Page 64 of Back for Seconds
I rubbed at the spot on my forehead where I’d been bonked.
What in the name of Baby Jesus’s birthday were we doing?
From: [email protected]
Subject Line: Long Awaited Update
December 24, 1:15 a.m.
Things I’ve Done Since We Talked Last
Snorkeled through crystal clear blue water
Held a starfish in the palm of my hand, then let her go free
Danced all night with new friends (Dee from Chicago and Nancy from Maryland)
Ate fresh guacamole right out of the bowl on the beach
Napped on a deck chair
Kissed Dante
Gotta go!
P.S. Merry Christmas, my love. My sweet girl. My June.
Chapter 20 June
Noche Buena
“What are you doing tonight?” I asked my brother, shifting my phone to rest between my shoulder and ear. Then, I tore into the package that had materialized on my front step. The affixed note read: HAPPY HOLIDAYS! in a font that felt simultaneously bone-crushingly heavy and completely vacant. It stank of Corporation. “How about tomorrow?”
“Working and working—making those extremely good WASP tips. You know none of them can cook, and they’re sooo grateful that us greaseballs are cooking da pasta.”
“Oh my god, Salvatore.” I tried my best to hold back a laugh as I worked the masking tape open. Yep. I was right. A matte black box covered in glossy black font. QuantumKinnex Thanks You for Another Awesome Year. I grimaced. “You sound like Dad.”
“Speaking of the guy, have you considered calling him?”
I snorted, pushing aside the eco-friendly packing peanuts and ridiculous card. “The phone works both ways.” Underneath was, you guessed it, another thermos.
“Aw, June. Now you sound like Dad.”
“Good! Let him have a taste of his own medicine. I’ve never done anything to him personally. He’s just pissed that I, what? Love my mom?” I huffed, hauling the whole box off my kitchen countertop and over to the trash can. I stepped on the can’s pedal and dumped the entire contents of the box in. “Any word from Vin?”
“Yeah, he’s in Antigua,” Sal said, unable to hide his own excitement at the change in topic. “He sent me a text before his flight.”
“Ah, fuck.” I swallowed roughly, casting a look of guilt down at my untouched and freshly trashed thermos. It looked so sad—so lonely—surrounded by eggshells and banana peels. Was this a metaphor? An omen? “That’s someone I need to talk to.”
“Is he? He’s kind of a huge prick.” Like Sal, Vin also worked in a restaurant—a Michelin-starred restaurant in Chicago, where he was a maître d’. A little bit different from a pizza shop or a trattoria at the Jersey shore.
“I think he’s got his own shit going on, Sally. I wish I could just…let him know how much we care. Truly and deeply care.” I set the cardboard box aside, with the rest of my recycling, before turning back to my pile of mail.
“Believe me, Mom tells him. He’s just not interested in being a family, bubs. That’s on him. If you’re gonna talk to him, you gotta be ok with that. Me, personally? I’m not. Because for all the ways our parents fucked up, they gave us the best head start in the world.”
It wrenched my heart to hear that coming from Sal. He was being so very generous.
