“Well, somebody sounds jealous,” Zack cooed. “I bet you wish the family spent all their time talking about you.”

“Oh yes, you caught me. I’m dripping with envy.”

Mom sighed in a long-suffering way and began grabbing plates out of a cupboard. “Well, everything’s just about ready. Zack, go get your father, will you?”

Zack grimaced. “Can’t Bianca go get him?”

Mom sent him a withering look. He jumped to his feet. “On second thought, I could stand to stretch my legs.”

He could feel his mom’s eyes boring into him as he left the room.

“Italian mothers,” he muttered to himself when he was out of earshot. “There is no force more terrifying on the face of the planet.”

He wove through the house until he arrived at the door to his dad’s office.

“Dad?” He poked his head inside. “It’s time for dinner.”

Zack’s father was seated behind a large, imposing desk and had a newspaper open in front of him. The walls were lined with bookcases, and gauzy curtains fluttered in front of two large windows in the far wall. Mr. Hall was well into middle age, but he still had a head full of black hair, much like Zack’s. He looked up at his son with sharp, dark eyes before folding the newspaper and laying it on the desk.

“Come in here, Zack,” he said. “Let me have a look at you.”

Zack held back a sigh and moved the rest of the way into the room.

“Not bad,” Dad said as he scrutinized him. “Would it have killed you to shine your shoes, though?”

“I don’t know,” Zack sniped, “I’ve never tried it.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them.

Dad blinked slowly at him in a way that made him feel about eight years old.

He took a shallow breath and said, “Sorry. We need to go, though. Mom’s waiting.”

Dad stood up and gestured for Zack to lead the way. He was wearing a collared shirt and pressed khaki slacks. In twenty-one years, Zack had never once seen him in anything less than business casual.

Zack walked stiffly back to the kitchen, and his father followed. He returned to his seat and poured himself a large glass of wine. The cards had been cleared away, and six places had been set at the table.

Zack forced himself not to chug his wine as Dad took his customary seat at the head of the table and Mom fussed with serving bowls filled with salad and bread.

When everything had been placed on the table and they’d all taken their seats, they said a quick prayer—more out of formality than anything else—and began passing plates around. Zack piled his high with spaghetti and then slathered it with sauce, forgoing salad in favor of wonderful, life-affirming carbohydrates.

He focused on eating as his family chatted around him. Bianca and Sam were discussing college: Sam was a freshman, whereas Bianca was working on her doctorate. Dad and Uncle Robert were talking about the stock trade or Peruvian basket weaving or something else Zack didn’t understand. His mother was talking to him, or rather at him.