He wished Livie was with him. She was good at this part. Not change. She was terrible at facing changes. But she was great at needling him to face the thing he didn’t really want to face. This wouldn’t even be happening if not for her.
It surprised him, his need for her in this moment. And made him a little uneasy. Relying on her too much was a mistake, because someday soon she was going to wise up and get the fuck out of here. But for today, she was back in Carroll Gardens with her own family. And he was here with his. If he could make himself knock on the door.
He was still standing there, at war with himself, when he heard a voice from inside, approaching the front door.
“It’s in the car seat, babe. I’ll get it.”
Suddenly the door opened and he was face-to-face with his brother.
It wasn’t quite that eerie looking-in-a-mirror feeling he’d had when they were younger. In eight years, their looks had diverged a bit. Chris’s face was a little leaner, more angular. His hair was shorter than Nick’s, clipped neat and conservative. There were a few fine lines around his eyes.
The eyes were the same, though. Chris had his eyes, and now they widened in surprise. His mouth fell open, and a second later, a wide smile spread across his face.
“Nick. Goddamn, you’re really here.”
“I—” He didn’t get to finish that sentence, as he found himself yanked forward, into a ferocious, crushing hug. Chris drew in a shaky breath that Nick felt against his shoulder. A rush of emotion so powerful it almost hurt welled up in his chest. For all the bullshit rivalries and squabbles over the years, he’d missed this perfect, infuriating jerk. He’d missed his brother.
From inside the house, he heard his mother’s voice, high-pitched and painfully eager. “Is that him?”
Chris leaned back to look at him, still hanging on to his shoulders. “Get your ass in here, man. We have eight years of family bonding to make up for.”
And somehow, after eight years of silence and bitterness and recriminations, it was that easy. He showed up, and they invited him right back in.
As Chris dragged him over the threshold and shut the door behind him, his mother appeared from the back of the house, wiping her hands on a dish towel.
“Nicky!” she cried, crossing the tiny living room and throwing her arms around his shoulders. He submitted to another crushing embrace, patting his mother on the back when it seemed she might start crying again. Over her shoulder, he saw his father come in, still straight-backed and broad-shouldered, although with a lot more wrinkles and silver in his hair than had been there last time Nick saw him.
A tremor of nerves, the kind he hadn’t felt since he was a kid, raced through his body. Neither of his parents had ever really understood what made Nick tick, but his father had been particularly flummoxed and frustrated by his younger son. In Dad’s world, sons followed in their father’s footsteps, or they built upon what their old man started. Dad’s dad was an MTA mechanic and Dad was an MTA supervisor. Chris took what they’d built, got himself a degree, and went into banking. Nick had ignored everything that came before him and forged a wholly new path. Dad had accused him more than once of being an ungrateful little shit. But how could he be grateful for something he’d never wanted?
As his mother released him, gazing up at him with glassy eyes and a delighted smile, Nick braced himself for a scene with his father. Surely now was when he’d get called out for his disappearing act. If anyone was going to get mad, it would be Dad.
But Michael DeSantis didn’t do anything Nick expected him to do. He ducked his chin, cleared his throat, and shook his head. If Nick didn’t know better, he’d have thought he was fighting back tears. Then he crossed the living room in a few long strides, reached for him, and hauled him into yet another hug.
“Jesus, Nick, we’ve been so worried,” he murmured, his voice tight with emotion. “Thank God,” he whispered, thumping him hard on the back. “Thank God you’re okay.”
Once again, a surge of emotion caught Nick by surprise. He hadn’t expected, he hadn’t realized... Jesus, he’d missed them. All this time, under the anger and the hurt, there was this gaping chasm of loss, and he hadn’t even known it was there. Livie had sensed it, though. All this time, something had been missing in him and she’d seen it, she’d recognized the shape of that hole in his heart. He’d needed his family. And Livie gave them back to him.
His father released him, gripping him by the back of the neck as he looked him over. “You look good.”
Nick had to clear his throat to speak. “I am good. I mean, I’m fine.”
“Good, good. That’s good,” Dad said gruffly, releasing him and stepping back. All that emotion had clearly made him uncomfortable.
Chris stepped into the moment of awkward silence that followed. “There’s somebody you should meet, Nick. A couple of somebodies, actually.”
Looking past his father, he spotted them across the room, the woman who must be Chris’s wife, and on her hip, Chris’s son. His nephew.
“Hi, I’m Kate,” she said, coming toward him with her free hand extended. She was small and slim, with long light brown hair, a dusting of freckles across her nose, and blue eyes that scrunched up when she smiled, like she was doing now.
“Nice to meet you.”
She didn’t stop with a handshake, leaning up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Welcome home, Nick,” she said near his ear. “You’ve made everybody so happy.”
He felt a flush of embarrassment, a tinge of shame. All he’d done was show up, after hiding for eight years. He didn’t deserve this kind of gratitude.
Chris hoisted the wiggling toddler out of her arms. “And this,” he said, his eyes full of pride, “is Anthony.”
“Hey, man.” How were you supposed to greet a baby? Shake his hand? Pat him on the head?
Anthony looked him over with big dark eyes—the same as Chris’s, the same as his own. Then his face lit up and he flailed one chubby fist at Nick. Guess that’s how you said hello to a toddler.
“Nicky’s still standing here in his coat,” his mother said, snapping to attention and bustling around him. “Michael, take his coat. Chris, get your brother a drink. Come in and sit down, Nicky.”
And just like that, Nick was home again.
* * *
It was a little weird. For one thing, the house was different. It was all the same stuff—the furniture he remembered, the pictures that had always hung on the walls—but all rearranged in a new setting. It felt like a dream, where you think you know where you are, but it’s all different in a million little ways. He had to ask where the bathroom was. The spare bedroom wasn’t full of his stuff or Chris’s. It held a crib and a shelf full of toys. Instead of football on the TV, there was some show on called PAW Patrol, and little Anthony watched it like it contained the mysteries of the universe.
“I’m going to start him on Star Trek next year,” Chris told him with a grin.
Right. Star Trek. He and Chris had watched hours and hours of old VHS tapes of Star Trek when they were kids. It was their thing. That’s where he’d developed his love of space movies.
There were other familiar things waiting to jump out and swamp him with nostalgia. His mother still wore that ratty red plaid apron when she cooked, the one that had belonged to her mother and grandmother. She busted the thing out of storage every Thanksgiving and Christmas. The smell that permeated the house when she took her sausage stuffing out of the oven made his mouth water and his heart clench.
Dinner was a little awkward, if he was being honest. So much time had passed, so much had been missed, that they ended up asking polite questions of each other like a bunch of strangers stuck at the same table at a wedding.
“What’s your business called, Nick?” his father asked.
“My business?”
Dad shot a brief look at Mom. “Your mother said
you own your own business? For the computer stuff?”
“Oh. It’s not really a business. I freelance.”
“Can’t get health insurance as a freelancer,” his father grunted.
“You can if you pay for it.” Which he totally intended to do, one of these days. It just kept slipping his mind.
“And what’ll you do about retirement? No pension or 401K when you work for yourself.”
“I have retirement covered, Dad.” Not that he ever expected to give up his work, but if and when he decided to, there was plenty of money to take care of it.
“So you’re doing well, then?” That was Chris, trying to shut down their father’s prodding.
“Yeah. Really well.”
Chris shook his head. “I always knew you’d end up owning the world, Nick. The next Bill Gates.”
He had? He’d always assumed Chris thought he was a waste of space, like his parents did. But here he was, looking at him with eyes full of pride and respect.
“That’s not my scene. Way too many corporate types ruining the fun. I like being my own boss.”
“You got investments?”
Nick shot a teasing grin at his brother. “Why? You want to handle my portfolio?”
“I’d love to,” Chris said, full of sincerity. “All you have to do is ask, buddy.”
“Thanks,” he replied, genuinely humbled. “I appreciate that.”
“I can’t believe you have a portfolio. That doesn’t sound like you.”
Nick chose to make a joke out of his totally truthful reply, to keep the conversation from getting too heavy. “Well, after you make the first million, it’s pretty hard to store that many small bills in your mattress. Gotta put it someplace.”
His mother passed the basket of dinner rolls around the table again. “You said you’re moving again soon, Nick?”
“Yeah, I’ve been crashing at the Romanos’ while I found a new place.” Explaining about Poppy, his engagement, the fight, getting thrown out of their apartment, felt too daunting so he skipped it. What did it all matter at this point anyway? It was in the past. “I’ll be moving in as soon as...” How was he supposed to explain handing his credit card over to Livie’s sister and her cousin and begging them to sort his shit out? “As soon as the decorators finish up.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Decorators? Fancy.”
“I didn’t have time to deal with it myself.”
“She’s very nice.”
“Who?”
“Livie.” His mother turned to Chris. “Olivia Romano. She’s how I found your brother. Her family owns Romano’s Bar. Remember?”
“Yeah, I remember. You guys dating?”
Were they? He and Livie had never really labeled what they were doing. He’d pointedly avoided labeling it, because then it would start to feel real. Permanent. And they both knew it wasn’t. Right?
“Um, we’re sort of—”
“You should bring her to dinner,” his mother said, turning her bright, hopeful smile on him.
“What?”
“Livie. We should have her over for dinner. Maybe her parents, too?”
“Her mother’s dead.”
“Oh. Poor thing. Her father, then.”
Sweat prickled across the back of his neck. His heart was starting to pound. They hadn’t just welcomed him back, they were clearing out a Nick-sized space for him in their lives, ready to slot Livie in at his side, exactly like Chris, with a goddamned wife and kid and a 401K he did not need. The old resentment flared up again, hot and bright. He wasn’t Chris, goddammit. He never would be.
“I don’t think—”
“Relax, Mom.” Chris laughed. “He just came back home. Give him a little space.”
She turned back to him with that awful, guilt-inducing, grateful smile. “I’m just happy to have you home, Nicky. Back where you belong.”
But did he? Did he really belong here? Had he ever? Maybe the past eight years were really how it should have always been. Perfect Chris with his perfect wife and kid, here making his parents proud, and Nick the disappointment, out there on his own. If he stayed here, would it all go back to how it had been before, him forever beating against the walls, trying to break out of the too-tight mold they’d stuck him in, and them, forever disappointed that he couldn’t just make himself smaller?
“Hey, Mom, pass the gravy?” Chris said, once again defusing what was rapidly turning into an awkward situation.
“Make sure you leave room,” Mom said, passing the gravy boat down the table. “There’s pie for dessert!”
After dinner, Kate went upstairs with Anthony to put him down for a nap. His father and brother gratefully popped open a couple of beers and turned the channel to the football game. Nick accepted a beer from his brother and did his best to relax. They were trying. He would try, too. Maybe he’d never truly fit in here the way they wanted him to, but that didn’t have to mean the complete exile he’d lived in for eight years. Still, he felt defensive, braced for judgment, ready for the whole fragile house of cards to collapse the second he breathed wrong.
When his phone buzzed in his pocket, he lunged for it, desperate for a distraction. It was a text from his friend Luke in Palo Alto. They’d worked on a couple of start-ups together back in the day, and crossed paths on dozens of other freelance gigs since then. The text was short and abrupt, like all communications from Luke, who didn’t understand the concept of casual conversation. He was abrupt as fuck, but a decent guy. Good coder.
Hey. Call me. Urgent.
He hadn’t been back to Palo Alto in a year. Hadn’t spoken to Luke outside of a few random emails and texts in months. What the hell could be urgent now? He was about to ignore it and pocket his phone again when another text came through.
I’m serious. Need to talk to you.
With a frisson of unease, he excused himself from his father and Chris and slipped his coat on, stepping outside on the porch to make the call. Had some mutual friend of theirs died? Was Apple going bankrupt? Nothing else he could think of would account for Luke’s urgency.
He dialed and Luke picked up on the first ring.
“Hey, what’re you doing?”
“Uh, hey, Luke, nice to talk to you, too.”
“Cut the shit. When are you coming back to the South Bay?”
He laughed. “I moved back to Brooklyn a year ago. Remember?”
Luke let out an impatient huff. “Right. Forgot. What are you doing right now?”
“Um, Luke, it’s Thanksgiving.”
“I know, but you never really cared about holidays and shit.”
He was right. Back in California, he’d worked through all of them. It wasn’t like he had a family waiting on him.
“Well, I’m at my parents’ today.”
“Look, I got hired onto this start-up. These guys tried to cheap out the tech department and now they’re paying for it. Soft launch is supposed to be in a week, and the whole system is a goddamned mess. If the site doesn’t go live next week, they lose their VC. Shit is about to get very real. They brought me on to fix it, but it’s a two-man job. I need you. Today.”
Nick exhaled in surprise, his breath making a cloud in the cold air. “I can’t fly back today.”
“Why not?”
“Because...” Why not? In the past, he wouldn’t have thought twice about it before heading to the airport. But that was before, back when he hadn’t been beholden to anybody, when nobody cared where he went or why. Now he had his family back inside, so abjectly grateful he’d come to dinner he could barely stand it. Their happiness itched at his skin, leaving him twisting in a mess of guilt, resentment, and shame.
And once he escaped his own family, he’d be going home to face the Romano extended clan—all those aunts, uncles, and cousins, assembled for the holiday and curious as hell about who h
e was. They’d ask questions, just like his own family. They’d want answers about him and Livie, answers he didn’t have.
He imagined that flight back to Sacramento and just like that, his chest unclenched and he drew in what felt like his first full breath in hours. And on the other side of the flight—nothing. Nothing but days of coding, a tough but finite problem to solve, with a predictable, reliable outcome. His brain went very quiet.
“Come on, man. There’s nobody else who can clean up this disaster. You can name your price to these guys.”
“It’s not about the money,” he said by rote. It was never about the money. It was about the project, what opportunities the project presented to him.
“Please tell me you’ll do it.”
Nick heard his own voice from far away. “Yeah, I’ll do it.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Thanksgiving felt endless this year.
Things got off to a bad start when Livie texted Andy Finch, wishing him and his parents a happy Thanksgiving. She’d hoped Andy would have responded with a cheerful message from Janet herself, some sign that she was finally on the mend. But Andy’s reply had been short, sad, and made no mention of his mother.
Nick wasn’t there, although for the best possible reason this time. He was with his family today, exactly where he should be. She hoped it was going well, that today could be the start of a new era in their family. If Nick had them...well, she didn’t want to get too far ahead of herself.
Then Gemma mentioned, almost as an afterthought, that she’d invited Teresa and her mother to Thanksgiving dinner. Which was fine. Livie wasn’t nearly as hostile to the idea of Teresa as she’d been when Dad first brought her home. But inviting Teresa and her elderly mother to a holiday dinner felt an awful lot like the start of blending their families, which made this no ordinary Thanksgiving dinner.
Of course, it was already the oddest Thanksgiving the Romanos had ever hosted, since Jess had invited Alex, Alex’s father, and Alex’s father’s girlfriend. Which would have been fine, if Alex’s father wasn’t a world-famous media tycoon and his girlfriend wasn’t Jess’s boss at the newspaper. Jess, usually Livie’s steady rock in tense family situations, had been a jumpy mess herself, even though the whole thing had been her idea. Dan Drake was going to be Jess’s father-in-law, she reasoned. Mariel Kemper, her boss, seemed to be holding strong as Dan’s steady girlfriend, much to everyone’s shock, since in the past, Dan had gone through women like tissues. Jess was therefore determined to start working Dan—and, by extension, Mariel—into the Romano clan.
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