24. Vinnie

24

VINNIE

B efore Michael and Savannah came along, it was just me and Mom. Those were the days I remember best, the days when it felt like we were a team, just the two of us against the world. Dad was hardly ever home.

I woke up every morning to the smell of coffee and the sound of Mom humming in the kitchen. She had—still has—a soft voice, the kind that wraps around you like a warm blanket. I would always find her standing by the stove instructing the cook about what to make for breakfast.

“Morning, sweetie,” she’d say.

I’d run up to her, hugging her around the waist, and she’d lift me into her arms and set me on her hip. I’d eat my pancakes—my favorite—and then I’d give her a sticky maple-syrup kiss on her cheek.

After breakfast, we’d head out for our daily adventures. Mom would take me to the park, where we’d spend hours playing. I’d climb the jungle gym while she watched, her eyes never leaving me. She’d cheer every time I made it to the top, clapping her hands and calling me her little champion. We’d sit on the bench afterward and share a chocolate chip cookie.

Our afternoons were filled with stories. We had this giant recliner, and I’d curl up next to her with my head on her lap. She’d read to me, her voice taking on different characters, bringing each story to life. Sometimes, she’d make up stories, weaving tales of dragons and knights, always making me the hero who saved the day.

On rainy days, we’d build forts out of blankets and pillows in the living room. Mom would crawl in with me, and we’d pretend it was our castle. We’d spend hours in there, playing games, drawing pictures, and just being together. She’d always make me feel like the king of our little world.

At night, Mom would tuck me into bed, kissing my forehead and whispering goodnight. She’d leave the door ajar, letting a sliver of light in from the hallway. I’d fall asleep to the sound of her softly humming. I felt safe and loved.

Those days with Mom were my favorite. Later, after Mikey and Savannah were born, I’d get a nanny, but before then, Mom and I had our own little bubble, a world where it was just us. Those memories of just me and Mom are the ones I hold closest to my heart. They’re the ones that remind me of how special our bond is, even as our family grew.

One time, when I was about thirteen years old, after Michael and Savannah had come along, Mom admitted to me that I was her favorite.

I was shocked, to be honest. She and Savannah seemed to have a special bond. They would do their mother-daughter things that Mikey and I weren’t part of. Not that we wanted to be a part of them.

But once Mikey came along, the bubble that Mom and I had seemed to burst. He was a particularly cranky baby, and he took up a lot of her time. I started spending more and more time with the nanny, and as I got older, my father.

Looking back, I realize that he was beginning to groom me for work with the family.

Savannah was a good baby. And such a cutie, with chubby cheeks and a perpetual smile on her face.

I always thought she was Mom’s favorite.

But one day when I was home from school sick, Mom told me I was.

I remember lying on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, my head pounding and my throat sore. Mom brought me a bowl of chicken soup, just the way I liked it, with extra noodles and a dash of pepper. She sat down next to me and brushed my hair back from my forehead.

“You know, you’ve always been special to me,” she said softly.

I looked up at her, confused. “What do you mean, Mom?”

She smiled, a bit wistfully. “You were my first. The one who made me a mother. We had so much time together, just you and me. Those memories are precious to me.”

“But what about Savannah?” I asked, my voice a little hoarse. “You two are so close.”

“We are,” she admitted. “And I love her dearly. But that doesn’t change how I feel about you. You and I have a bond that’s different. Unique.”

I stared at her, processing her words. “So, I’m your favorite?”

She laughed softly and then looked me directly in the eyes. “Yes, Vinnie. You’re my favorite. But if you say those words to your brother or your sister, I will deny them.”

It felt like a secret, something just between us. In that moment, despite the ache in my head and the sickness in my stomach, a warmth spread through me. It was like a piece of that old bubble was still there, just for us.

From that day on, whenever I saw Mom with Savannah or taking care of Mikey, I remembered her words. It didn’t matter if we didn’t have as much time alone anymore. That special bond we had, the one we built when it was just the two of us, was still there, strong and unbreakable.

And every time I saw that twinkle in her eye when she looked at me, I knew she remembered too. Even when she was busy with my siblings, even when life got chaotic, I knew I held a special place in her heart.

It gave me strength, knowing that no matter what happened, no matter how much things changed, I would always be her favorite. That was enough to carry me through the toughest of times.

And times were tough. Leaving my mother and my siblings was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I never should have left. I missed seventeen years with my mother…and now she’s lying on an operating table, her chest split open, with doctors cutting at her heart.

I sit in the sterile waiting room, the harsh fluorescent lights making everything look even colder than it already feels. My legs are bouncing up and down, a nervous habit I can’t seem to control right now. I stare at the wall, trying to make sense of everything. It’s been hours, and each tick of the clock feels like a hammer striking my chest.

When Mom told me I was her favorite, it felt like she gave me a piece of her heart to hold on to, something just for us. And now, that heart is on the line, fragile and exposed.

I think back to the times I spent with Dad, learning the ropes of the family business. Those moments were supposed to prepare me for the future, but now they just feel like a distraction from what really matters. I remember the nights spent in the study, Dad teaching me about deals and negotiations while Mom was upstairs with Mikey, trying to soothe him. It felt like I was being pulled in two directions, my heart torn between my responsibilities and my longing for those simpler times with Mom.

The waiting room is filled with other anxious faces, each person wrapped in their own worries, their own fears. I feel so alone, even though we’re all here together. Savannah’s head is on Falcon’s shoulder, and I can see he’s whispering soothing words to her. The nurses at the desk murmur softly to each other, occasionally glancing our way with sympathetic eyes.

I close my eyes and try to focus on my breathing, but all I can think about is the way Mom used to sing to me when I was little. Her voice was soft and sweet, a lullaby that could chase away any nightmare. I wish she could sing to me now, tell me that everything will be okay.

Time is suspended. An hour could have passed, or a day. I rub at the headache behind my eyes when?—

“Mr. Gallo? Ms. Gallo?”

I jerk abruptly into a stand. “Yes? How is our mother?”

The doctor—I don’t remember his name—smiles. “She’s stable. The surgery went well. She’s in recovery now, and you’ll be able to see her soon.”

Relief floods through me, and my knees go weak. I sink back into the chair. Savannah weeps in Falcon’s arms.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Falcon says. “Thank you so much.”

As I wait for the moment I can see her, I hold onto the hope that Mom and I will have more time together. More moments, more memories, more love. Because no matter what happens, I’ll always be her favorite, and she’ll always be mine.