Vincent

Ice Cream in the Winter

Vincent grabbed my shoulder, pulling me away, forcing me to walk deeper into the house. I realized he was just trying to break the contact because he knew my dad didn't want us to meet. My dad came out from the living room when he heard me. Vincent apologized in Italian.

"What's an estate planning lawyer?" I asked my father.

"An attorney who plans wills while people are still alive," dad calmly responded.

"Why are you meeting with him? You're not dying and you said you weren't going to prison so why are you wasting your time with a will lawyer?" I demanded, growing more pissed off by the second. Dad made eye contact with Vincent behind me. He squeezed my shoulders before I heard him walk away, the sound of the door closing following.

"Just calm down, Mari-"

"Don't tell me to calm down when you can't answer the question," I shot back. Why was I getting so angry? Was Vincent right? Did I have anger issues? Was there a valid reason that I couldn't see due to my lens of anger? "Why are you fuckin' seeing him? You told me TODAY that I shouldn't worry because you aren't going to prison."

"Watch your mouth," he scolded, "this isn't the first time I've met with him. I was just updating stuff."

"So why him and not Andy?" I asked, crossing my arms. "Don't have an answer? Instead of telling me about what you were doing, you just got Vincent to get me out of the house so you can do your dirty work?"

"It's not dirty work, Alexis," he corrected, being as polite as possible. "I've been doing this for years. My will needs to be updated and I didn't want anyone here. I figured youze want to hang out?"

I didn't know what to say. I narrowed my eyes, crossing my arms. I had nothing. "Whatever," I huffed, turning around to walk back upstairs.

"Rose and Freddie are coming over tonight for dinner. Vinny will be here," he called.

"'Kay!" I shouted from the top of the stairs, walking into my room. I was so fucking pissed. I wanted to scream.

I grabbed the newspaper again, reading the article again and again. I didn't understand it. Since when has he been meeting with a will attorney? That's for old people! My dad was only in his fifties. He didn't need a will. I glanced at my phone. I didn't want to touch it after the pure evil it brought me but I wanted to call Vincent even though I just saw him. Did I really want to touch my phone? No. Dad said he'd come to dinner. I could talk to him then, as much as I didn't want to wait. I think my phone was a bad luck charm. I should keep away from it as much as I can.

I got up to grab the remote to my television, plopping down on my sofa, trying to find something to watch. SpongeBob was on. I decided to watch it. I loved it. As I got older, it got funnier. As it was playing, I started to clean my room, forcing myself to get off the sofa.

I needed a distraction and cleaning mixed with Spongebob was supposed to help but it didn't. The television was just white noise.

Dad said he had a hearing next week. His trial was on February 4th. I was panicking. What did it say if my dad was seeing a will lawyer? I didn't want him to go to jail. I was feeling helpless. I wanted to protect my father. I felt like I needed to. After all, I went to the FBI today after years of my dad telling me to never go. I caused him drama within his group. I also felt like I needed to protect him as his daughter. What kind of child would I be if I threw him under the bus? I mean, he's a good guy! An amazing father! He always made sure my brother and I were taken care of. Why didn't anyone see that?

Was there anything I could do before the trial? What if I wrote the judge? Would that do anything? I had no clue. Actually, it would probably just make dad look guilty and I didn't want that. Not at all. I needed solid advice and I knew I had two valid options: Andy or Dante. I had no clue where Dante was (if he was in Italy or America) and I didn't have Andy's number. I needed a lawyer. My own consigliere.