Chapter 12: The Sixtieth

Aunt Lucia had set the long table in her dining room for twenty-two people.

I walked in at five on Sunday, an hour early, wearing my mother's grey cardigan, with Dino at my back and a cake box in my hands.

Marco met us in the hall and pulled me aside.

"He won't do it before," he said low. "I tried. He says after the cake."

"After the cake?"

"He's scared, Gia."

"Of what?"

Marco only shook his head.

In the kitchen my father stood by the stove in his good shirt, with his hands in his pockets, looking at nothing.

"Dad," I said.

"Gianna. You came."

"Marco says you have something to tell me."

His face closed.

"After the cake. Let me have my birthday first."

"Dad."

"Please."

I had never in my life heard my father say please to me, and it stopped me.

By six the house was full.

There were cousins and neighbors and two of my father's roofing crew in jackets, and an old priest who ate everything.

I stood at the foot of the table by my white card.

Gianna, it said.

Guest.

Dino found the seat by the door, the farthest from the head of the table, and he caught my eye and held it.

I sat.

Carla came down the stairs in a green dress, and the whole room turned.

She had her hair up and gold hoops in her ears, and she smiled around the table at everyone.

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