Abruption (41 page)

This was our first trip back to the East Coast since we moved, and we tried to squeeze in visits with as many people as possible. When it didn’t look like that was feasible, Jules came up with the answer.
No brainer, invite them to Aunt Maria’s
.
The more the merrier
. I wouldn’t be surprised if my friends were second-guessing their decision right about now. Speaking of, I asked, “Where’s the wife?”

Bryce scooped up Raff with one arm and tossed the ball back to me. “Oh, she’s living and converting as we speak. The gift of gab is coming in handy, as well as her appetite.”

He could tease all he wanted, but the guy’s face lit up like he just watched the NY Jets finally win a Super Bowl every time he talked about his woman.

Violet was seven months pregnant with twins. Girls. And her glow was brighter than ever, probably because it never faded since Sydney was barely three months, when they found out they were expecting again. Three girls under the age of one. Ouch. Luckily, their little man, Kevin was being cool about it for now. Just wait until a trifecta of little sisters bombarded his bathroom. Bryce and Vi had waded through tough waters, but they made it to the other side. They were good people, good friends, and I was happy they found smooth sailing.

Chucking the ball back his way, I said, “Every person here could have come starved, and there’d still be enough leftovers to feed a small country. Have to say, haven’t found a gravy back in Cali that comes close to the quality of CeCe’s. Though my gut doesn’t miss the quantity.”

A backhand slapped my abdomen. “Feels like your gut’s not discriminating to me. Getting soft in your old age, Hunter,” my buddy Sam joked, joining us on the secluded plot of grass away from the backyard shit show.

“Says the guy who’s never done a sit-up in his life.”

“Hey,” Sam pinched his rolls, “Becky’s never complained. She appreciates a heartier cut of meat.”

When he awkwardly rotated his hips, I laughed so hard that if Bryce hadn’t pegged the ball at him to make him stop I might have pissed myself. Even Raff was laughing.

Sam was my intern when I was a third-year resident in Philadelphia. He ended up joining an established orthopedic practice and decided to make the Keystone State home. We’d had our fair share of good times back in the day, so I was psyched when he told me he was cruising up for a wedding this weekend. His wife was in the bridal party doing all that shit, and the kids were with the in-laws, leaving Sam to fend for himself. Jules overheard our phone conversation, picked up another cordless, and did her thing.
The more the merrier.

That explained how I was tossing a ball around with two of my closest friends at an almost-San Gennaro Festival in my wife’s aunt’s front yard in the Bronx.

“So you knew this guy when he was still a peon taking orders and being scutted out?” Bryce asked Sam, shifting Raff to his other arm. The way Jules fed our bruiser, I should’ve warned Bryce of a possible herniated disc. “What was he like back then?”

Sam contemplated for a moment before answering. “Truthfully, just like he is right now.” He underhanded the ball to me, tipped his chin up and said, “Good to have you back, man.”

Bryce might have missed his meaning, but I didn’t. Sam knew the old me, the laid-back, glass half-full guy who had one dream, and was determined to love life on my way to achieving it. The guy I was before my wife died and my whole world abrupted. I hadn’t seen that Guy in a while either, not until Jules barreled in and reintroduced me to him.
Thanks, dude, good to be back.

“Come on, no good residency stories?”

Sam and I exchanged a knowing look and chuckled. Oh, we had stories. For another time, another place, and a shit-ton more ice cold Peroni.

“Daddy,” my princess shrieked, darting around the corner with a slew of kids behind her. Finn trailed, but not by far.

Seeing my oldest boy happy and healthy would never get old. His recovery over these last two years was nothing short of a miracle. Not only was his gait rock solid, he shot up a good four inches and gained enough weight to put him on the map. And with his big sister to chaperone him around, he breezed through preschool and was ready for kindergarten this fall. It was all such a blessing.

“Mommy said you have to come. Now.” She stretched the
now
to drive her point home. Bossy like her JuJu. And I loved it. “We need Raff. He neeeeeds to blow out his candle.” This was going to be his
fourth
first birthday cake. It wasn’t like Jules’ parents, Mercedes, and her fiancé Jim, Selena, Tony, and the girls didn’t make the trip only six weeks ago for the big day, which was celebrated with three different parties on separate days extending over two weekends. Same attendees, different themes. Don’t ask—I sure as hell didn’t. And if I was a betting man, I would have put money on the Goldmans bringing cake number five to lunch tomorrow.

“Gotcha, Max. Thanks.” And the reprieve was over. Bryce air-planed Raff back to me, and we followed his big sister and brother back to the feast.

Jules was standing next to her sisters, both of whom were extremely attractive, but my wife was in a category all of her own. When most of the other women were wearing brightly colored sundresses (did I mention blinding), tight skirts, and strappy sandals, my woman had on black shorts with a flowy white babydoll top, and flip-flops. Damn, she was beautiful.

The exception
.

“Hey doll, another cake, I see?” I teased, anticipating the imminent eye-roll. And there it was. I kissed her soft cheek and inhaled her sweet scent—apples, always apples.

Funny enough, Jules chose a quaint apple orchard in Connecticut for our wedding the autumn after I proposed. I would have married her that night, but it was important to Jules to plan a special celebration that the kids would feel part of. That was my Jules, always putting our kids first.

Mama Bear
.

Our closest friends and family were there to witness our union and hear us recite our own handwritten vows. And no surprise, Jules’ blew mine out of the water. I was so choked up I could barely speak, watching my kids, hand in hand, walk Jules down the aisle in a white dress that I swore to God was made for an angel, holding a bouquet of her favorite orchids. My words got stuck at the knot in the back of my throat, and I might have forgotten a line or two. Yet Jules didn’t seem to mind. Her beautiful face was streaming with happy tears the entire time, and before I could finish asking, “Who loves ya?” and before the minister got a chance to do his power invested in me thing, she was in my arms, up on her toes, kissing me. So I guess I did all right.

Max and Finn’s perfectly synchronized (and rehearsed) shouts from beside us were the icing on the cake. “We do, we do, to the moon and back!”

(
Selfie high five
)

Those three simple words were always a staple in our house, but after the hell we survived, we learned that there should never be a limit on how often you told someone you loved them. So now we used them any chance we got.

As promised, the day after our wedding, we took that kick ass family vacation. Jules was in charge of destination and itinerary. We could have camped in Central Park for all I cared, as long as we were together. But a staycation wasn’t exactly my wife’s vision. I learned quick, real quick, not to mess with my woman’s vision. So a trip out West was the only logical choice, given that my roots were darkening up, and depriving the kids of the giant pandas qualified as a sin (her words, not mine). San Diego it was.

For the record, I thought our kids would turn out okay without laying eyes on Xiao Liwu (although hearing Finn try to pronounce that mouthful was priceless). Jules thought that was blasphemy. We agreed to disagree.

Turns out Mama Bear knew best. The zoo was a hit, my roots got the attention they deserved, and we discovered the best
taquería
north of the border. Not to mention the few nights Reina flew down to spoil the kids rotten, so Jules and I could slip away for some Temecula wine tasting. We never actually made it to a vineyard; in fact, we never left our suite and we never drank vino. My wife preferred her margaritas, and I preferred licking the lime cocktail from her salted skin. Talk about a win-win.

It wasn’t your typical honeymoon. It was us.

And just when I thought my wife couldn’t top herself, Jules rocked my world yet again and left me speechless.

“I was the first Chiappetti to go to college, I was the first to
not
get married by twenty-five—why shouldn’t I be the first to leave New York? I see a pattern, here. Let’s go with it.”

And she did it in true Jules fashion. Bossy.

“Besides, winter kind of sucks. And I’d rather have more outdoor options to entertain the kids, keep them out of your hair while you’re studying. How long is a vascular fellowship?”

In the middle of an airport terminal, waiting to board, and pretending the hyper (healthy) kids playing hide and seek didn’t belong to us, my wife gave me the ultimate gift. My dream. She realigned the path that diverged years earlier and forever sealed the chronic abruption that was my life.

Instead of arguing, I tucked my beautiful wife into my side, swallowed the lump in my throat, and promised to return the favor. “As soon as we touch down, first call we make is your GYN. That IUD’s coming out, doll.”

Ten weeks later, we packed up a shit-ton of
our
stuff and moved our
newly (
as in peed on the stick that day) soon-to-be family of
five
across the country. Life was bliss.

“Give me my nephew, I need to get my cuddles in.” Mercedes grabbed Raff from my arms and situated him on her hip to kiss his chubby cheeks. “Honeybun, I’m just telling you now, I want one these as soon as I say
I do
.”

Jim was right next to her, but at that volume the whole block heard her announcement. And I didn’t think many missed the color drain from Jim’s face at the mention of kids. Her ring was hot off the press—no way he was on the same page. And
honeybun
, that wasn’t really supporting the whole tatted up motorcycle dude image he was going for. I felt for the guy. So not cool.

Jules tsked her sister and said, “Enjoy this time. Don’t rush your life away, Mercedes, you’re still so young.”

And she was. Luckily though, as far as I could tell, the
finding herself phase
had waned. Her hair was a variety of shades, but all brown, and there were fewer visible piercings.

“We’ve already picked out names. Bentley for a boy and Portia for a girl.”

Hold up, did she rattle off car names? I bit the inside of my cheek not to laugh, envisioning car insignias inked up and down her arms. Maybe she hadn’t
quite
found herself yet.

And here I thought deciding between Alonzo and Raffaele was difficult. Not that I had any say (and not that I cared either way). First Chiappetti grandson was getting Jules’ father or grandfather’s name, end of story. There was no way I was messing with that and risking a lightning strike, or worse, burning in hell to eternity.

“Oh good lord, seriously, sissy?” Selena, who barely ever said anything, and if not for the fact that she was CeCe’s clone, I might have questioned her heritage, chimed in.

All I kept thinking was that Jim needed a new name. Maybe Jet? Nah, Volkswagen didn’t fit the hefty price tag she was shooting for … Jag might work.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught CeCe praying to the rosary. Then both her hands went up, air was swatted back and forth, and a string of Italian spewed from her lips.

Everything stopped. Like magic. Two hundred eyes met hers.

“Let’s-a do the cake for mio nipote?”

Alonzo shook his head and asked, “Again, more-a cake?” My sentiment exactly. But we were overruled by the female masses bobbing their heads yes. “We a do da ices.”

Finn overheard Alonzo and flipped out, cheering, “Poppi, can we make lemon, pleeeeese?” He may have mastered the
L
sound, but he was still working the drag on the “e.”

Jules grinned at him. She loved that the kids called her father Poppi.

“Si, Finnegan, si, my boy. Any kinda for a you.”

This time I grinned. I loved that he was the only one that called Finn by his full name (probably not as much as Reina did).

Al definitely played favorites. Jules was appalled I thought that. But he was his first grandson—of course he played favorites. We agreed to disagree.

“You a do ices after, Alonzo. Light da candle. Come-a to Nonna, Raffaele.” My mother-in-law ripped Raff from Mercedes’ arms.

To say Mercedes was irked was putting it lightly.

The crowd erupted in a broken English rendition of
Happy Birthday
distracting us from the Mercedes/Jag, I mean Jim, storm-off and the roar of his motorcycle. Raff clapped along and smiled for the cameras. The kid was an expert at this point.

“Look at him, oh my God, Guy. He’s puckering his lips.” Jules acted shocked, like we didn’t create a brilliant child.

“Not his first time around the block,” I teased. “He’s no fool, the quicker he blows out his candle, the quicker he’s getting a face full of cake.”