Mela was almost always a little squirmer whenever Trish needed her as an impromptu model/mannequin for whatever children's clothes she was fixing up or making. Though it would be foolhardy to think that one could simply tell a three-year-old to stand still for ten or so minutes and they would do so with no issue. Trish had quickly figured out a way to keep her daughter's attention after one or two attempts at getting her to be still. It was quite simple, actually. The Mannequin Game; stay still for as long as possible and you win. This got Mela's full attention quick and ever since she was excited to play this "game" just to win. Trish still was trying to figure out what sort of treat she should award her daughter with for helping but Mela seemed to be more enamored by the idea of just being a winner.
She kept that focus even now as her mom pinned up a sleeve she was repairing for the grocery store owner's daughter, who coincidentally had Mela's exact same size and build. The kid had ripped the fabric good, too, forcing Trish to make an entirely new sleeve. She hoped this favor would soften to owner's heart enough to give them a discount on tomatoes.
"No man, just...no." Trish leaned ever so slightly in the direction her husband's voice originated from. While her focus was on the clothes at hand, she also split of her attention to the developing conversation in the other room.
"And why not?" that deeper yet melodic voice was undoubtedly Giorno's, conveying his confusion well enough that Trish could practically hear his eyebrow raising.
"It's just that….mmmm," she could already tell Narancia was going to have an uphill battle with this. Considering what she had heard her friend describe, it would be hard to shake him of his habits for this particular situation. Mela's face scrunched up, holding back an obvious sneeze but not wanting to lose the "game". Trish readied her handkerchief.
"It's ok for the mannequin to sneeze now," before she could catch her daughter's blast of air and snot in her cloth, Mela's own habit kicked in and her arm sprung to her face, catching the sneeze in the sleeve Trish had been working on. Mela didn't realize the mistake until her mother's horrified expression fully set in. The three year old looked at the damp sleeve and then back at her mother.
"Oopsie."
Trish held in to scream at all her work now being reduced to nil. Yes, this was a set back but at least not irreparable. As if the universe heard her flickers of hope, the pins all came undone and the tightly and precisely put together sleeve felt apart into rolls of fabric. Trish's eye twitched a little.
"Ok," she said unsteadily, "I think...we can forfeit the game now."
"Did I win?" Mela looked up at her mom with hope in her eyes.
"Well...no one won."
"Dang it." the girl flopped her stiff arms down in disappointment.
"Well ya see," Narancia finally started talking again, "it's...acceptable," he put strain on the word like an audio highlighter, "to gather personal info, relationships and records on a person you need more knowledge about when it comes to mafia business, ya know? Gotta make sure this capo, soldato, or a partner doesn't wanna stab you in the back and all that." Narancia took a deep breath and exhaled, syncing with Trish finally pulling the ruined shirt off her daughter, "Not your citizen girlfrie-"
"There was no prior intimate relationship with her before the…copulation." Giorno tried to keep himself as PG as possible even while cutting off Narancia. A beat went by and then another as Mela, freed from the clothed confines and the game, ran out of Trish's sewing room and through the living room to retrieve her unfinished masterpieces of Spongebob coloring books.
Trish hung her work in progress up on a hanger, resigning to come back to this repair later. Besides, she was splitting her attention between two things. She might have prevented the dirtying of the fabric if she had been spryer and more attentive on Mela's automatic actions, but, in all honesty, Trish found it hard to tear herself away from the situation her friend and husband's boss was in.
Trish walked into the living room/dining room to make herself some tea and just so HAPPENING to listen in on the conversation. Mela had already taken her rightful books, collecting her crayons and colored pencils to take to her room. Despite being such a young kid, Mela learned quick that whenever her Papa and Tio Gio were in the same room together and Papa had his "Work Face" (as she had dubbed it) on, she was to leave them alone and find something else to do, quietly, in her room if her mom didn't need her.
Now free, she skittered up the stairs with her belongings to leave the adult work to the adults. Once his beloved baby girl was out of earshot, Narancia continued as Trish filled the tea kettle.
"Ok, so...just a hookup then?" Giorno curtly nodded.
"Yes, she was." Narancia pursed his lips, breathing in a deep gulp of air.
"Well...aww geez, man. This would be easier to give you advice on if this was, like, a relationship you were and you two could talk it out or something. It does explain a bit why you wanna find more info on her. You still shouldn't, though."
"I will admit, now, that my initial plans of info gathering were quite excessive-"
"They were creepy to even consider, Gio."
"And I realize that now that you've brought me down from my business line of thinking."
The kettle started the whine as the steam shot out of the spout, indicating the water was sufficiently boiled. After two or three seconds of deliberation, Trish decided that black tea would be the best option to go with. Although Giorno had said he wanted to just talk to Narancia in the call last night, she already knew he would turn to her at some point for her thoughts on the matter. She never minded this, though, and neither did Narancia. They both cared for and loved Giorno like family, even through the ever-growing distance, but knew that even with his intelligence and perceptiveness...he needed quite a bit of help in a few areas. Scratch that, many areas.
"I'm glad that you talked to me first before diving head first into THAT," Narancia shook his head, "but I dunno what to do about your whole call stuff," now THIS Trish did not tune in to. She sat next to her husband, mug of hot tea in her hand. Despite having such a tall stature even when sitting down, Giorno seemed to shrink slightly at this. It looked like...guilt? Shame? A combination of the both? Whatever it was, regret was clear in Giorno's mannerisms.
"Yes, err, that...was not my proudest moment..." it was surprising to hear Giorno's voice actually trail off to a small murmur.
"Well I mean like...it could have gone worse, ya know? Like, from what you told me, it sounds like you just wanted to be sure and she kinda overreacted a tad. Probably. Maybe." a beat of silence goes by, "Hey, I wasn't there and I also have no idea who this girl is.
"Though if you dicked her down real good, I doubt the swimmers from any other guys would have caught up in time," Trish was mid sip of the hot tea and the sage comment from her husband made her sputter hard and have some of the heated tea blow out her nose. Giorno looked down, embarrassed to be hearing this, but said nothing in response. Narancia threw his hands up.
"Just saying."
"That's...a theory, for sure. But as I said before, I want to be cautious about this as I don't have a good feeling about this woman."
"And why not?" Trish finally felt the need to pipe up and ask her burning question.
"From what I gathered about her-"
"Hold up, I thought you didn't spy on her yet?" Narancia leaned forward with hints of doubt.
"I meant what I gathered about her from my interactions directly with Jolyne."
"Ohhhh, my bad, my bad."
"As I was saying, from what I've seen of her," Giorno paused and took in a deep breath before he continued. As if he was anticipating lashing back from what he was about to say next, "she seems too loose and wild for motherhood."
Trish's brow and Narancia nibbled on his lower lip. As if they were telekinetically connected, the couple could already feel that this reasoning was not from a close assessment of the woman. No, it was…much more intimate. Perhaps it was the way Giorno hesitated on answering, anticipating that what he would say would be inflammatory or opinionated enough to gain dissent.
"I…ok, that's a valid reason for concern," Trish set her tea to the side, "but you also have to consider…that all you know about her was a few hours of…that and some chit chat."
"Trish, please-"
"Giorno, I'm serious. Like, I know you want to be there for the baby, but at the same time you don't trust her despite knowing nothing about her. Shouldn't you at least give her more of a chance?" Giorno didn't reply at first, unable to look her and Narancia in the eyes even.
"I…just cannot take any risks with this situation. All I want is to make sure this child, MY child, doesn't end up like…ummm, badly." His jaw tightened and knuckles blanched from his clenching. He almost let something slip out…
"So what are you gonna do about it?" Narancia popped back in, "you wanna take care of the kid yourself, cool, cool, but you also don't wanna interact or really work with the baby momma." Narancia threw his hands up, "I don't know how you can have both, man."
The absence of anything sound only made the question feel heavier. Narancia and Trish really did want to help Giorno, in any way they could, but with what he wanted, they weren't too sure how to go about it.
"…I," Giorno got up, pushing his chair back into place, "I am sorry to have bothered you."
"I'm sorry to bother you."
Pearl huffed and turned to her daughter.
"Jolyne, don't give me that. You ALMOST fell right into the washing machine!"
Her daughter, leaning against the box of metal she had almost dropped on to a few seconds ago, rapped her fingers against the machine's lid but dared not talk back to her mother now. And she shouldn't! Pearl had made it explicitly clear when the vertigo started to kick in for her daughter to not overwork or carry any heavy loads. She herself had tested fate when carrying Jolyne and attempted many times to lug her textbooks and paperwork by herself. If it wasn't for her ex-husband's concern wrapped in a stoic package, she definitely would have hurt herself. And here was Jolyne trying to go on about that stubbornness too. Well, apple doesn't fall too far from the tree, Pearl thought to herself.
The laundry room was a small thing, thinned even more by shelves to the left and machines to the right when you came in. If more than one person where to go in, they'd have to line up single file. A tactical advantage for the woman as Jolyne would have to jump over the dryer to escape her mother. And with her motherly pout and hands on her hips, she was a wall that wouldn't let Jolyne slip out and try to ignore the issue.
"Come on, mom, it was only just a LITTLE dizziness. And I was HOLDING ON to the washer, not falling." Jolyne protested.
"My eyes don't lie, Jojo. You KNOW you're not supposed to carry heavy loads right now."
"Heavy?" Jolyne sniffed at this, "Ma, it's a basket of clothes."
"A HEAVY basket with a LARGE amount of clothes." Pearl pointed to the basket she left on top of the dryer. It truly was a big pile of dirty clothes, a mix of everyone's in the house.
"But it's still clothes. Literal cotton and fabric." the younger woman sighed and held her head in her hand. Pearl jumped to action, worrying the vertigo was kicking in again.
"Jojo, please, you need to let yourself rest more. For the baby."
"Jo." Jolyne mumbled. Pearl's forehead wrinkled in confusion.
"Excuse me?" Jolyne pushed her posture up straight, wobbling a little.
"Their name is Jo. Like...Jojo. Cause I don't have a name for them, but it's definitely gonna start with Jo."
"...Uh huh," Pearl's response came off nonchalant and dismissive but...it was more of a stupor from shock. Egh, she shouldn't ask why now, she needed to make sure Jolyne would lay down while dizzy, even if she had to chain her down. Rolling her sleeves up and with a quick scoop, she picked her daughter up and marched out of the laundry room. Jolyne took a second to react, the speed of her mom's carry catching her off guard.
"M-mom!" Jolyne wiggled like an ensnared weasel, fruitless in her small mother's bear trap arms.
"Hush, Jojo," Pearl cooed. Once in the living room, she lightly placed Jolyne on the couch laying down. While her daughter was extremely less than enthusiastic about her mother overpowering her, Pearl ignored the pouty expression being shot at her.
"I just wanted to help, damn it…" Jolyne looked away from her mom after a beat or two, crossing her arms loosely.
"It would be a bigger help for me if I know you're taking care of yourself and not trying to push your body." Pearl seated herself on the arm of the couch, perched nice and snuggly. Really, all she ever wanted for her daughter was to know that she would be fine and well. The last few months had shaken up and strained and chewed on that desire, from the prison, the priest and now…the pregnancy. A rollercoaster of feelings, physical and emotional, for everyone, but especially Jolyne who seemed to be the center of all of these. Pearl would be damned if she let her daughter get strung apart anymore, especially considering what she heard about that call last night…
" 'Take care of yourself'…" Jolyne mocked, "that just means you wanting me to sit around all day and not lift a finger for anything that isn't stuff like putting dishes away or folding clothes."
"But that IS doing things."
"Doing bullshit, that's what it is…" Jolyne blew a raspberry and buried her head between a pair of colorful and dubiously tasteful throw pillows. Pearl placed a supporting hand on Jolyne's knee, not dissuaded by her daughter lightly trying to shake it away.
"It's not that. Have you forgotten the kid gestating in your belly right now? Jo?" this managed to get stillness and silence from Jolyne.
"And no one thinks you're worthless or a burden because everyone KNOWS about your sensitive situation."
"And?" Jolyne groans, "And? You think I, of all people, don't know that? How I now have a much bigger responsibility now that I'm truly all on my own?"
"But you're not on your own-"
"YES. I. AM." Jolyne pushed her face deeper into one of the pillows, twirling to lay on her side and jut her mom's hand from her knee. Pearl inhaled slowly through her nose, pinching her brow. Maybe…she wasn't taking the best route with this talk. She thought she was being supportive and persuasive enough but her of all people had underestimated her daughter's stubbornness.
"…Look," Jolyne peeked a bit from the cushion, voice slightly muffled, "Mom…I know you care immensely about me and Jo. And…letting me live with you even while I can't work or go to school and got all the OTHER issues…I'm grateful for that, but…" her lithe fingers crunched the pillow in her closing grip, "I can't LIVE off of you, I can't let you raise MY kid when you've already got your hands full."
"Jolyne," Pearl's tone was soft, disarming, "you keep thinking that you HAVE to be a single mother, that you HAVE to take this burden on your own…not that I'm saying Jo is a burden." Pearl hastily added the correction on after realizing her implication. Smooth moves, she harshly thought to herself. Jolyne didn't say anything, only letting the pillow on her face go, slowly falling onto the floor.
"I know, Ma," the younger woman simply replied, "I know. And I know you have my best interest at heart and don't want me to break...again, but seriously think about this," her arm protectively snaked around her rounded abdomen, "this kid has no fault or culpability or even WANTED to get this far in life. They never had a hand or anything into them soon being thrusted into the world. That lies on ME. I was the one who went out and had drunk unprotected sex, I was the one who was irresponsible and...I just need to take culpability of that. I need to make sure Jo is the most cared for, well fed, spoiled kid in America."
"Mmmm, maybe not have them TOO well fed or spoiled." Jolyne replied with a simple but effective roll of her green eyes.
"Aww, you know what I mean. Either way, with no more...him," they both knew who "him" was without even elaborating on it, "I cannot let myself fall into 'woah is me' blubbering or anything like that. I just gotta...keep moving and not look back." Jolyne paused, letting a large amount of the seemingly heavy air fill her lungs, "because if I do, I might just cry."
Giorno never cried. In front of other. Or even by himself. But God, did he feel like doing that right now.
The midday sun hung like an uncovered bulb in the sky, casting everything across a flat surface with dwarfish shadows. Even standing at 6'5 now, Giorno's shadow only barely stuck out no more than a stump. He was spending enough time looking down at the ground to take these details in. Taking the backstreets home from the Ghirga residence, the Napoli cobblestone streets, familiar to him as an animal is to their habitat, the absence of people around him felt very very...good. Even with the building walls around him, he felt like he finally had some room to breathe.
Which was a gladly welcomed thing considering how his fear was suffocating him.
And it was an intense, winding fear, twisting around like Giorno's own personal tapeworm down deep in his stomach. Giorno was uncertain, the situation out of his hands and control at this point. When Jolyne had called the man and dropped the news onto him, that more logical part of him wanted to grasp onto that control, safely have it gripped between his fingers. And he had thought he could get this grip with asking Narancia and Trish for advice but now...he just felt more lost and floating far from shore.
This whole...everything was so alien for Giorno. Never in a thousand years would he have expected this sort of situation to occur, where none of the knowledge he gained throughout the years would be of any help. Yet at the same time, in seeking advice from the only people he could trust with such sensitive information, being told that he couldn't put up a front or really safely retreat behind his charisma and public perception…it was near incomprehensible.
"Hey hey hey," Narancia sprang up from his own chair as Giorno was about to leave, "Don't you leave like that, man." He marched stiffly over to Giorno, his small stature made up for by his pure determination. Face to face (or more like face to chest), Narancia looked up at Giorno. "I'm not saying that having the ideal stuff, wanting to make sure the kiddo is all good and stuff, is impossible. I'm just saying...the way you're doing things," Narancia gesticulated his hands as if marking off a separate area, "is different from whatcha actually gotta do. Which is...being normal."
Normal...normal, what did that mean? Giorno knew his normal was different from Jolyne's normal but this was the first time in forever that his worldview was challenged for him to not think in those terms. It really made him think. Think about how he was truly...warped. His time in the mafia had changed him surely, not better or worse, he could not be sure, just different. Not even Narancia, who had been in the business longer, could give him an answer on being "normal", merely knowing that he and the job choice, life choice, he was in ha-
Giorno's train of thought grinded to a stop when at the end of the alley he had traversed through, leading to a straight shot to his home, was a smaller figure, stance solid yet tinted with frustration, stood smack in the middle of the opening. Ahh, Sheila.
"You ditched me! Again!" the indignity in her voice completely softened any of the fire in her tone to a more manageable heat.
"Ahh, my apologies Sheila," Giorno straightened his posture immediately, snapping right back into Don of Passione mode, "I had business to attend to," Sheila crossed her arms, scrupulous to her boss' excuse.
"Without me?"
"Personal business." Giorno appended. Sheila said nothing as she knew well enough NOT to intrude on that area. She instead kicked away a half-broken bottle on the ground, hands shoved in her pockets. Despite having Sheila as his bodyguard, their relationship was a bit, ever so slightly, slated to one side. Sheila admired Giorno, was attached to him practically. Good traits for a body guard, not very good when her jealousy spurred up whenever Giorno was around other people, aka, his friends.
"Uh," Sheila noticed herself doing this childish action and clicked her legs back into place, "don't want you to step on any glass."
"Hm, how thoughtful of you, Sheila,"
"Anything for you, boss. Now come on, you shouldn't be skulking around places like this." in a swift movement, twin pigtails trailing behind like two flags, Sheila had grasped Giorno's in her own and like an impatient little dog was leading her master instead of the other way around. Giorno could have gotten home on his own but seeing as he had decided to simply disappear from the extremely protective girl (why did he keep calling her that, she was 22 at this point), he felt like he shouldn't spurn her off anymore.
...was...was this was what Narancia meant by being "normal"? As in, right now, the fact he considered having his bodyguard lead him around because he left her to dry to be completely normal...having a bodyguard in the first place was an oddity for 99% of the population but for him it was just everyday considering how much danger lurked around every corner in his life.
Narancia did have a point. He was weird, he was disconnected from how the world worked. Why else would this situation be jolting his brain, practically starting a mini breakdown in his system. As Sheila kept an eye out and intimidated all
Giorno had a feeling on what he needed to do now. He needed to confront what made him afraid, what felt so far off and scary because of the unknown factor.
He had to talk to Jolyne again.
"Ma'am, please, I'm fine now, I just wanna go out and see Jolyne again!"
Nancy, eyes weighed down from the bags hanging from her lower lids, had no patience for the patient trying to escape his restraints once again.
"Sir," she tried holding her bitchiness back. Save it for another day, Nancy thought, he's not worth, "how are you going to let your spinal cord and organs heal properly if you keep moving around.
The patient, Narciso, was a tangle of casts and bandages. Though he was more mummified months ago when he first was admitted to the Speedwagon funded/controlled hospital, he was still in no condition to be in this state of thrashing. His pink hair flailed around as he fruitlessly tried loosening the restraints. Not like he would have needed them if he didn't stop fucking moving around like everything was ok.
"Bah, forget that!" he growled, "I just have...a really, really, REALLY bad feeling right now and I need to make su-OH SWEET JESUS" and just like that, his stitching was undone. Again. Nancy's smoke break couldn't come sooner.
