A kid with his whole life in front of him . . . and a child on the way.
“Oh, Ralphie . . .” She hugs him fiercely. “I don’t know what to say.”
He wipes his eyes on the sleeve of his fleece sweatshirt, sniffling loudly. “There’s nothing you can say.”
“Is this why . . . is this why you’ve been in trouble at school lately? Cutting classes?”
He nods. “I had to go with her to a clinic in the city a few times. You know . . .”
“Oh, Ralphie, you mean that she’s going to—”
“No!” he says, horrified, realizing what she’s thinking. “No, Nina, she wants to have the baby. We both do. I was taking her to the doctor for tests and vitamins and stuff . . . you know.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I do know.” Tests. Vitamins. Stuff.
Oh, hell. They’re just kids. That they’ve already been through so much seems terribly unfair . . . and courageous.
“You said you want the baby, Ralphie?”
He nods with absolute conviction.
Pride swells within Nina.
“I want to do the right thing, Nina. I want to be there for it.”
He’s just a boy, really . . . but he’s acting like a man. To think that she’s been accusing him of shirking responsibility to school and work when he’s been living up to an obligation that is far more important . . .
Which doesn’t change the fact that he’s not in any position to raise a child.
“Ralphie . . . what about college? Your future? All your plans? You’re so young, much too young to—”
“I don’t care! I wanted that baby, Nina,” he says hoarsely.
“Wanted? Did something happen? Ralphie . . . did Camille lose the baby?”
He shakes his head miserably. “She just told me she’s going to give it up for adoption. She says she wants to go away to college in August, just like she planned. She says I need to go, too. She thinks we have no business trying to keep the baby and raise it.”
“She’s right, Ralphie,” Nina says quietly. “The baby deserves—”
“It deserves parents. How will the baby feel, growing up without us?”
“Ralphie, you can’t—”
“Nina, you don’t know what it’s like. You had Mom and Dad when you needed them. I never did. All I had was . . . was . . .”
“Me.” Her heart is breaking for him. “All you had was me.”
“And Pop.”
“Yes, but . . .”
Pop was so wrapped up in grief that for years he could barely even look at Ralphie.
“He blames me, you know.” He’s sobbing openly now. “Pop blames me for Mommy dying. And sometimes . . . so do I. If I weren’t here, she would be.”
“No, Ralphie. Stop it. Don’t ever think that. And Pop loves you, you know he does. We all love you. I tried to do what was best for you. I tried so hard to make up everything, Ralphie, and . . .”
“No, it’s not that, Nina. You’ve been great. You’ve always been here. It’s just . . .” He hangs his head, wiping his eyes with his fists. “Sometimes I feel like I miss her so much I can’t stand it.”
“Oh, Ralphie . . . so do I.”
Nina looks at him, at this motherless child, this brother she’s loved like a son. Yes, he’s acting like a man, but he looks like a little boy, huddled there in his baggy, too-big clothes.
It strikes her, then, in a blinding flash of clarity.
You can’t leave.
She can’t leave Ralphie.
Her responsibility for him won’t automatically evaporate the moment he receives a high school diploma. He’s going to need her now more than ever. His child will be born in July, a child Camille plans to give up for adoption.
Nina should stick around to pick up the pieces. To see him off to college. To be here whenever he comes home.
No, she can’t leave Ralphie. He isn’t through needing her.
And then there’s Rose. Rose hasn’t even begun to need her.
But she will. And when she does . . .
Ralphie’s anguished question echoes in Nina’s head.
How will the baby feel, growing up without its parents?
But Rose will have a father, just as Ralphie did.
She won’t have a mother.
Even if Joe finds somebody to marry, to join him in raising Rose . . .
She’s bound to feel a void the day she realizes that her biological mother chose not to raise her. She won’t care about the reasons, or that it’s for her own good. She’ll only know that Nina left.
And anyway . . .
It’s not for Rose’s own good that you were leaving. It was for your own. Because you thought it would make you happy.
How will she ever find the footloose, carefree joy she covets if she carries with her the painful burden of abandoning Ralphie, and Rose?
They need her, both of them.
But it’s not that simple.
If only Joe needed her, too.
She’s swept by a violent yearning for what can never be.
If only Joe needed, wanted, more than her friendship. If only . . .
He loves you.
No. You only wish that he did. You can’t possibly convince yourself that he—
Then it hits her.
He loves you.
She clasps her hand to her mouth.
Ralphie looks up. “What’s wrong?”
“I just . . . I just thought of something.”
Dazed, she shakes her head in wonder, remembering.
It’s fuzzy . . . so fuzzy. She’s tried to capture the elusive image of her mother in the days and weeks since the delivery, not just her face, but her words.
Go back, Nina. It’s not your time.
Yes, and there was more.
Now, at last, the missing phrase has fallen into place.
He loves you.
That was it. That was the thing that made her think she’d delivered a son and not a daughter.
He loves you.
At the time, in her confusion, she thought her mother was talking about the baby. But that wasn’t what she meant at all.
Joe loves me?
If it’s really true—if Joe loves her—then she’s free to let herself love him back.
Loving him would be so easy . . .
Too easy. Frighteningly easy . . . yet complicated as hell.
Because if she lets herself love Joe . . .
Well then, that will be it.
Her fate will be sealed.
Here she’ll stay.
Here in Astoria.
Here on Thirty-third Street, probably for the rest of her life.
How can the one thing she’s always dreaded more than anything else now be the only thing that will make her life complete?
It’s just so . . . impossible. So crazy.
Maybe it’s hormones, she finds herself thinking automatically.
No. It can’t be hormones. She can’t blame everything, every little idiosyncrasy, on that. Not anymore.
So it must be something else.
Maybe . . .
Maybe it really is love.
And maybe love is all it takes after all.
“JOEY . . . I SEE Nina coming up the steps,” Phyllis Materi calls from upstairs. “Hurry—let her in. I’m changing the baby.”
He puts aside the new Stephen King novel he’s been trying to read for the last couple of weeks, ever since he brought Rose home from the hospital. Though he has plenty of help with the baby, surrounded by doting Materis and Chickalinis, he can’t seem to concentrate on reading. He blames it on the fact that he no longer has an hour’s worth of subway commuting each day, but he suspects that there’s more to it than that.
He ope
ns the front door to find Nina, bundled into a bright yellow rain slicker.
“Come on in,” he says, stepping aside. “Crummy weather, huh?”
“I swear, it’s been pouring for three days straight.” Nina shakes the droplets out of her dark hair. “Where’s the baby?”
“Upstairs with Ma. She just pooped.”
She grins. “Your mother?”
“Funny. You’re funny.” He points at her, then notices the package in her hand. “What’s that?”
“It’s an outfit for Rose.”
“Another one? Nina, I hope you didn’t go out shopping again. You’re supposed to be taking it easy.”
“No, this one . . . well, here. It belonged to me. I want her to have it.” She hands it to him.
He lifts away the layers of tissue paper to see a flowing ivory lace dress.
“It was my christening gown,” Nina tells him.
“It’s beautiful. Thank you, Nina.” He clears his throat. “About the christening . . .”
“Hmm?”
“I spoke to Father Tom this morning and we’re going to have it next month. I was thinking that I want Danny to be her godfather, and—and I want you to be her godmother, Nina. Will you?”
She swallows audibly and lowers her gaze. When she looks up to meet his eyes, he sees tears in hers.
“Yes, Joey. Thank you. I’d be honored.”
They fall silent.
Rain patters against the roof. Phyllis’s footsteps creak floorboards overhead.
“Have you talked to Danny today?” Nina asks suddenly, as though she’s just remembered something—or as though she’s been trying desperately to think of a way to break the silence.
“Yeah, I called him a little while ago to ask him about the godfather thing.”
“Did he tell you Barb’s been having contractions since last night?”
“Yeah. They’re still not regular, though. The doctor says they’ve got a ways to go. Maybe even a couple more days.”
“Oh, Lord. Poor Barb.”
After all Nina went through to deliver Rose, it touches Joe to see the genuine sympathy in her expression.
“You want something to drink?” he asks.
“Got any diet soda?”
“I think my mother bought some, but Nina, go easy on that stuff. It’s not healthy, and anyway, you look like you’ve lost all the weight.”
“I’ve got three pounds left to go.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t know where you’re carrying it.” She looks like her old self in worn jeans and a long-sleeved gray T-shirt. Only her hair is different—her bangs grown out at last, tucked behind her ears.
No, her face is different, too. She looks older. Not in a wrinkled, unattractive way.
There’s just a maturity in her expression that wasn’t there before; a somberness that never really leaves her eyes, not even when she’s smiling.
“How’s Ralphie?” Joe asks, leading the way to the kitchen.
Nina doesn’t say anything.
“Uh-oh. Trouble again?” Joe takes a can of Diet Pepsi from the refrigerator for Nina, and a regular for himself.
“His old girlfriend is . . .” Nina shakes her head, trailing off. “You know what? It’s a long story, and now isn’t the time to get into it, Joey.”
“Let me guess. He got his heart broken?”
“Something like that. Joey, I wanted to tell you . . . Minnie called me last night.”
“From a broken heart to Minnie. Nice segue,” he says lightly, opening his can of soda.
Then he looks up at Nina and finds that her expression is serious.
“She wanted to say congratulations on the baby,” she says slowly. “And she asked . . . she asked if I’m still coming in July.”
“What’d you tell her?”
And why is he even bothering to ask?
Of course she told Minnie she’s still coming. That’s the plan. It’s always been the plan, and she’s said nothing in the past few weeks to hint that anything is different now.
But as Joey looks into her eyes, he sees something that catches him entirely off guard: a shred of uncertainty about the future, as uncharacteristic to Nina as . . . as a pastel pink sweater.
“I told her that I wasn’t sure, Joey.”
“But . . .” He stares at her. “What about Independence Day?”
“I thought I might want to spend it with Rose. And . . .” She inhales deeply. “And with you. If it’s all right.”
Her words slam into him like a three-hundred-pound weight hitting a trampoline, and bounce right off again without sinking in.
He doesn’t dare move. He doesn’t dare breathe.
“Joey . . . I can’t leave.”
She can’t leave.
She’s saying she can’t leave.
“I don’t know why I ever thought that I wanted to. This is home.”
He manages one word. “Astoria?”
“No. This.” She gestures around them. “All of it. The baby. And . . . and you. You’re my best friend. You’re family. You’re . . . Look, I don’t want to be in your way. I know this isn’t what we had in mind—for me to be a part of Rose’s life—”
“Nina—”
“But I want to be here. Not here, under your roof, in your way. But I want to be more than Rose’s penpal, or . . . or her godmother. I want to be her mother, Joey. And I want . . .”
She trails off, dropping her gaze once again, but not until he’s glimpsed something there. Something that feeds the spark of hope ignited within him.
“Look,” she says quietly, “it doesn’t matter what I want. What matters is that I’m going to be here for Rose, and for you whenever or however you need me.”
“We do need you, Nina.”
I need you.
More than he ever realized. More than she’ll ever know . . .
Unless he tells her.
He has to tell her.
But if he says it . . . and if he’s wrong about how she feels . . .
The agony of past rejection drifts toward him, threatening to snuff out the flame of hope.
This time, he pushes away the haunting memories.
Nina isn’t Minnie. She’s already said she isn’t going anywhere.
And Joey isn’t a twenty-year-old kid anymore, abandoned at the altar. He’s a grown man. He has to seize this chance. Now. It might never come again.
“If you really need me, I’ll stay,” she says resolutely, lifting her head.
She smiles at him, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
“I’ll be right next door,” she goes on, “and I’ll keep helping Pop in the restaurant when I’m not with Rose. And when you fall in love with someone and decide to marry her, I promise I won’t get in the way, Joey.”
“Nina . . .” He gulps in air. Swallows hard. Prays. Then he tells her, “I’ve already fallen in love with somebody. And I’m going to marry her, if she’ll have me.”
A shadow falls over her face, telling him everything he needs to know.
“I didn’t realize . . . I didn’t realize you were seeing anybody, Joey.”
“I have been. I’ve been seeing her every day for the last thirty-something years, and I want to see her every day for the rest of my life.”
“It’s . . .” Her eyes collide with his, her voice fading to a ragged whisper. “It’s me?”
“Nina, it’s always been you.” He drops to one knee in front of her and grasps her hands in both of his, pressing them to his soaring heart. “I love you, Nina. Do you—”
“Yes!”
“You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”
“Whatever it is . . . yes. Yes, yes, yes!”
“So you love me—”
“Yes!
”
“And you’ll marry me—”
“Yes!”
“And you promise never to eat more than your share of yellow-tail roll again, as long as we both shall live?”
“Hey, don’t get crazy on me, there, Materi. I have my limits, you know.”
They laugh. And kiss.
Joe touches his forehead gently to hers and asks, “What about the French Riviera?”
“I’m sure it’s a nice place to visit, but . . .”
“But you wouldn’t want to live there?”
“I wouldn’t want to live anywhere but right here, with you. You and Rose. You’re where I belong.”
Joe opens his arms and pulls her in. “In that case . . . welcome home, Nina.”
Epilogue
THERE WAS A time, not so long ago, when Nina might have been dismayed to discover that the small, windowless room off the rectory at Most Precious Mother hasn’t changed in years . . . if ever.
But today, stepping across the threshold, she finds all of it somehow reassuring: pea-green indoor-outdoor carpeting, beige-painted cinderblock walls, wooden folding chairs, and giant crucifix. Even the familiar, not entirely pleasant scent that wafts to her nostrils is welcome: incense and mildew, mothballs and musty hymnals.
Faint organ music reaches her ears, coming from the church next door.
This is it: her cue. Millicent Milagros is playing “Ave Maria,” one of Mommy’s favorite hymns.
“Oh, Nina. Look at you!”
She turns to see Rosalee standing in the doorway behind her, wearing a tailored navy suit and clutching a red-and-white nosegay.
“Ro—how was the honeymoon?” Nina lifts her sweeping skirt and hurries to hug her sister, who has been in the Poconos for a week, since her own wedding.
“It was incredible. We had a heart-shaped whirlpool in our suite. You and Joe should go there for a long weekend or something. We’ll watch Rose if you want to—”
“Thanks, Ro, that’s sweet, but neither of us wants to leave her yet.”
Or ever.
“So you’re really not going to take a honeymoon? Pop told me that the three of you aren’t going to Europe in September after all.”
Nina shakes her head. “I’m sure we’ll get there someday.”
There isn’t time now to tell Rosalee that by September, the three of them will very likely become four.
The Nine Month Plan Page 30
