“I’m going to make something very clear now, and then we can have dinner and hopefully talk like civilized people.” Mormor moved to stand beside my mother. Her hands were clasped in front of her stomach, her chin was notched up. The left eyebrow was raised in challenge, the tone of voice so cold, it could have frosted hell itself. “My granddaughter is an honest girl. A good girl. If she says the baby is your son’s, it is your son’s. We will do your testing, mostly so matters of support can be efficiently handled. And there will be support. It takes two to dance a tango. They both tangoed. You can have any opinion you want outside of my home about that fact, but within these walls, you will not insult my granddaughter by suggesting she’s a liar. To do so insults me. I will not stand for it.”

Mr. Ianelli turned colors. First, it was a red stain in his cheeks. I thought maybe it was embarrassment, but as the color spread, turning to purple up by his temples, I realized it was anger. Hot rage. I took a step back.

Leaf stepped in front of me.

Jack and Caroline stepped toward one another.

“Look, lady, I didn’t come here to listen to some bullsh—” He pointed his finger at Mormor and advanced.

Mormor...

Well? She threw a shoe. Lightning fast. It was a motion I’d seen many times before and it was always impressive. Her hand darted down, her leg bent, the shoe went flying, whizzing by Mr. Ianelli’s ear and smashing off the Americana swan on top of the TV cabinet.

“STOP,” she barked.

Mr. Ianelli stopped, looking stunned.

His hand dropped.

“You threw your goddamned shoe at me!”

“You are advancing in a threatening way. I’ll throw the other one if you come any closer.”

Jack’s father spun. “That’s assault. Caroline, this crazy woman just assaulted me, for Christ’s sake!”

“No, I did not,” Mormor said, her voice even. “I threw a warning shot. If I’d wanted to hit you, I’d have hit you. Trust me, my aim is very good.”

We didn’t even make it to dinner. Mr. Ianelli dropped his beer on the table and stormed out of the house, cussing and muttering all the while. His mortified wife grabbed her coat and chased after him, throwing apologies as she followed him to the car and promptly started screaming at him in our driveway. Jack looked after them, ashen, swallowing so hard his Adam’s apple bounced.

“I gotta go,” he said. “I’m really—I want to be in her life, okay? Please don’t write me off because of my dad. I want to be a good dad. I know I can be.”