this writing contains mentions of alcohol
“I don’t really get Italians and their wines.”
Ignazio pauses mid pour. He weighs Kid’s words on his tongue, taking note of of his smug expression and cheshire cat-like smile. Playful. That was the tone of today.
Ignazio continued pouring, clicking his tongue. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t have married one.”
“S’not like I had a choice,” Kid says, taking the wine glass. “I was forced. At gun point!”
“I’m so sure.”
Kid snickers and takes a big gulp. Ignazio sort of frowns as he sits.
“Bontà grazia, Kid, slow down. This is your first sip of alcohol, yes? Enjoy it.”
It was the eve of Kid’s 21st birthday. They were sitting on the terrace, in old folding chairs Ignazio had found at the good will. String lights hung from over head; the leftovers of a cake ignazio had made on the small round table between them. The sun was setting over the city; it had been, overall, a very good birthday.
Kid swirls his drink in his glass. Looking deep in thought.
Ignazio picks up on it. He lowers his glass from his lips, raising a dark brow.
“Something wrong?” He asks.
“I’ve been thinking…”
“Well that never goes well.”
Kid kicks him playfully under the table. Ignazio smirks.
“For real,” Kid says, in a surprisingly serious voice. “I’ve been thinking… I’m 21 now… ‘Kid’ doesn’t exactly fit anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
Kid sighs. “I mean. It’s like…” He looks as if he were struggling to find the right words, swirling his wine quietly. “… I want a new name.”
“Yah! Something cool and like. Awesome? That fits me?”
“Neither of those adjectives fit you.”
Another soft kick. Ignazio smiles.
“What’s brought this on?” Ignazio asks Kid, setting his glass down.
Kid lowers his eyes. “It’s just that… all my life, I’ve been like. Stuck with this nickname. Because nobody ever bothered to give me a real one,” He tells him. “It’s lame… who’s gonna take seriously an adult named ‘Kid’? I feel stupid…”
“If you want to change your name, I don’t stop you,” Ignazio tells him. “Though it might take some adjusting.”
Kid perks. “Great! Then… how about James?”
Ignazio makes a face. “No.”
“Absolutely not,” Ignazio says sternly. “No husband of mine is running around with a name like ‘James or ‘Matthew’.”
Kid frowns. “Then what do you suggest…?”
“An Italian name,” Ignazio says. “A good, strong Italian name.”
“But I’m not italian…”
“You’re married to one. You’re son is one. You are Italian.”
“So then… What? Mario?”
“I will hit you with this wine glass, il mio amore.”
Kid smirks. “Then YOU give me a name, hot shot.”
“A name…” Ignazio repeats. He stirs his drink around between his fingers. Thinks on it for a long, hard moment.
He leans back. “Nico.”
“Nico?” Kid repeats.
“Nico,” Ignazio confirms. “Nico ‘the kid’ Martinelli. It fits, no?”
Kid plays it over in his head. “Nico…” He trails off. Smiles. “I like it.”
“Perfect,” Ignazio says. “I’m glad we have that settled.” He raises his wine glass. “To my darling husband, Nico Martinelli. May he see the rest of his birthdays in good health.”