Another Life || Vinny Mauro

eight

Vinny

I drum on my steering wheel absentmindedly as I drive to my parent's house. I'm overdue for a dinner at their place anyway since I've been caught up with practicing nonstop for Apocalypse Fest, but I especially need their help unscrambling my brain with Sedona.

I have tried with every single fiber of me, but I can't shake her from my brain. Every single instinct in my body says to not let her go again, to not let her out of my sight, but every logical part of me says that it's okay if I didn't want her around. It's okay if I've built a better life for me. It's okay to let her navigate this new life for herself by herself.

I pull my car into the driveway and put it in park, taking a few deep breaths before knocking on the all too familiar door. I try to not think about the house of horrors that lived next to us, especially since it's now occupied by a very kind new family named the Young's.

"Heyyy! Vinny!" my dad's voice booms from the front door, pulling me in for a hug. The blessing about having an Italian family is that they are incredibly loving and passionate while the curse is that the only volume that they know is loud as fuck. I pry myself out of my dad's tight grip without too much of a fight and move to my mom, giving her an equally as tight hug. We've always been an incredibly tight family unit so me being away for more than a month is weird for us. I try to come by at least once a week, especially after my siblings moved away.

"Vinny, can you help me move these center piece things off the table?" Mom asks.

"Why do you even have them?" I pick at her, laughing as I say it.

"Because they're pretty! But I can't see you when I talk to you and need somewhere to put this food."

"Which, by the way, smells great," I commend as I move the vase of flowers to the kitchen counter.

"Thank you. I decided to try out a new enchilada recipe," she mentions. While we know our ancestors would roll in their graves if they knew how little we made Italian food, but we just like the variety of all types of food and I think it makes her a better cook for it. The timer on the oven sounds off as though it was waiting on her to confess what was in it. Dad grabs the enchiladas out of the oven in between stirring around the rice.

Mom puts down some extra pot holders down the center of the dinner table and goes ahead and grabs the enchiladas and puts them in the center, soon following with the rice and everyone takes their seats. They still hold their Catholic faith close so they bless the food before we serve it amongst ourselves.

"How are rehearsals going?" Dad asks after taking one bite of each thing.

"Pretty good. Luckily there's no new music to learn this time so it's definitely more so just relearning muscle memory," I say honestly. I take a large gulp of water before continuing eating, knowing that family dinners often feel like interviews to make sure that I'm not only alive, but taking care of myself.

"You look tired, Vinny, are you sure that's all it is?" Mom pries, looking at me, fork draping lazily in her hand to where it's resting unused on the plate. My stomach twists, knowing that I suck at keeping my emotions off of my face.

I cut off a large bite of food for me to keep myself occupied for a moment before I take in and let out a deep breath. "Sedona's back." I take that bite of food and take my time chewing it while they balk at me, my mom's fork clanking against the plate as her grip slackens.

"Back where?" Mom asks, concern laced in her voice. I just gesture my finger down as I chew. "In Scranton?" I just nod in response, wiping my mouth with my napkin.

"Why?" Dad asks levelly, also continuing to eat like this is the most normal conversation in the world. I love him for that because it keeps my head screwed on straight.