Catch a Falling Star (14 page)

Brianna came into the diner like a woman on a mission, and Matthias smiled at the sight of her crazy red curls in the glare of the fluorescent lights. He could always tell her emotional state by how crazy the curls were. And how sharply her eyes were flashing. By their neon glow today, she definitely had something on her mind.

He had suggested they meet at Paradise Diner again, not because he liked the coffee so well — it wasn’t that good — but because he liked the atmosphere. No one knew who he was or cared, and the waitress didn’t seem that concerned about what kind of tip he might leave.

Brianna spotted him and came charging over to the table. He’d already had the waitress bring the pot of coffee, and she seized it and poured some into the mug at her place and said, “You know, we need to start meeting in bars.”

“You don’t drink.”

“After the kind of day I had? I can learn,” she said.

“Probably smart not to,” he said. “There’s a genetic component to alcoholism.”

She smacked the mug down on the table and glared at him. Whatever she was mad about, he’d just made it worse.

“What?”
she said and then, “See, this is the problem with you dating my sister. She tells you everything. Puts me at a disadvantage.”

“It’s not a big deal — ”

She leaned back in the booth and regarded him. “You know, that was the one thing you didn’t actually know about me before. I’ve spilled everything about my sad, sorry life to you. You’re really really good at weaseling that kind of stuff out of a person. And all I know about you is, like, impersonal data. Where you live, the kind of car you drive. Okay, I know you like Bogart movies and pulp fiction.”

“‘Weaseling’?” he said. “I don’t
weasel
. I make conversation.”

“Then how come I don’t know anything about you?”

“You’re the one who’s been calling me Mr. G for five years. You know my name, you just don’t use it. It kind of gives the impression that you’re not looking for reciprocal intimacy.”

She blinked. “Huh. Well, if I start calling you Matthias now you might think I’m looking for reciprocal intimacy, which would be rude considering you’re dating my sister.”

“How about you call me Matthias and I know you’re just doing it because I’m dating your sister. If we stop dating, you can go back to calling me Mr. G.”

“Excellent plan,” she said, and took a folder out of her bag. “Now about this event we’re planning.”

• • •

Reciprocal intimacy
. Brianna wished she could find it funny or off-putting or stupid for him to call it that but she didn’t. Matthias was not a person who would go around declaiming his longing for a person or his desire for reciprocal intimacy, as it were, but it wasn’t like he had been hiding it.

In his challenge she suddenly saw just what she had done: she had shut down every foray he had ever made, every attempt to make their relationship mutual. She might have memorized his phone number in case she needed to get out of a mess but she had never given him any reason to think that she was the one he could call at three
A.M.
when he couldn’t sleep. Matthias was not the kind of person who would ever need bail money at three
A.M.
He needed something simpler and more complex. The knowledge that their relationship was mutual, that he could depend on her. That if he had insomnia and needed a friend, she would answer the phone.

And now it was too late.

She blinked back the tears that wanted to start and opened the folder to show him the estimates.

• • •

Joe had told Natalie he’d be glad to pick her up for dinner on Sunday, and then his truck wouldn’t start, which was just obnoxious, but Ma let him borrow the old Chevy, so he was only a few minutes late when he ran up the walk to Natalie’s front door. He felt nervous and unsettled, which was a bad way to start the evening.

It got worse when Natalie opened the door, then turned to say “What?” to someone and an enormous dog that looked like a wolf came charging out the front door, and Joe yelped and took a step back, which made him trip over the top step and then he fell on his ass, and the dog pounced, paws on his front chest, and licked the side of his face.

Then Natalie was there, laughing, and dragging at the dog’s collar. “Dakota,
no
,” she said, but it wasn’t like the dog was going to listen to someone who was laughing that hard. “Brianna!” she called. “Come and get your dog!”

A minute later, a woman with curly red hair came to the door. “Dakota!” she called sharply, and the dog listened to that and leapt off Joe and trotted to her side. “Are you okay?” she asked.

Natalie was already helping him up and brushing him off. “That dog is insane. I’m sorry, I forgot she bolts when she wants to meet someone new.”

“She’s really friendly,” the woman Natalie had called Brianna said, keeping a firm grip on the dog’s collar. “But she is a little … disconcerting if she does that and you’ve never met her before.”

Since Joe had thought he was about to have his throat ripped out,
disconcerting
seemed like an understatement.

“You aren’t hurt, are you?” Natalie asked.

He had jammed his elbow and scraped his palm but he wouldn’t have admitted that under threat of torture, so he said, “I’m okay.”

“Really sorry,” Natalie said, her eyes dancing with amusement. “I know I shouldn’t laugh, but she’s just so insane. Good-hearted and friendly, but just
insane
.”

“I see that,” Joe said, feeling a little grumpy. His heart was settling down. He didn’t know why the little black dog couldn’t have come out to greet him. He liked the little black dog.

“Tell him about the time Dakota — ” Natalie said.

“You’re bleeding,” Brianna said. She sent the dog back inside, and came over to him, turning his palm over.

Natalie had the grace to look abashed. “I didn’t realize you cut your hand!” she said. “Here, come inside, let’s wash it off.”

He let himself be towed inside. Dakota sat expectantly, tongue lolling out of her mouth, tail swishing along the floor, like he might invite her to play some more.

Natalie brought him into the bathroom, and cooed over his hand while cleaning it up, which made him feel a little better about falling on his ass. He let her apply a big bandage though he’d stopped bleeding and then she kissed his palm and said, “All better,” like he was a little boy, but he was a big enough doofus that he kinda liked it.

“All okay?” That was Brianna, looking concerned in the doorway of the bathroom.

“It’s fine, it’s nothing.”

“I’m sorry, one of us is usually fast enough to grab her.”

“I’ll brace myself next time.”

That made her smile and the look of worry vanished. “That’s the spirit. I’m Brianna, by the way, Natalie’s sister.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said.

“It probably left a little something to be desired. You’re in Nat’s accounting class?”

“Yes’m,” he said, and felt like an idiot again because it wasn’t like she was very much older than him. But she was treating him like she was Nat’s mother and she was making sure he was an appropriate date for his daughter.

“You’re working on your business degree?”

“Yes, I’m a senior, like Natalie.”

He half-expected her to ask about his plans after college, which were a little vague, but he was saved from that by Natalie saying, “All set?”

“Yes,” he said and she took his elbow and led him out of the house.

“I thought you drove a pickup.”

“I do, when it starts. This is my mom’s. I told her we’d pick up some wine on the way.”

“Sure thing.”

Being with Natalie was mostly pretty easy, though his stinging hand reminded him that sometimes it wasn’t. She looked pretty in a soft sweater and jeans, though pale and a little tired. “How’d you do on the midterm?”

“A.”

“Me, too.”

“Go, us,” she said and smiled.

He parked at the liquor store. She went in with him, trailing after him and gawking at the shelves of bottles like she’d never been inside a liquor store before, though he knew she was twenty-two, so she must have been.

“You have one you like?” he asked.

“Wine? No. I don’t know anything about wine.”

“Not much of a drinker? Or just don’t like wine?”

“I like champagne fine,” she said with a smile.

“Sadly, our budget does not run to champagne,” he said. “Ma is partial to full-bodied Italian reds but you might like something lighter.”

“I’ll try whatever you guys normally have.”

“Cool,” he said and picked up a couple of bottles.

“Hey, Joe, how’s your family?” the old man behind the counter asked. He set aside a newspaper and started ringing up the sale.

“Good,” Joe said. “Everyone is good. How about you, Frankie?”

“We’re all good, too.” Frankie snapped open a paper bag and started putting bottles in. “Who’s the pretty lady?” He winked at Natalie, who grinned.

“This is a friend of mine from college. Natalie. Natalie, this is Frankie, he’s owned this store forever.”

“Fifty years. Only feels like forever.”

Joe paid, hoping Natalie didn’t notice that he’d just forked over his last bit of cash, then remembered they were just friends, so what did it matter if he was broke.

“Amarone,” Natalie said, reading the label on one of the bottles. “I’ve never even heard of that kind of wine.”

“It’s a Tuscan, fruity taste,” Joe said. “You’ll either love it or hate it.”

“I learn so much from you guys,” Natalie said, and Joe did not want to know who
you guys
was. He suspected it meant him and that guy she was dating. That guy he didn’t know but sort of hated anyway.

“Thanks, Frankie,” he said.

• • •

Natalie wasn’t sure what to expect of a family dinner. Even when her dad and Chrissy had been alive, there hadn’t been much in the way of the family gathering around the table and breaking bread. Neither her dad nor Chrissy had been much of a cook, and Natalie and Brianna had gotten accustomed to fending for themselves when they got hungry. There’d always been food, just not dinner.

Now it was just her and Bree getting together most evenings and sharing a meal. That was a family dinner, but she suspected Joe’s family dinner would be a little different.

He walked into the house, an older ranch that had been lovingly maintained, and called out, “Ma! We’re here!” He set the wine down and helped Natalie with her coat, then took his off and hung them in a coat closet in the front hall. It was already crammed with coats.

“Unca Joe!” A little boy around four or so came steaming into the hallway and threw his arms around Joe’s leg.

“Hey, Benjy,” Joe said, leaning down to ruffle the little boy’s hair. He picked up the wine and walked stiff-legged down the hall, hauling the giggling little boy with him. Natalie followed as they went directly to the kitchen.

“There you are,” a middle-aged woman said, shutting the oven, her face flushed from the heat. The kitchen was in the shape of an ell, with a dining table in the short end. An older man was already seated there, talking to a man in his thirties.

“Ah, you got the wine,” said the woman, who must be Joe’s mother, and she said, “Alberto, here’s the wine,” and the older man looked up, then got to his feet and seized one of the bottles. He opened it with an old-fashioned corkscrew and started getting down wine glasses.

“You must be Natalie,” said the woman and that prompted Joe to say, “Sorry, yes, this is Natalie, my friend from school. Natalie, this is my mother, and my dad, and you’ve met little Benjy, and that’s his dad at the table, my brother Paolo.” Paolo gave a wave from the table. “Where’s Kathy?”

“She’s changing the baby,” Joe’s mother said.

“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Lombardi,” Natalie said. “Hi, Paolo. And Benjy.” She hoped she’d be able to remember everyone’s name. She was terrible with names and there were so many of them.

“Carl is always late, but he’ll be here once he’s done with whatever empire-building strategy he’s working on. His wife and their two kids are away this week.”

“Visiting her mother,” Mrs. Lombardi said, handing Joe a bowl of salad greens. “Happens every couple of months.”

“Ma,” Joe said, looking embarrassed, and Natalie guessed that meant Carl and his wife had had a big fight.

Mrs. Lombardi shrugged. “Whatever it takes, eh?” she said to Natalie, woman to woman.

“That’s what I always say.”

Joe went to put the greens on the table, Benjy still clinging to his leg. Paolo pried him off and sat him in a chair, giving him a slice of bread from a basket already on the table.

“And Giuliana is — ”

“Right here!” said a cheerful voice. Natalie turned to see a younger version of Mrs. Lombardi come through the kitchen door. A sullen-looking teenage girl with her was hanging back, obviously not finding this gathering as much fun as Natalie did.

“There,” said Joe. “And that’s my niece Marta. Giuliana, Marta, this is my friend Natalie.”

“Hi, Natalie,” Giuliana said, coming over to give her a peck on the cheek and squeeze her arm. “Ma, did you see that sale at Target this week? You want me to pick up anything? I’m going to stop in after work tomorrow.”

“Here you are, Natalie,” Mr. Lombardi said, handing her a glass of wine. “Come, have a seat at the table, Joe has forgotten his manners.”

“Dad,” Joe said.

Natalie tried, and failed, to imagine Matthias saying “Dad” in that tone of voice. Of course, Matthias’s dad had been dead for years, just like Natalie’s.

“Here, sit by me,” Mr. Lombardi said, padding over to the table. She followed him with her glass of wine. Once seated, she took a tentative sip of the wine. Rich and flavorful, as Joe had described it. She decided she would sip it very slowly and see if it grew on her. So far she liked champagne better.

The teenager Marta sat down next to her and looked glum. “You’re Joe’s date?” she asked. “He’s been, like, ‘Natalie is brilliant’ and ‘Natalie is so pretty’ since, like, September.”

Natalie couldn’t help the little thrill of pleasure that went through her at that but she wasn’t quite sure what to say in response so she went with, “Yeah, we’re in the same accounting class. We do a lot of studying together.”