Head 01 Hot Head (44 page)

She didn’t seem to disagree yet, but her gaze stayed locked on whatever was down there. She was standing so close that her breath was fogging the cold

glass.

“And Lord knows there are more than enough rooms to love someone properly, even if they don’t al have floors or ceilings.” She glanced at the gap that led

to the dining room, the gap that had let Griff overhear the father-son conversation that had almost wrecked everything. “It’s going to be a beautiful house. It is now, I should say.”

Griff nodded. “Al the guys from the firehouse kinda pitched in.”

“You more than anyone, I expect. You always do.” She was nodding at him, stil watching the garden. “I think I’m older than I realized. But I understand.

Yes?”

Griff looked down too, running a hand over the red thatch on his head. A smile crept over his face.

Below them in the garden, Dante was talking with his father about something with a serious expression. Mr. Anastagio was gesturing at the brick wals enclosing the yard. Dante nodded and said something that made both men smile.

“It’s going to be very hard.” Mrs. Anastagio’s voice was low, almost hoarse. Finaly looking at him, she took his broad hand in her delicate one and squeezed. “The world is different, but folks are the same, huh?”

Griff just nodded and looked back at her, feeling like a stupid giant in a fairytale.
Please. Please don’t make me say it.

The smile on her face was almost Dante’s. Tears pricked his eyes, then hers, while al those impossible things passed between them. While the truth was

sending down roots and throwing out branches until it filed the silent room with impossible blossoms.

I love him.

“So you need to love each other hard. Love hard.” She pursed her lips and cocked a head at her handsome son and his father. She flicked her soft eyes

sideways to him, confessing a secret. “Anastagio men wil never give up on you. Loyal like rabid dogs, they are. That’s as much a curse as a blessing sometimes.

So you just keep that open heart.”

Griff nodded. He almost understood. He was trying to, but his head felt swolen and mushy.

“Thank you for giving it to my son, Griffin.” She raised a hand and wiped his face. She squeezed it, shook her head, and rose up to kiss his cheek. “I’m so

proud of you. Both.” She looked down to the yard again. “We are.”

Anything is possible. Anything is possible.

Griff’s ears were ringing and his face was hot with tears and the words floated out of him, shining in the air….

“I love him. So much.”

“I know.” She sounded so calm and happy. She made sure he heard. “And he loves you.”

At that exact moment, Dante looked up at them from the garden and smiled at Griff. He waved, his handsome face so soft and strong that Griff’s heart

sweled to the size of the room, the house, so huge it could just barely contain that big truth growing. Below them, Mr. Anastagio looked up and waved too and

nodded helo.

Griff raised a hand in kind, then turned to promise her, this woman who had saved his life al those years ago, “I’l do anything. Everything.”

She thought about that, her brow creased, but didn’t say anything.

Griff waited to see if she had any objections to that plan. “And that’s okay?”

“If it isn’t, then I’m even crazier than my son.” She laughed, wiping her eyes carefuly so they didn’t smudge.

Griff found himself wanting to tel her everything would be okay, that no one would get hurt, that they’d be safe and happy—but the way she was walking

with him through their bedroom, admiring her father’s paper and the handsome furniture her son had salvaged, she seemed even more confident than he felt.

The truth just kept growing between then, sturdy and lush, filing their room and their house with promise.

Griff stayed stil and explained the work they’d been doing while she patted his arm. He showed her the floors, the plaster, the new molding, the tin ceiling

they’d scraped clean. Again he was glad for that crazy photoshoot; he didn’t feel awkward or embarrassed standing beside the bed, their bed. But neither did she.

Finaly, his traitorous stomach rumbled.

“Hungry? Me too. Lord knows Dante can feed you properly.” Mrs. Anastagio hooked her elbow through his. She puled him back toward the stairs. “Let’s

go see if he’d like a hand.”

AS THEY passed the dining room, Griff said, “One sec. I think I’l help set,” and tipped his head toward the clatter of silverware and plates. He doubled back and stepped inside.

“Griffin.” Mr. A. was right behind him holding a stack of bowls. Behind him, the massive table was laid with gleaming stainless and mismatched plates.

“I thought I could help.”

“Thanks.” The older man handed him half the dishes and nodded, smiling. Together they worked quickly, setting a bowl in front of each chair. Mr. Anastagio

hated silence, but he wasn’t teling jokes or gossiping or even complaining about his neighbors. Nothing.

He wants to murder me
.

Griff chewed his lip and tried to come up with a safe topic. He knew that they needed to get this out in the open. For al intents and purpose, this man had

raised him, and he didn’t want to disappoint him.

Then the table was done and they stood to one side looking at it. A moment passed with neither man knowing what to say to each other.
That’s a first
.

Finaly Dante’s father held out a hand, looking him square in the eye, as if Griff had come to ask for Dante’s hand in marriage, or vice versa.

I promise.

With a smile, Griff shook it firmly and was puled into a hard hug. Relief sliced through him, flayed him open.

Mr. A. waved a hand in the direction of the kitchen. “Does my son wanna serve the cioppino in here or at the stove?”

“Let me find out.” Griff squeezed his shoulder and trotted back to the hal, folowing the delicious smels.

“Dante! Your father wants to know—” As he stepped into the kitchen, Griff saw Mrs. Anastagio starting to uncover the food and—
holy crap
—Loretta

washing the counter. The smile withered on his face. What was she doing here?

“I,” she crowed triumphantly, “
knew
it! I-knew-it-I-knew-it.” She snapped the towel at him and dropped her hands to her hips, gloating shamelessly.

“Hush.” Mrs. Anastagio glowered at her hyperbolic daughter as she unloaded the fridge.

Griff’s first instinct was to bluff. “What are…?”

We’re just friends. I’m gonna be his roommate. A coupla single guys. Skirt-chasers. Bachelor pad.

He bit his lip to stop himself lying: only truth in this house.

“I got it out of my brother. Don’t spaz. I’m not gonna say anything.” Loretta roled her eyes, one breath away from a self-righteous aria of gossipy glory.

“Goofy bastard. I knew you were mooning over someone. And I for one think it’s fuckin’ fantastic.” She reached out a hand and smoothed imaginary dust off his

shoulders.

Griff’s mouth opened but nothing came out. Then it did. “You do?”

She shook her head and smiled and hugged him. “Wel if I can’t have you, at least one of us does.”

“Honestly!” Mrs. Anastagio opened the oven to pul out a foil-covered tray. “My own daughter and she didn’t bring anything.” Mrs. Anastagio pursed her

lips in annoyance. She huffed, “Not even bread!”

“Ma! There’s too much already. They don’t care. Do you, Griff?” Loretta pushed back dishes to make a space on the counter.

Then—
thump-thump-thump—
little legs chugged toward them in the hal.

“Monster!” With the lunatic loyalty of children, Nicole had decided she was excited to see Griff. She barreled into his knees.

He scooped her up and kissed her. “Hey, bug!”

“Can we eat?” Nicole patted his red hair with a chubby hand.
Patpat
. “Soft.”

Loretta groaned and smoothed curls out of her daughter’s face. “In Dante’s house, she eats! Ugh. And a hot boyfriend. I hate him.”

“Loretta….” Mrs. Anastagio raised her eyes to the ceiling and prayed under her breath, shaking her head.

Footsteps approached from the yard, then up the steps. The back door creaked open, and Dante’s eyes were ful of apology, looking between his sister and

Griff.

Griff shook his head and smiled.
It’s fine, D
.

Loretta snorted. “Pfft! Please! Like I’m not the world’s biggest fruit fly.”

Dante smiled too, relieved, and stepped close to murmur. “You sure? She just started—”

Loretta waved a hand at him. “I feel stupid for not noticing before and encouraging—”

Griff surprised everyone by laughing out loud, deep bely laughs that broke the tension. “I wish you had.”

Al the tension drained out of Dante. Mrs. Anastagio half-smiled. Griff passed Nicole over to her gloating mother.

“It would have saved us a lot of stupidity.” Dante mock shoved his sister.

“Or not.” Mrs. A. washed her hands in the sink, pushing her sleeves up. “Sometimes the stupidity has to come first.” She looked at them both while drying

with a dishtowel.

From the front of the house the television came on with a blare. A crowd was roaring under an announcer’s voice caling out stats. Footbal and a ful stomach

sounded like heaven right about now.

Dante stood beside him at the counter and asked in a low voice, “Everything cool?” Dante glanced at his mom.

Griff nodded.

Mrs. A. announced, “Starving to death, he is. You want him to pass out? He gets hypoglycemic, and that isn’t healthy.” She turned her head and caled,

“Agosto, is the table done? You’d better not be in front of that television!”

From in front of the television, Mr. A. gave an affirmative grunt.

His wife shook her head, but she was smiling.

At the stove, Dante checked the cioppino, breathing in the steam. “Hey, why don’t we just eat in front of the game…? Joke!”

Loretta threw up her hands. “What is it about men on Thanksgiving. If you’re gonna be gay, couldn’t you at least like musicals or opera? Jesus.”

She said the word.
Nothing blew up. The ceiling didn’t cave in. The world kept turning.

Griff chuckled then shook his head at her. “Uh. No. Sorry. I only like it when you sing and hop around.”

Loretta smacked him, and smacked him again. They were both laughing. The doorbel rang.

Mrs. Anastagio turned at the sound. “Is someone else coming?”

“A friend. He didn’t… uh… he doesn’t know it’s open.” Dante trotted to the front hal.

Griff finished the thought and started toward the front door himself. “He needed a place to come for the holiday. He knows about, uh, y’know,
us
. And

he’s… having some family trouble.”

“Wel, good. I set an extra place anyways. It’s good luck to have a stranger to dinner,” announced Mr. Anastagio, emerging from the living room, as if this

were a known fact. Maybe it was. He kissed his wife as she came from the kitchen to greet the newcomer.

Dante puled open the door, beaming. Griff smiled at him from the sidelines—
a full house is a happy Italian
.

Tommy came in, unzipping his down parka. Almost a month later, the fading marks and bruises on him were stark from the cold. The stitches over his eye

looked itchy and black against his gray skin.

Griff prayed that this would go okay, for al their sakes. “Hey, buddy.”

“Hey.” When the paramedic saw the unfamiliar faces, the smile on his face dimmed a little.

Dante started to introduce the family, but Nicole walked right up and introduced herself. “Hi.”

“Wel, helo.” He nodded at her and looked at the rest of the family, standing apart. “I didn’t realize this was—”

“It isn’t.” Mrs. Anastagio stepped over and took his hand and squeezed it. “We’re Dante’s parents. And this is my granddaughter, Nicole. We wanted to be

here for the boys’ first Thanksgiving
together
.”

Toonk.
Like a stone dropping into place, Mrs. Anastagio’s words gave Tommy permission to relax and her son’s boyfriend a place in her world.

Dante lit up and stepped over to take Griff’s hand. He gave it a squeeze. “Yeah. And then Loretta crashed ’cause she’s too annoying to get invited anywhere

civilized.”

The relief on Tommy’s face was priceless. Griff could see gears turned in his head as he processed the scene: the two men holding hands, the smiling family,

the smels from the kitchen, the big, warm ramshackle house keeping them safe and together.

Tommy peeled out of his coat and unwound his scarf, hanging them on the hook like he had a hundred times for footbal nights. He was with friends.

Mr. A. spread his arms and herded his whole family toward the dining room. “Let’s get inside. I’m freezing my bony ass off out here, and the food’s not

gonna eat itself.”

Mrs. Anastagio took Tommy’s arm and they led the the way back to the dining room. The table groaned under the weight of the food. The cioppino was on

the sideboard waiting for them to dive in. Griff fought the impulse. They made their plates and, one by one, found places around the table. Dante sat at the head, and Griff very consciously chose the seat at the other end.
Our house, our family
.

Somewhere in the street a horn honked, and someone drove by listening to Dean Martin in a car with open windows.

“‘… some-body looooves you….’”

Outside, kids laughed—probably Mrs. Alonzo’s nephews, playing in someone’s garden while the grownups watched the game that Mr. A. was trying not to

think about.

“‘So find yourself somebody….’”

Dante winked at Griff sitting at the other end of the table. Once the whole family was served and seated, he looked at his sister.

Loretta knitted her fingers and bowed her head. “For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make antacids available.” She ducked before her brother

could swat her.

Mrs. A. giggled but had the grace to try and hide it with a cough behind a napkin.