They eat marinated red peppers and spinach ravioli with scalloped edges and trout with shriveled eyes and flesh of seaweed and lemon and river water. They all dance wildly; the sadnesses that always come to a family function are relegated to dark corners, to the bathroom line, to the side of the bar where they wait for their drinks. All night Antonia’s face is hot with food and wine and she watches Paolo, the boldness of his brows and lips and the half plum of his tongue; the jaunty tilted Homburg set just to shade one eye and then the other as he dances in the lowered light. After the reception, in the back of a powder-blue Cadillac, Antonia feels emboldened by four glasses of prosecco to run her fingers through the thick dark hair that escapes from under his hat brim, and he catches her fingers and pries open her fist so he can kiss the place where her middle finger meets her palm.

Sex makes Antonia feel like a wildcat, like a river. She finds herself kneeling on the edges of furniture, straining toward Paolo as he brushes his teeth, as he hammers a nail into the wall, as he opens the fridge and then meets her eyes across the room. She finds that she is spacious, that she is resilient, that she is flexible. Antonia is hungry as she runs a bar of soap over herself in the bathtub, as the water drips from the ends of her hair. She is surprised by the voracity of her own want; this tremulous, physical thing that comes from her body, that cannot be overthought.

She is pregnant almost immediately, and with each passing day feels less like an imposter in an adult world. She interlaces her fingers at night and squeezes the blood out of them in prayer. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

—

Sofia bakes and swells in the springtime sun.

Saul takes First Communion on a brilliantly blue May morning, body of Christ gluey on his tongue and the sour taste of wine lingering in the folds between his gums and his cheeks. Afterward, he holds the door of the church open for his pregnant fiancée and hopes his squinted, twisted face can be blamed on the bright sunlight outside. Because Sofia is who she is, she will not thank him for adopting her language and her holidays and her family’s name. Because Saul is who he is, he will not ask her to.