He’s making a mistake. She’s not going to make him happy. Not like I could have.
Today I don’t have to watch him with Olive. He’s out with the boys. They’re tossing around a football in a field, laughing when a throw goes too short or someone fumbles an easy catch. He’s with two of his friends—Pete and another man I don’t recognize. They’re having a good time. I remember when he used to come home from a day out with his friends, looking flushed and happy.
My phone buzzes in my purse. I pull it out and see Nonna’s name on the screen. I hesitate for a moment, because I have a bad feeling she’s going to yell at me. But I also worry she’s calling because she fell and is injured—she’s very old, after all. In the end, I take the call.
“Hello?” I say.
“Where are you?” Nonna demands to know. Well, she clearly isn’t sprawled out in our apartment with a broken hip.
“I’m… taking a stroll in the city.”
“No!” she snaps. “You are following that boy, Jo-el!”
Damn. How does she know that? “I’m not following Joel.”
“If you want a date,” she says, “my friend Tina from book club told me about her son, Antonio…”
“Nonna…”
“He’s a very important man! Tina says all these club owners pay him for protection.”
I frown at the phone. “Are you saying… he’s a mobster?”
Nonna is quiet on the other line. “Oh. Do you think that’s what that means?”
Oh my God. “Look, I have to go.”
“Patatina.” Her tone softens. “You are so beautiful. Stop doing this to yourself.”
“I’m just taking a walk, Nonna.”
“Fine. In that case, you bring home a cannoli. You want to follow that fool around town, you have to bring home a cannoli.”
“Okay.” It’s a small price to pay.
While Joel and his friends are taking a break, the man I don’t recognize wanders over to the hot dog cart. I thought I knew all of Joel’s friends, but I’ve definitely never seen this man before. He has dark hair and eyes like mine and similar coloring to my own, but I don’t think he’s Italian like me—I can spot a fellow paisano a mile away. Maybe Greek? Before I can stop myself, I’ve wandered to the hot dog cart and gotten in line behind the man, trying to get a closer look.
“Mustard only,” the man is telling the hot dog vendor. That’s how I like my hot dogs too. “And a bottle of water.”
The vendor prepares the hot dog, and the smell of it makes my stomach churn. I skipped lunch today. I’ve been skipping a lot of meals lately. Even when I cook up a storm, I can’t eat any of it. But at least Nonna is putting on some weight. She was too skinny before.
“That’ll be ten dollars,” the vendor tells Joel’s friend.
His eyes widen, as they should. Ten dollars for a hot dog and water? “Ten dollars?”
The vendor nods.
Joel’s friend looks at the cart, searching for a price that isn’t there. “That seems like… a lot.”
The vendor shrugs. “That is the price, my friend.”
This guy is clearly not a native New Yorker, because instead of calling the vendor on his bullshit, he reaches for his wallet and pulls out a ten-dollar bill. He is going to pay ten dollars for a hot dog and water. I can watch no more.
“You are not paying ten dollars for a hot dog and water!” I speak up. I address the hot dog vendor, my arms folded across my chest. “Four dollars. That’s fair.”