Indebted to the Mafia King
Commotion

Eleni

That weekend, I lean my head back against the chair at the head of the circle and try to pretend like I'm listening to what Wife #12 has to say. I know her name. I know I know it. But Nicky insisted on brunch for this meeting, and the omelet Val has balanced on her lap is really testing the boundaries of my control over my stomach. I suck in a slow breath through my mouth, then exhale through my nose as one of the many, many parenting and pregnancy books Dr. Hanna suggested told me to. It doesn't help.

"...and that's why I think you should have the wedding here," she finishes.

"In the backyard?" Nicky asks incredulously. "Like they're hippies?"

Wife #12 pouts. "If you'd listened, you'd know I considered that and have several suggestions that would allow Eleni to be...close to home without seeming like someone who lives in a van."

I roll my eyes at Gianna. The wives have been itching to start planning my wedding, and a couple days ago, Nicky ambushed me with an already half-planned meeting to do exactly that. I just agreed. My morning sickness keeps getting worse, and Wife #12's backyard plan is the best pitch I've heard yet.

"That's not good enough for our Eleni." Nicky glances at me. "Even if she's a little under the weather right now. No, St. Anthony's is...."

Her words fade out as another wave of nausea rocks me. I clamp down on it. Part of me doesn't know why I'm bothering anymore. It's beyond obvious that everyone here knows something is up. I'm not showing yet, thankfully, but they keep shooting me worried looks and leaving awkward pauses in the conversation, like they're waiting for me to confess. But ever since the appointment, it's been impossible to forget just how much my baby's life counts on me. I have to take care of them, and that means protecting them from gossip vultures like Nicky.

"A three-tier cake? No, with two hundred guests, we're going to need at least five," Nicky says.

I don't honestly think I know two hundred people, at least by name. In my mind's eye, I picture my wedding like the barbecue. Everyone squashed into clothes they wouldn't normally wear, awkwardly pretending we don't want each other dead. At the rate Nicky's going, I wouldn't be surprised to see Fyodor's name on the guest list. Gianna rolls her eyes dramatically at me, and I swallow a laugh. I don't give a fuck about the wedding anymore. I'm tired and sore. I'll put on whatever dress they pick out, walk whatever aisle makes them happy, as long as I get a piece of cake and some really spectacular sex with my husband when I'm done.

"Does anyone need more to drink?" Chloe asks. "I was going to get a refill."

All eyes in the room turn to me, waiting to see if I'll ask for the famously boozy lemonade. So far, I've been coasting on not drinking anything at all, so I shake my head again. Chloe takes other orders while I daydream about fucking Dante in the middle of the church, having him declare me his in front of the first two hundred people Nicky came up with.

A door slams. Voices filter into the sitting room from the foyer. I sit up and realize Chloe's already gone. When I glance at Gianna, a spark of mischief shines in her eyes. What the hell is happening now?

"Eleni Calimeris," a very familiar voice demands. "Are you really going to leave your mama standing in the hallway? After not calling for weeks?"

Time turns to molasses around me. My heartbeat roars in my ears. I stand, holding onto the chair, half certain I'm going to faint if I let go. I'm not imagining things. Mama stands in the entrance to the sitting room, outlined in golden midmorning light. Gianna leaps up and sprints to my side, supporting me as I wobble the few feet over to Mama and throw my arms around her.

Mama hugs me back like a miracle, then stiffens.

"Keep going," Gianna says. "We can present ideas to Eleni once she's done receiving company."

Nicky immediately launches into a tirade about how a certain type of crystal is over-used.

Mama whispers in my ear, "When were you going to tell me you were pregnant, zouzouni?"

I pale. Suddenly, the extra few feet of distance from Val's omelet might not be enough to keep me from getting sick.

Gianna rubs my shoulder. "Take her into the kitchen."

I don't know which of us she's talking to, but Mama releases me from her hug and lets me lean on her as we stumble into the pale kitchen. Thankfully, all of the egg remnants were destroyed in here, and the air smells clean. Mama deposits me on one of the stools and crosses her arms.

"Did I raise you to be stupid?" she asks.

I shake my head.

"Reckless?" She raises an eyebrow.

I shake my head again. "Mama"

"Then what on Earth made you try to do this with me?" she demands. "Zouzouni, this is what mothers are for."

Tears pressed against the backs of my eyes. "I know, Mama. I'm sorry."

She hugs me again briefly, then steps back again and takes my chin in one hand, tilting my face this way and that.

"You haven't been eating enough." She tuts. "Don't lie to me, I know it. I can see it in your face."

"I haven't been hungry." I rub my stomach. "Or baby hasn't."

Mama spits three times over my shoulder, more noise than action. "Don't mention the baby without that. They must be born safe."

That does coax a smile to my face. I remember Mama doing that for all our neighbors when I was growing up, and when Theia Adriani was having her children. It feels like becoming part of something.

"You're nauseous, yes?" she says.

I nod. "Every day, way outside the morning."

She studies me. "How far along are you?"

"Nine weeks." I look at the ground. "Sorry, Mama."

She shakes her head. "You should be. But nine weeks...hm, a month of sickness left." She turns to the refrigerator and opens it. "What is your Dante thinking? This food is no good." She pushes containers around for a few moments, then emerges with her arms full. "In the morning, you have Greek yogurt"-Mama sets the tub down with a thump-"with lemon, if you can handle it"-another thump-"and some cut-up fruit." She smacks an apple down next to the other two things. "This is fine, but peaches were better for me. Did your doctor give you vitamins?" She freezes and stares at me. "Did you go to the doctor yet?"

Dante enters the room with a laugh. "Not only have we been to the doctor, we have an ultrasound to show you. Baby has a heartbeat already."

Mama starts to tear up, but she makes the spitting noise again quickly. Dante raises an eyebrow at me. I shrug.

"If you think one video will make me forget you forced my zouzouni into a shotgun wedding, you're wrong." She sniffles. "But I would very much like to see my grandchild."

Dante circles around to put a hand on my shoulder. "I am sorry about that, Mama. The timing obviously isn't ideal."

"Isn't ideal." She scoffs. "Is that why you have no food? Have you been making sure she sleeps? Or have you been hogging the whole bed like nothing has changed?"

He grins. "Eleni's the bed hog, of the two of us, and I've been putting her to sleep as early as I can pull her away from her books."

Mama shakes a finger at him. "Pull harder. She is asleep by nine, no negotiation. My zouzouni won't listen to me, so you must."

"I'm right here!" I protest, but I can't imagine anything better than being pinned between the two people I love most in the world while they argue over how to take care of me.

The three people. Baby can't talk yet, but I love them as much as Dante and Mama already. In my mind, I make the spitting sound. A silly old tradition maybe, but I'd rather be safe.

"But will you listen?" Mama doesn't wait for an answer. "Of course not. So I must go around you."

I laugh and look at Dante over my shoulder. Once again, he brought Mama here without asking me. Part of me wants to be upset. She is my mother to tell, after all. But I needed her, especially now, and Dante could tell. It's hard not to love him for that.

I grin. "How long are you staying, Mama?"

"Now that I've seen you?" She lifts my chin again. "You would be lucky to get me out of here before the baptism."