Devotion

twelve ﾒ blue-eyed angel

ANGELICA

The tension at the dinner table is excruciating. I swear, all I hear is mouths smacking. It's a little uncomfortable, to be honest.

When it's not Sunday, we still hold family dinners. But to add the icing on the cake, it's always so goddamn awkward. My mother's glancing down at the untouched vegetables; Rowan's original grumpy face always makes an appearance; and my father is just mad-looking, as always.

I think my mom is starting to go batshit insane by the silence, so she attempts to joke to lighten the mood. "Knock, knock," she says with a small smile.

Since my dad and brother have no sense of humor or funny bones in their bodies, I take this time to answer the joke. It'd be awkward if no one answered, and then I'd feel bad. "Who's there?"

My mom sets a manicured finger on her chin, thinking about the corniest thing she could say. My mind goes blank as she thinks and goes into oblivion—an itching need to study for the midterms coming up. Speaking of midterms, I wonder if Leilani knows.

I can't keep covering for her every absence. Instead of coming to school and proving to everyone around her that she is truly a certified academic weapon, she wanders off and stays home. Mostly to mess with guys from other schools like Columbia, Juilliard, Pace, etc. I can't keep track of her record of guys, but I wish she'd just admit to Rowan that she likes him.

Saves the girl from having multiple heart attacks. Seriously, she thinks if she messes with other guys, her feelings will subside and she will not have an unrequited love situation.

But I'm not opposed to the idea. Best friends support the others' decisions so that I may do for the one and only.

All of a sudden, it's like I summon her because she texts me frantically (based on the way she's typing). Her messages are back-to-back, and it's freaking me out. For some reason, I'm so tense and tired at this table that I have no joint movement within me to move forward and text back.

Exhausted is not even the word. It's just one of those days where you feel like you're so tired, nothing's fun, and life is becoming unbearable to withstand.

Then, Luca texts me as well. I'm not even prepared to open the messages he has. Probably something academic-related. I can't be asked. Literally, I just want to lock myself in my bedroom and rot to death.

I'm beginning to have a war between my mind and my well-being.

By the time dinner is finished and all of us have returned to the previous activity we were doing, I've had 10 messages split between Leilani and Luca.

I don't understand why Luca texts me when I clearly said that I would text him, like, please, listen to directions the first time. But it's fine. He's a 23-year-old who doesn't have to listen to me. Plus, it's a partnership with the capstone project. Not independently. So between my feelings and the bold red A+ I need on this project, I'm choosing the latter.

As I walk up the grand marble staircase, I pull out my phone from my back pocket to finally answer Lei and Luca. My face ID unlocks the phone, and I search the dock until I find Messages. And boy, is there a lot to unpack here?

Leilani: SOS!!!!!

Leilani: I so need a friend rn. Pls, answer.

Leilani: IT'S ABOUT A BOY, A.

Leilani: It's the bare minimum, but, girl. I'm falling in love.

Leilani: With a Columbia U man

Leilani: Help, help, help!!!!

Leilani: So, I stalked him on Instagram, Facebook, and some other apps I'm not sharing. I don't even use Facebook, A. Am I losing feelings for ur hot brother????

Luca: When are you doing the capstone project?

Luca: We don't have all day.

Luca: I'm giving you an hour before I show you at your window.

Okay, so to wrap up this fiasco, Luca is threatening to come to my window. I don't doubt his behavior because he shot someone dead in front of me. Lei, on the other hand, will hold a conference with her in an hour.

Once I go into my pink-themed bedroom, I crash on the bed. I mean, face-planted and all. God, aren't I exhausted? I can't wait for a break. I'm tired of waking up for 10 AM lectures, studying 50 times a day to uphold an academic reputation, and choosing school over myself.

The mental health drain is very real.

Before I could even say "get out", my father opened my bedroom door and stood there. "Angelica, we need to talk about the living situation."

I groan into my fluffy body pillow before turning to face him with a visibly exhausted face. "Dad, seriously? I'm aware I need to get a place to live. But I have no money." He opens his mouth to speak, but I interrupt. "And I know I need a job. I've just been so busy, Dad. I am starting to go crazy."

I sit up, tugging a pillow to my chest. Random tears well up in my eyes. And I just lost it. My dad is usually a hard-looking, aggressive, cigar-smoking dude. But at this moment, Aziel De Santis turns into a softie because his youngest twin daughter is going through a mental crisis. "Hey, hey," he says, holding my shoulder blade, "darling. It's okay."

He kisses my forehead and holds me to his chest. "Sorry for bringing it up. I didn't know school was kicking your ass so bad. Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"It's fine," is all I manage to get out.

Dad nods, smoothing down my braids. It reminded me that I needed to take them out one day this week. They're getting old. "Do you want to go house shopping? Just you and me? And you can pick something close to me and your mother."

Physically, I can't speak. Do you know how exhausting it can be to just say a word? But either way, I nod. I couldn't be more grateful to have caring parents. Although they can be a little aggressive with their wordplay and the fact that our family and the Bertarellis are the most notorious mob gangsters in New York City, they are great parents. Great parents with terrible morals.

Dad and I spent another ten minutes updating each other on what's going on in our lives. When he finally leaves, I sigh. A big, heavy one. Until a knock scares the living shit out of me. I jump and turn over to find Luca at my window.

This bitch. I groan into my hands before climbing over my sofa and opening the window. "You've got to be kidding. Why are you so worked up about this project at 8 p.m.?"

Luca chuckles. He looks different. Curls are ruffled, and small hickeys are hidden on the neck area. Jesus Christ. "De Santis not worrying about a project? A school project? You hit your head on the way home the other day?"

"No." I roll my eyes. He moves around me to inch himself forward so he can climb into my bedroom. "Please, let me in," he says. His head moves over my shoulder to notice my actual bedroom. "Pink fanatic? You like Barbies too?"

I cross my arms. "Barbies are cool, but no. I have collections," I say. I notice myself getting off-topic. "Anyways. That's not the point. Why are you here? You know if Rowan and my dad find you anywhere near me, if not during Sunday dinner, you're dead meat."

Luca wastes no time in hurling himself through my window and crashing onto my pink sofa. "Did I or did I not specify that if you do not answer, I will show up at your window?"

"Okay—" He cuts me off with a hand up to my face. "I wasn't finished." I cross my arms over my chest again. "Neither was I," I say.

"Don't care. I was speaking first. Respect your elders," he says, getting even more comfortable on my couch. So comfortable that he manspreads and smooths his arms out along the channel back.

I begin to crack my knuckles. "Only by two years."

"Two years too many, De Santis," he says, sitting up so that his forearms are resting on his thighs. He looks up at me with those emotionless blue eyes. "But you need to figure out what we're doing for the project. Time stops for no one, Barbie."

"Don't call me that," I say.

Luca stands up so now he's towering over me. "Make me."