Four Times Blessed (11 page)

So how can I be mad.

Instead, I think I’ll save my breath for telling them to stop touching my fiancé. Because they’re all over him. The women kiss his cheeks and squeeze him and the men clap his arms and shoulders, shaking him so only the soles of his feet don’t move. He has impressive balance, actually. Though I’m not sure the priest will care too much about that.

The boy also has good poker face. Yes, he handles it well. Meanwhile, I could die. I’m waiting until they won’t tell me my reaction is an overreaction.

Which, as far as I’m concerned, was a point we passed way back by the stove when my noni Laurie squeezed his bicep and asked what his exercise routine was.

I think we’re almost done now. We just have to say hi to the people out on the front stoop. 

“Hello, everyone.”

I give them a few seconds.

“You guys? This is Andrew. Andrew, this is my cousin Berto, his wife, my aunt Tia, my cousins Penny Marie, Pia Marie, Benito,” I smile with my lips together and wink at him, happy to see he’s nicely bandaged and stuffing his face with fruit and cheese. “My other cousins Lia Marie, Gia Maria, Mikey, little Sal, my great aunt Diane, my uncles Trumbull and Groton, and…” something hits me square in the stomach. I’ve got to calm down. I almost knocked myself over.

“Oh, hi,” I say.

The brothers I just met out back are right out here on the steps. And, forefathers they do look similar. Half eating their suppers, half moving towards some kind of expression.

“Hi.” “Hi,” they say together. Slightly off in timing, like they’re in the echo chamber up in the sonics labs. It feels like mice running up my back and into my ears.

“Um, these are brothers, Hale aannnnd...”

“Lium,” the guy supplies.

Huh. Lium. Lium and Hale. Strange names.

“Yes, of course, I’m so sorry. Gentlemen, this is Andrew. He and I will be getting married in the fall.”

I’m surprised when they’re startled. They all grunt at each other and try to rip each other’s arms off.

Boys. I ignore them and try not to smirk.

After that, Andrew laughs with this chuckle of his that he’s been pulling out all night for my freaky relatives. I’m suspicious that it’s a nervous habit, but it has a nice ring to it. Doesn’t sound insane at all. Why does he get a good nervous habit? It’s really not fair. I’m glad he’s going to be my husband.

As Lium is the only one of the brothers not glaring at the ground right now, I smile at him.

“This is your party?” he asks.

“Mhm,” I smile some more and bob my head.

“It’s nice.”

“Thanks, it’s my aunt. She’s amazing.”

And that’s all we really have to say to each other. That’s all any of us has to say to each other, it seems. Andrew puts a hand on the dip in my spine and presses.

“So, Mets or Yankees?”

Hale. Surprising. Not the question but that he asked it. And I didn’t know other countries followed our baseball. 

Andrew is a Yankees fan. Hale says they’re going to loose the rest of the season after what happened with that relief pitcher. Andrew says no way it will matter. My uncle Trumbull feels the need to add his own opinion, which is apparently backed by stats in the latest newspaper from Boston area. He darts inside to show them, and they follow.

I hated stats classes.

I’m glad baseball wasn’t my athletic concentration.

Hey.

Andrew just left me here.

I look around, feeling really awkward. I put my hands on my hips. Normally, I’d just plunk down, right there on the steps and watch the world go by until he came back or maybe something interesting happened.

Only I realize I can’t. Because there’s Lium. Sitting back and watching me. Waiting for me to do something, I guess. I bet he’s used to girls falling all over themselves, trying to entertain him. Hmp. Well, he’s about to be disappointed, then.

And I don’t feel bad about that at all.

I wait for him to remove his gaze. I’m very patient while this Lium guy lounges away, all spread out like he finds rocks comfortable.

I, however, am not. It’s too quiet. I feel a terrible compulsion rolling up in my chest. It wants me to say something. I’m reduced to listening as my mouth runs off on its own accord.

“So, you like tigers.” He kind of looks at me. I don’t blame him. 

“I mean, you’ve got one on your arm. Right? It’s nice….I didn’t notice it before.”

“Oh.”

And then more silence.

“I like all your tattoos.” Forefathers.

Summer heat rolls up from my chest to my face. The boy raises his eyebrows. Then checks down at his arms. And then back at me.

Not smiling. 

             
Oops.

             
Well, I’m sorry, but given that I was searching so hard for something and the first thing that came to my mind was absolutely nothing, what can I say? They’re worn but they’re there, all over him, plain as dust in a sunbeam.

             
“Do you have any?” he says.

“No,” I answer too quickly. 

“How come?”

“I don’t know. Just never got one, I guess.” I shrug.

I really, really wish I could just walk away. But that would be rude. And odd. And I usually try not to be either of those things.

He tips up his chin and says, “Uh huh. My bet is, you’re just afraid of her.”

              “Her who?”

             
“The lady in there.”

             
“Of my zizi?” I say smoothly. “Yes, I suppose so. I have a healthy fear of her. A proper, respectful, evolutionarily advantageous fear.              Plus, she wouldn’t be mad.” I sigh, “She’d probably just drive both herself and me crazy by asking why I felt the need to get stabbed with needles over and over and over again. And then she’d cry and wonder where she went wrong in raising me.”

I guess Lium thinks this is funny because he laughs. I tip my own chin towards the door.

“Go ahead. Go right on in there, and you tell her something. I’m sure whatever you say will upset her, so no reason to tax yourself. Do that and see what happens. Then come back here, and tell me about it. Go on, you’re welcome to it.”

             
His eyebrows fall in hard. They stay there, “No thanks.”

I stand up straight, as apparently I’ve been leering over him which I don’t know where that came from but anywho, I stand up properly and sigh, “Oh, that’s too bad. You’re no fun.”

              “I’m plenty fun.”

             
“Hm.”

             
“Everyone thinks I’m fun.”

             
“I’m sure they do.”

             
“You’re not fun.”

             
“Yes, well. That’s because I’m sad that I’ll have to go without any entertainment for the evening, as you won’t go inside.”

             
“What if I’m not going inside because it’s way too entertaining out here? You ever think of that? It’s your own fault, honey.”

             
“It’s my fault that you’re having too much fun?” I try to deliver innocently. 

             
“Well, you’re just too much, aren’t you? Come sit by me, babe.”

He pats a good piece of shale right next to himself. I hesitate. I feel like he wants me to go closer so he can get in my head. To trip me up. I don’t like that. I need space to maneuver to do my best work.

I turn around and sit. I have no choice, really. Not after he asked and stared and waited, and nobody else came close enough for me to pretend to talk to. I pull my skirt’s hem tightly over my knees, and pick at it.

             
The inside light has no trouble reaching here, all pressed up against the half-closed doors, bathing the house in the colors of wild corn. Yellow in the windows and threaded joints, ember red in the worn out places. Autumn leaf brown in the thick, and a black that’s almost blue under the shadows. Same as his eyes turned from the light, I bet. I check. Yes. 

             
“So. No tattoos but you like them, huh?”

“Yes,” I say, feeling unsure, and annoyed that he just made it sound like an insult. “But yours are very nice.” He makes a face where his eyes, nose, and mouth all squirm.

“Ah, sweetheart, they’re not supposed to be nice.” Oh.

             
“Well, what are they supposed to be then?” Some of my hair falls in my face, which is great for about two seconds, until my stupid crazy hands reach up and put it back behind my ear. I’ve always envied Eleni, how she uses hers as a veil.

             
The stupid boy Lium moves closer. I wonder if I’m in his way and if I should get up.

He shrugs, “The ones I have are more for protection.”

I nod like I understand. But I have a question.

             
“Lium?”

             
“Yes?” He’s trying not to laugh at me, though I don’t know why.

I sigh in frustration, “How can those tattoos protect you if they’re already stabbed into you?”

He mostly just looks surprised, and well, soft. I think I broke him. I feel bad. He is quite handsome. Lots of clean lines. 

“Trust me, baby. They work.” He taps my forehead, “On everything but know-it-alls.”

I don’t feel bad anymore. He leans right into my face and looks like he’s about to say something.

Then he doesn’t. 

              And doesn’t some more.

I seriously start to wonder if he’s waiting for me to move.

              “It’s not all the stabbing kind of protection that I’m talking about, love. Although I do know one guy whose tattoo stopped a bullet. Dead in its tracks.”

             
“Do you really.”

             
“Yeah, I do.”

             
“Are you sure?”

             
“Yes, I’m sure, on account of I was there.”

             
I don’t really have anything polite to say to that, so I follow my zizi’s advice and hush.

             
Lium frowns, “You don’t believe me.”

             
“Yes I do.”

             
He considers me very carefully. I try to look honest. Since I honestly don’t want him to call me a liar, I think of that while he does.

             
Meanwhile, I decide I was right. I should have never sat here. 

I smile, conjuring up my best, go welcome the company while I finish this, Crusa honey, magic. My aunt taught me it, her lectures on guests are some of my earliest memories. In them, I feel close to the floor and wiry, and things look dusky but her voice is sharp and singing. This magic always works, thanks to her. She knows people better than my Uncle Groton, and she’s a great instructor. So it shouldn’t amaze me so much every time.

I don’t think it’s a natural inborn kind of thing for me, though, because it does. Either way, I do it very well, she says, and so I know Lium can’t help it when he smiles at me now, like there’s a secret. That’s what it does. I smile back because it’s always so adorable.

“It’s true,” he almost whispers. “I saw the bullet hole, just a red spot, that’s it, I’m telling you.”

              “Oh my goodness.” Hey, maybe it is true. It could possibly be, somehow, I guess. I don’t know. I do know I’m supposed to be generous, and let all craziness pass.

             
Lium nods with that secret-knowing smile still all over him. “I’m telling you, it was awful. We all thought he was a goner and he just stood there. I was ducked under a truck, just a few yards away, and I could see everyone else there, just freeze.”

“So…you all stood around, then? Waiting for some poor guy to fall over dead?”

Lium nods, “Yup.”

             
Oh dear. Not Coast Guard material, these guys of his. “But he never did, right? Fall over and die, I mean.”

             
“No, he never did.”

He pats me on the shoulder. I’m afraid I must not be covering my distress. “Well, Lium. That was a horrifying story. I’d appreciate if you never told me another one like it ever again.”

              He snorts, “What’s so bad about it? It’s great.”

             
I turn to face him, “It’s about not dying and misfired guns. And standing around.”

             
He looks at me weird. Whether the weirdness comes from him or me or someplace in between, I can’t say. But it’s definitely there. So. There. 

“I like it,” he says.

              “That’s very nice for you.”

I smooth my skirt and he spreads out his arms behind us, getting comfortable again. I wonder where Andrew is. I wish he was here so I could yell at him.