I know I should tread lightly and go at it slowly, but I don’t know what it is about Addison that just makes me forget everything I have instilled in me. Every single rule I have in place is just suddenly erased and there are no rules when it comes to her. No one-night stands, that was crossed off the list. No strings attached, keep things at arm’s length. But again, with her that night all I could do was push all those little nagging comments to the back of my head. All I wanted was to kiss her. There in the middle of the worst diner food I had ever had, all I wanted to do was hold her face and kiss her. I kept ordering food only to drag out the time we spent together. I kept ordering the food until I finally got the courage to ask her what I was dying to ask her the second she bumped into me and looked into my eyes. I honestly think the world stayed still for that moment. “She really is the best kid,” Addison agrees, and I can even hear the smile in her voice.
“Okay, I should call my parents and get it over with.” I take a deep inhale. “Wish me luck.”
“Hope it turns out better than it did with mine,” she says. I know she’s trying to make a joke out of it, but my hands clench into fists. From the little she told me, my blood is boiling, and I know I want to sit down with her and for her to tell me exactly what happened. However, couch surfing for two months was enough to make me see red or black or whatever color someone sees when they are about to lose their shit.
“See you tomorrow,” I say and quickly disconnect her. As soon as I hang up with her and go to search for my father’s name, I quickly go back and add her number to my favorite list so that no matter what happens, she can always get through to me.
I then go back and press the camera button for my father. The sounds of ringing fill the room as my face fills the screen. It takes three more rings for the little circle to spin and connect in the middle of the screen. It takes a minute before my full face is now pushed to the corner and my father’s face fills the screen. “Look who it is,” he greets me, leaning back on the couch. He’s wearing a basic gray shirt and most likely sweatpants, his black hair pushed back, and his beard a little bit longer than it was three days ago when I saw him.
“Hi,” I say, kicking off my shoes before sitting with my back against the headboard in the bed. “Where is Maman?”
“She’s right here,” he says and turns the phone so I can see my mother sitting in the corner of the U-shaped couch with a book in her hand. She’s wearing a loungewear set that she just makes look fancy. Her hair is loose and draped over one shoulder, her face is without a stitch of makeup. “See.”
“Maman,” I say in French, and she looks up, her face filling with a smile so big her blue eyes light up.
“Mon chéri.” My sweetheart, she answers in French, putting the book down beside her and sliding over to my father’s side. He moves his arm so she can snuggle into him. He drapes an arm around her shoulder before kissing the side of her head. ‘Tu es où?’ Where are you?
“I’m at Matty’s,” I tell them both.
“What?” my mother asks me, shocked. “Pourquoi?” Why? she asks me, and all the words get jumbled in my mouth.
“Um.” I suddenly feel like I’m sixteen again, and I just messed up and have to break the news to my parents. Like the time I skipped school and decided I would forge my father’s signature, but they caught me and called home about it. My sister, Karrie, gave me the heads-up before I walked in. So instead of letting them yell at me, I came clean to them as soon as I walked in. Of course, I acted like the lie was secretly making me guilty, which they fell for or maybe they could have smelled the bullshit but let it slide. “Do you guys think you could come down here this weekend?” I ask them both. The nerves in my body make me jump off the bed, and I slowly pace the room back and forth.
My mother looks at me, trying to decipher what I just asked her. It’s as if she knows something is up but can’t put her finger on it. She stares at me for a couple of minutes before she answers me, “Why?” The look goes into a glare, and she sits up as she waits for it. It’s the mother instinct; she knows shit is about to hit the fan. When I was growing up, I would think it was a special gift she had. I’ve learned she just knew better than we did.
“How do I say this?” I think about how to say the next part. I could always tell them I need to see them, but my mother isn’t one who just will let that slide. She needs to know everything now. “No easy way to say this.” I look at my father, who just closes his eyes for a second longer than he should. My mother again picks up on the detail and looks at me, then at my father, and then at me again. “I’d like you to meet your granddaughter.” Fuck, that was easier than I thought it would be, well, at least for me to say it.
The screech that comes out of my mother isn’t something I was expecting. “She’s pregnant? You’ve known her two weeks!” she yells. “C’est pas possible?” It’s not possible, she mumbles in French. “C’est un blague? Tu plaisantes j’espère?” This is a joke. She looks at my father and then back at me, and this time, she grabs the phone from him. “Stefano,” she says my name through clenched teeth, “tell me that you are not stupid enough not to wear protection? You have been dating her a month.”
My eyebrows pinch together, and it finally sinks in that she thinks it’s with Jenna. “Oh no, not her.” I shake my head.
“What?” She jumps up off the couch. “Is this a poisson d’avril trick?” April Fool’s joke, she asks my father, who grabs the phone from her.
“Vivienne,” he says her name softly, “calm down.” He takes her hand and pulls her down on the couch next to him.
“Calm down?” she hisses back at him, and even I grimace at the way she asked him that. “Calm down your son.” She emphasizes on your son, and I have to roll my eyes. Isn’t it always the case that we are one parent’s child when we fuck up? “He just told us we have a granddaughter.”
“I heard,” my father says calmly as always. I get the calm from him, for sure. “Why don’t we listen to the rest of what he has to say?”
“D’accord.” Fine, she hisses at him. “Who is the mother of this child?”
“Addison,” I say, and I can’t help the way my chest heats up at her name. I can’t help but to be filled with pride at who the mother of my child is.
“Addison?” my mother says her name, blinking a couple of times. “Wait, the one who planned the wedding?”
“Yes.” I nod my head and stop moving as I wait for it.
“But?” She shakes her head, and then I see it when it finally dawns on her. The gasp comes out of her as her hand is lifted slowly to her mouth. “The princess girl?” she asks me and then looks over at my father. “Why are you not saying anything?” she asks him.
“Merde,” my father replies, using the French word for shit. Before we were born, he knew a couple of words, but then when we started learning, he learned with us because he wasn’t going to be left out of conversations. Also, because he thought my mother was always plotting something with us without him knowing, and she usually was. “Mon amour.” My love, he says to her, and she springs up again.
“Oh, don’t you, ‘mon amour’ me,” she hisses at him. “Tu le savais et tu ne m’as rien dit.” You knew and you didn’t tell me. “Ridicules, j’en reviens pas.” Ridiculous, I can’t believe this. “Imbécile.” Imbecile.
My father gets up and puts the phone down on the coffee table. “Ma belle.” My beautiful, he says. “Can we just listen to what he has to say?”
“You do not even start, Markos.” She shakes her head and sits down in front of the phone. “You knew this big secret, and you didn’t think to tell me?” She shakes her head at him and starts mumbling French words that I’m not even getting for how low she is saying them. But it doesn’t sound like anything good. “You kept this from me?” she asks him. “How could you know this huge secret and not tell me?” My father opens his mouth to say something, but she holds up her hand to stop him. “How could you do this?” Again, he says something, and she side-eyes him, and he closes his mouth and then glares at me. “And you,” she hisses at me. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I don’t even bother answering her because she’s not one to be toyed with until she gets it all out of her system. “We bought you condoms for you to use.” She throws up her hand in the air. “It’s a monthly subscription.” She then trails off, mumbling all the bad French words.
“Are you done?” I ask her, and even my father shakes his head.
“Ne me cherche pas, Stefano Dimitris.” Don’t you start with me, she hisses at me, and she uses my full name, which anyone knows is never a good thing. Never. “Am I done?” she mimics my question.
“Do you want to meet her or not?” I ask her, my tone tight as I think she might say no. I don’t know how the fuck I will explain this to Addison. I can’t even imagine what she is going to say if my parents say no. Them saying no is really not an option.
“What kind of a stupid question is that?” my father shouts out. “Do we want to meet her or not?” He then looks over at my mother, waiting for her to say something.
“On arrive demain.” We are coming down tomorrow, my mother declares.
“Her parents are going to think we raised a bouffon.” I have to laugh when she calls me a bouffon, but then I look down, trying to ignore the comment about her parents. I think about if I should tell them about her parents or not. It takes me over a minute of not saying anything for my father to pick up on the silence.
“What’s the matter?” I think about lying to him about what is bothering me, but I also know my parents will want to meet her parents to show them that I’m not an idiot. I also know I don’t want her to feel bad about it.
“Her parents kicked her out.” My words come out crystal clear, and the silence of the room just makes the words echo more.
My father’s hand comes up and he slams his hand down on the coffee table, the movement making the phone shake a bit. “Stefano,” he hisses out my name.
“Dad, you don’t think I know this?” I ask him, sitting on the edge of the bed as I hang my head down. “I feel.” I blink away the stinging of tears, but for the first time, I let them out. “I don’t even know what I feel, it’s like this burning in my stomach,” I tell them both and my mother uses her thumb to wipe away the tears that are coming out of her eyes. “And then my chest is tight and I feel like I’m going to throw up every seven seconds,” I say breathlessly.
“It’s called love, you dumbass,” my father says softly. “We are coming down tomorrow,” he reiterates what my mother just said. “We’ll take them out.”
“You can’t,” I tell him. “She said they are already eating out on Saturday.”
“Stefano.” My mother grabs the phone from the table and makes sure I can see her whole face. “You call her and tell her that your parents are taking her out because we owe her a lot more than a meal.” The glare and tone are something I’m not going to argue with, especially after what just happened.
“Fine.” I take a deep inhale. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess.”
“Idiot,” is the last thing my mother says before she hangs up on me.
I toss my phone to the side and look up at the ceiling before I rub my face with my hands. I then lean forward, putting my elbows on my knees and hanging my head. It’s maybe five minutes before I hear the sound of footsteps running up the stairs. I look at the door, hearing a knock for one second before the door opens, and Matty stands there in shorts and no shirt. “You told your parents?” I just stare at him. “The Bat Signal has been unleashed.”
“Well, it’s been five minutes,” I say, looking at my watch, “the family is slacking, if you ask me.”
Matty laughs and shakes his head. “I just got four messages from Uncle Max and Matthew asking if they have rentals in the area.”
“Say no,” Sofia yells from somewhere in the house, “they can stay with us!”
“Are you insane?” Matty yells over his shoulder. “Don’t you dare even speak that out loud, they might have Spidey senses.” He walks out of the room. “This is going to be fun,” he states right before he closes the door behind him.
I pick up my phone, wanting to speak to only one person. I pull up her name, and instead of calling her, I text her. If she’s sleeping, I don’t want to wake her.
Can you talk?
I look down at the phone and see the gray bubble with the three dots pop up before my phone pings with a text.
