Elley Arden - Baby by Design

“If you’re going in there, you’re in for a wild ride,” Angie said, poking her face in the V of space created by the open door. “Look at me, hiding. Shit.” Her exhale echoed in the night. “I just needed air.”

“I thought everything was okay?” Trish stood in front of Angie who was sitting sideways in the driver’s seat—barefoot—heels tipped over on the pavement.

“I guess it’s okay, if okay is nobody ever knowing how long it’s going to go on. Some jackass in the ER told my mother three more months.”

Trish’s heart seized.

“But, hell, they told my dad he had six months and he lived two years. So who knows? It’s all a fucking crap shoot.” She punched the door. “I hate dice games.”

Which was an understatement. Trish once saw Angie whip a pair of dice across the table at a dealer from the local casino who told her she was hot. Hot, as in winning. Didn’t matter to Angie.

The memory brought a smile to Trish’s face, and then as if Angie was reading her mind, Angie smiled, too.

“I swear to God he was looking at my boobs that whole night,” Angie sneered. “Jerk.”

And they laughed, because, by God, someone needed to.

When the hysteria died, Angie bent at the waist and picked up her shoes. “You should go find Tony. He’s new to this whole group worry thing. When I snuck out he was trapped in the kitchen between Aunt Helen and Uncle Giacomo. He may have stuffed his head in the oven by now.”

Trish chuckled again. “What about you?”

“I think I’m going to go…for a ride, at least…just to clear my head.”

Trish loved Angie and Tony too much to point out how the tables had turned.

A few minutes later, Trish stood on Vin’s front porch, watching Angie drive away. When the taillights faded, she faced the door, her gaze zipping from knob to bell. She should ring, right? She wasn’t family. Then again she was invited, expected. Tony asked her here.

“If you already rang, they probably didn’t hear you.” She turned toward the gravelly voice and the large man strolling up the drive. He barely fit between the rows of parked cars. “Or they’re lazy. Probably the latter.”

“I didn’t ring.” She followed the glowing cigarette Vin tossed to the ground.

He crushed the ember under his dress shoe. “Do me a favor. Don’t tell Ange about that. She’ll tell my ma, and then I’ll never hear the end. It’s not a habit. It’s a crutch. Big difference.”

Trish smiled, nodded and moved aside as he stepped onto the porch.

“He’ll be happy to see you.”

The random statement gave Trish some much needed courage. “I hope so.”

Vin smiled in return. “I know so. He looks kind of lost without you.”

Was it fair to wish it true, in spite of the reason they were gathering here?

Desperate to not overthink things, Trish followed Vin through the spotty crowd. She waved and smiled where it seemed to fit, but mostly she blended in as she moved toward the back of the house.

Tony was standing where Angie had left him between a scowling aunt and a clearly inebriated uncle.

He saw her and fled, meeting her in the hallway that linked the family room and kitchen.

“Shoot me dead.” He gripped her by the upper arms and then shook his head. “Wait, bad joke. I didn’t mean that.” He exhaled. “It’s just not my usual scene.”

And still he was here. “I’m proud of you for staying.”

“Yeah, well somebody had to. Angie bolted, then Vin.” His lips hitched like he wasn’t completely annoyed with the pair. Maybe because he was pleased with himself.

“Vin’s back,” Trish pointed out.

“Good, then he can listen to why Aunt Helen’s anise balls are better than Aunt Vi’s. And he can make Uncle G a vodka tonic that doesn’t ‘taste like piss.’” He drew quotation marks in the air.

“I love you.” It barreled out like a simple expression meant to celebrate his sense of humor in difficult situations. But it was so much more. Her heart froze mid-beat, but then he started it again with a smile.

“You love me because I make a weak vodka tonic?”

“No.” Heat picked at her face, and she found relief in a few stray tears. “I have my reasons. Good reasons, but I don’t want to do this here.”

He nodded, widened his smile and slipped a hand to her waist. “Okay. Fair enough.” Leaning closer, his lips barely touched her ear. “For what it’s worth, I love you, too, but you’re right, let’s not do this here.”

“Tony, can you open this?” A preteen girl bounded toward them with a jar of giardiniera in hand. “Aunt Helen wants to see if it’s as good as hers.”

Tony opened the jar, all the while shaking his head. “Family. You sure you want to be a part of this?” he asked Trish as the child walked away.

How many ways could one woman say yes?

Tony adjusted the volume on the sixty-inch screen so his cousin’s younger kids could hear the movie without waking the baby. On his way back into the living room, he snagged a couple beers from the fridge, one for Angie and one for Vin. He kissed his mother on the cheek, winked at Aunt Connie, and swiped a finger full of icing off the anise birthday cake.

Two steps inside the hallway, Mario stood whining at the top of the basement stairs. “Something’s wrong with the pinball machine.”

“I’ll be right there, bud, making deliveries.” He lifted the beers as proof.

Passing through the center hall, he stepped into the living room where most of the family gathered.

“I swear she looks like great-grandpa Leo. She’s got that wide Romano nose.”

Tony snarled at Aunt Josie. “Watch your mouth. Her nose is perfect.”

“Down, Daddy,” Vin said, grinning as he reached out to take a beer. “Nobody said it wasn’t.”

“She’s certainly got her mother’s eyes,” Aunt Carmella said. “Corcarelli eyes are brown.”

“They’ll change,” Trish offered from her spot on the couch. “Between six months and nine months, we should start to get an idea of what they’re going to be.”

Tony passed the other beer to Angie and then made his way to the empty spot next to his fiancée. He wasn’t going to say it now, but he hoped Angelina did get her mother’s eyes. Looking at them sparkling now, they were the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen.

“Hey,” he whispered, leaning in for a kiss. “You sure you don’t need anything?”

“No, I’m good. Getting a much needed break.” Trish smiled at the corner of the room.

Angelina had a strong attachment to Mommy. In fact, only one other person had the right rhythm to rock her to sleep.

“You okay over there, Nonna?” Tony asked, raising his voice enough for her to hear.

The thin but feisty woman gave her turban-covered head a hearty nod, never once breaking her rocking and patting beat.

“As soon as the baby wakes, we’re going to sing and have cake.” Ma stood behind the couch.

Nonna wrinkled her nose as if to say, who needed cake? She was right, Tony thought. His baby girl was even sweeter than a piece of Nonna’s birthday cake—and that was saying something.

Tony gripped Trish’s hand, pulling it into his lap. “I can’t believe she made it to eighty-six.”

A warm hand landed on his right shoulder, and he looked over his left shoulder to see Ma, her head fitting into the space between him and Trish.

“You two did this for her. You gave her a reason to live.”

While Ma patted his shoulder and Trish squeezed his hand, Tony smiled.

They almost gave Nonna a setback by picking a wedding date after the baby’s birth. After a few days of tears and a couple hundred laps on the rosary beads, she calmed down, and it didn’t hurt they named the baby after her.

Nobody knew how much longer the cancer’s slower progression would last. Tony was just happy it lasted long enough to get her here. He watched Nonna, rocking Angelina in the chair he’d made, and he thought he might be dreaming. He felt that way every morning waking up next to Trish.

Who’d have thought Tony Corcarelli would’ve turned into a family man?

Trish placed the swaddled, wide-eyed baby in the middle of the king-sized bed, and then pushed the comforter and pillows out of reach. Even though she had no intention of letting the baby sleep in this bed, it was better to be safe than sorry. She smiled, certain she was overthinking again. But when it came to Angelina, she gave herself a pass.

Satisfied the baby was safe, Trish settled onto the mattress and propped her head in her hand. This round-faced cherub child was hers. It still didn’t seem real. Trish brushed a finger over the black fuzz, covering Angelina’s head—she was Tony’s too.

Tears rode the bumps of Trish’s smiling cheeks. “Hi, baby girl. Watcha looking at?”

Angelina’s wobbly gaze wandered toward Trish’s voice.

“She’s looking at the most beautiful woman in the world,” Tony said, strolling into the bedroom from the hall. He was dressed in his clothes from the party, but his shirttails hung loose, and a dishtowel was draped over his shoulder.

“Daddy’s too tired to see straight,” Trish said to the baby.

Since the birth, Tony had been going overboard with compliments. She appreciated them, but exhausted, sporadically-showered and sporting too many pregnancy pounds, she knew she wasn’t beautiful.

He slipped onto the other side of the bed, looking first at the baby, and then locking eyes with Trish. His lips curled as he reached out and smoothed a hand against her cheek. “You are the most beautiful woman in the world, and I love you.”

Funny, when he looked at her that way, she sure felt beautiful.