7. Gianni

Chapter seven

Gianni

Sunday, February 16, 2025

P ickles drags me around the neighborhood on our walk before we head to my parents’ place for Sunday dinner.

I pull up to the brownstone and grab Pickles from the trunk bed, heading inside.

The entryway hall feels particularly dark today. I drag my eyes up the wall, noting the way the ancient wallpaper is peeling at the seams before my eyes land on the intricate lamp. A bulb is blown out. I’ll have to remember to fix that before I leave.

My dad claps a hand over my shoulder, squeezing it in greeting as I pass through the kitchen and into the living room.

My eyes land on Kat sitting out on the patio. I head out there with Pickles, and Tank is hot on our heels.

Her dark hair is pulled up into a messy bun on the top of her head, and dark circles line her light-brown eyes. She looks up at me from over her shoulder and plasters a small, closed-lip smile on her face. It doesn’t meet her eyes like it normally would, and my heart starts to sink as worry rears its ugly head.

My gaze flicks to Pickles and Tank, who streak through the yard, blissfully unaware of the somber mood we’re both in.

I pull out a rusty patio chair from beside her, the metal legs scraping against the concrete and sending chills down my spine.

Kat shoves her hand in her back pocket, pulling out a coin and setting it down on the table. “Penny for your thoughts, Gi?” she asks as her lips turn up in a little grin that does nothing to tame my anxiety.

I shake my head, having no interest in talking about myself. Especially not when she’s clearly dealing with something. “You first. Looks like you’ve got more on your mind than I do today.”

She lets out a long sigh, propping her feet up on the chair beside her and leaning back. She closes her eyes and places her hands in her lap, fiddling with the thin gold chain of her bracelet. “There isn’t really anything wrong. The week just wore me down, and I’m finding it hard to repress the anxiety today,” she answers honestly.

I nod. “You wanna talk about your week? Maybe get it off your chest?” I ask her, sounding like Dante for a moment.

“If you don’t mind,” she says, glancing at me quickly before closing her eyes again.

“Not at all,” I tell her, and that’s all it takes. We sit there for a half hour, the sun setting and the air growing more frigid with every passing minute. She recounts her week, every patient she lost, all the anxiety she’s been feeling, and how her therapist is out of the office for vacation, but she didn’t want to bother Dante about it. I’m glad she felt she could trust me with this information, and her shoulders seem to carry a little less after she’s gotten it off her chest .

“Your turn,” she says to me, her eyes a little brighter than they had been when I first sat down.

My head jerks back, my eyes wide. Absolutely not.

I don’t tend to tell people about my problems or feelings. It’s not that I think no one would care; that isn’t the case. It’s actually the opposite. I know my family cares desperately, and that alone is so damn overwhelming. I’m blessed to have a family who loves me unconditionally and makes it their mission in life to show it day in and day out, but that just makes the reality of being so fucking sad all the time even more grim. It’s as if I’m not only carrying my own grief and frustrations but pieces of theirs as well.

And as Kat just said, she’s got a lot going on. I’d feel guilty adding to that.

“I’m fine, Kat. Thanks though,” I say, giving her a tight-lipped smile and swallowing down the lump forming in my throat.

She shakes her head slowly as she stares out into the yard at the dogs now lying in the soggy, cold mud, panting.

“Do you know what fine stands for?” she asks, her eyes challenging as they narrow, pinning me to my seat. I shake my head in denial, my stomach rolling at the inflection of her words.

She stares straight at me as if looking directly into the deepest, most well-hidden pieces of my soul. The next words to leave her mouth have me reeling. My head spins as nausea claws up my throat. “Freaked out. Insecure. Neurotic. And emotional.” She pauses with each word, enunciating every syllable so they have time to seat themselves in my brain.

I feel like the breath has been stolen from my lungs as I stare back at her, my eyes trained down the barrel of a loaded gun. “So, Gi, are you fine ?”

And the hits just keep on coming.

I stand abruptly, the legs of the metal chair scraping under me as I move frantically, turning to the sliding glass door. I wrench it open and call for Pickles to follow me in. Kat grabs my wrist, releasing me quickly, but tells me in a hushed tone, “I’m sorry I pushed you too far, Gi, but please, talk to someone. I’m worried.” Her eyes are brimming with tears, and I feel like I’ve got a frog in my throat to accompany the ten-ton elephant sitting on my chest. I give her a tight nod and head inside, fleeing to the bathroom.

***

My knuckles are white as I grip the edge of the sink, my head sagging against my chest while I work to calm my ragged breathing.

A light knock raps against the door. I straighten my spine, dragging a deep, steadying breath in. I open it, finding Kat’s small frame standing there, her eyes filled with regret.

She rushes me, not giving me a moment to recover as her arms wind around my waist, her head falling to the center of my chest. Squeezing my eyes tightly shut, I drag a hand down her hair, trying my best to soothe my soon-to-be sister-in-law. “I’m sorry, Gi. You didn’t want to talk to me, and I shouldn’t have pushed you, but you need to talk to someone,” she pleads with me through her apology. I feel her tears seep into my black T-shirt. I feel like a monster for making this sweet woman upset, but she’s right. She had pushed me too far.

“Kat, I’m okay , I promise,” I tell her, my heart doing somersaults in my chest at how easily the lie falls off my tongue, though I know I’m not fooling anyone. 1 I see it in their dull eyes every time someone asks me if I’m okay.

She unwinds her arms from my waist, straightening before she pulls away. Her amber eyes peer straight into mine, and I know she’s about to deliver yet another blow to my already fragile psyche. Her bottom lip wavers as she blows out a breath. “You’re getting so good at that,” she tells me, her voice sounding watery. “If I didn’t know you, I’d almost believe it,” she says, her voice so small I barely hear her.

I take another long inhale, looking up at the ceiling as I clench my fists tightly at my sides. “I really can’t do this, Kat,” I tell her, my eyes brimming with hot, unshed tears. My throat feels like it’s closing in on itself, and I barely get the next words out. “I’m begging you not to make me,” I plead with her, my throat constricting as I choke out the words.

She grasps my hand in her two smaller ones, keeping her eyes trained on me as she delivers what I fucking hope is the last bruising blow to my soul for the night. “I know you miss him, Gi, but he wouldn’t want you wallowing in misery like this. He’d want you to talk to someone.” She squeezes my hand tightly, my eyes dragging down to it as her words sink in. Words I know to be true, but somehow, I can’t seem to let them take root just yet.

“Just give me some more time, Kat. I’m just not ready,” I tell her, exhaustion seeping into me.

She gives me a small nod, her eyes glossy, and it breaks my heart. I know she wants what’s best for me. I know they all do, but I just can’t do any more than I already am right now.

Ever since the accident, it’s been nearly impossible to leave my bed, let alone to rehash the entire thing to a complete stranger, over and over and over.

She pulls out of my grasp, heading downstairs to the kitchen. Dinner should be ready any minute, but I’ve officially lost my appetite.

1. I'm Not Okay (I Promise) – My Chemical Romance