even buy you something.”
I really must be broken, because for the first time in my life, shopping is not something I want to do.
“I’d rather stay in.”
“And what? Get drunk and watch TV?” She shakes her head. “We’re getting you out of this apartment for the day, getting your mind off things.” She pulls her eyes from me before I can tell her that I’d really rather not. She looks at Fawn. “Where’s my coffee?”
“I didn’t know you wanted coffee.” Fawn flashes an amused smile at the old woman.
“You didn’t ask. What’s with you kids nowadays and your lack of manners?”
“Miss Ina, stop being a grouch,” I tell her before taking a huge gulp of wine. “And I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying in, drinking wine, watching movies, then going to bed early since I have to work at the salon tomorrow.”
“Fine,” she huffs as Fawn brings her a cup of coffee.
I smile at both my sisters, then settle back against the couch with my pancakes.
An hour later, Mom shows up. When I tell her that I don’t feel up to going out, she leaves to get us all lunch. We eat in front of the TV—even Miss Ina eats her sandwich sitting on the couch next to me. Okay, so she complains the whole time about eating in front of the TV, but I ignore that and focus on the good part. The being-surrounded-by-love part. I also drink wine. Lots of it from my never-empty wineglass. We watch movies—all of them scary—and when everyone leaves, I go to bed and once again cry myself to sleep while holding on to Pool. He doesn’t seem to care at all that his fur is soaked through.
Chapter 16
SWALLOW MY PRIDE
ANTONIO
When my cab drives past the pizzeria, I can’t help myself. I look out the window and see the new sign over the shop: PRINCESS PIZZA. She changed the name to Princess Pizza, with a bright-pink fucking sign.
Fuck . . .
My chest tightens, and nausea rolls in my stomach. Seeing the new name on the shop doesn’t hurt—it kills. It’s been two weeks, two fucking weeks, since I’ve seen Libby. In that time, I’ve gone from being pissed at her to pissed at myself. I fucked up. I let my anger get the best of me, and I walked away when I should have stuck around. I should have let her explain. Hell, I should have let her explain all the times she tried to talk to me about the pizzeria before I found out she was buying it. I never did. Every single time she started to bring up the shop, I would shut her down. I didn’t want to hear her tell me that she thought I should take it over from my parents, that she thought I was making a mistake. I had put her right into the same box with my ex and closed the fucking lid on them both again.
I rub my palm against my chest to try and get rid of the pain there, even though I know it’s useless. Somehow I ended up falling in love with Libby. I don’t know how it happened or when it happened, but there is no denying that I love her. I love her. And now . . . now I don’t know how to get back to where we were before I so royally fucked things up between us. Honestly, I’m scared as hell that she won’t want me back when I finally get up the courage to go to her.
“You’re here,” my cab driver says when he pulls up in front of my parents’ place.
I haven’t only been avoiding Libby these last two weeks—I’ve also been avoiding my parents. I always felt like the pizzeria was the one thing in life that my parents and I disagreed about. My dad and mom have always loved the shop, and I have always resented it for taking them away from me when I was growing up. Over the years, I have become so focused on the bad that I forgot about the good times I had at the pizzeria as a kid. I forgot about my dad teaching me to make pizzas, forgot about my mom throwing me birthday parties at the shop, forgot about any sports team I was on eating for free after each game. I also knew my father was disappointed in me for not following in his footsteps. That guilt I’ve been carrying around only seemed to get heavier when he had his heart attack. He said he understood my reasons for turning down his offer, but I could still see the defeat in his eyes when he told me he and Mom were going to sell the shop.
Making it up the brick steps, I ring the bell. I wait with my hands tucked in the front pockets of my jeans. My mom peeks through the side window, and a relieved smile lights up her face.
“You know you don’t have to knock or ring the bell. I gave you a key for a reason,” she says as soon as she opens the door.
“I left my key at home,” I explain as I bend down to kiss her cheek. “Is Dad around?”
“Yes. He’s here. He’s in the living room, yelling at the television.”
“Who’s playing?”
“A red team and a blue team; that’s about all I know,” she says with a laugh as I follow her to the living room.
My dad is indeed yelling at a soccer game on the TV. As soon as I step into the room, though, he reaches for the remote and shuts it off.
“Took you long enough to get here,” he says by way of greeting.
The tension I’ve been holding on to releases instantly.
“Sorry. I should have come sooner.”
“You should have,” he agrees. He gets up from his recliner and walks toward me. Meeting him halfway across the room, I wrap my arms around him.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not me that you need to apologize to,” he says gruffly, pounding his fist into my back.
“I know,” I agree when he lets me go.
“She’s a good girl. I hope you figure out a way to forgive her for not telling you, but I want you to know now that I get why she didn’t. You’re not the easiest person to talk to when it comes to discussing the pizzeria.”
“She tried to tell me. I just didn’t want to listen,” I admit.
He shakes his head, takes a seat back in his recliner. I take a seat across from him, on the couch.
“What are you going to do to win her back?”
“I don’t fucking know.” I scrub my hands down my face. “I fucked up, big-time. I’ve been hiding like a coward since then.”
“My son’s not a coward,” he states firmly. I meet his gaze. “You need to go to her.”
“What if she says she doesn’t want to see me again? Worse, what if she tells me to fuck off?”
“I can’t imagine Libby saying that,” Mom offers as she comes into the room and sits next to me.
