Lasagna

Vinny Vitale

Jimmy is in his own fuckin' world next to me. He's got those stupid pink headphones on—the ones that take up half his head—and he's rapping Post Malone better than Post Malone. We're walking down the streets of Brooklyn and people are starin at this kid like he is heavily medicated. Sometimes, when people give Jimmy looks, I'll give em a what can you do shrug. Other times I sing along with him when I know the songs. But Jimmy is fuckin good at rapping, so I mostly just listen. He has one of those singing-rapping voices so even Gram likes the kinda music he sings.

He turns and walks up to my doorstep like he's been doin every day for the past three weeks. It's a routine we have now. Jimmy and I go to school. Jimmy and I walk home from school while he tunes me out with his music. Jimmy and I eat Pop Tarts at my kitchen table with my family. Jimmy and I take turns choosing something to do for the day. He goes home. Rest. Repeat. It keeps him outta that stupid boyfriend's house, and I know he's thankful for my family and a place to go.

Who am I fuckin' kidding?

I love it. I LOVE IT. Jimmy. Jimmy. Jimmy. James fuckin' Carver.

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It's Saturday. I just woke up, so I'm doing pull ups from the bar that hangs in me and Tony's doorway. Saturday routine.

Suddenly, I hear salsa music playing. My ma starts squealing downstairs. I know that squeal. It's her Jimmy squeal. She adores him.

I fall from the bar and take the steps two at a time to get to the kitchen. They're not there, but the salsa music is still playing, and there's still squealing. I open the door at the back of the kitchen. There they are, in my dad's office. There's a boombox on his desk, and Jimmy's wearing nothing but a pair of athletic shorts. My mom is in a leopard print leotard and pink tights—an outfit she usually saves for her pilates class. Jimmy has his skinny ass arms in the air and he's waving them back and forth. Next to him, ma is doing the same fuckin' thing.

"What tha hell is goin on in here?"

James gives me this adorable goofy grin. I force myself not to look at his hips—which are viciously sexual. And exposed.

"I'm teaching your mom how to dance!"

Ma starts swishing her hips like Jimmy. "Look at me, Vin! I'm swishing!"

"Yeah ma," I feel like I've just run out of air.

"Come dance, Vin!" I hate when Jimmy calls me Vin. It makes me feel fuckin' love sick. Like a girl.

"I got shit to do," I tell him, but my heart isn't in it. I stand in the doorway and watch.

"Oh yeah?" James raises one eyebrow like he knows I can't take my eyes off him. "Doesn't look like it, handsome." He winks at me. And I turn right around and shut that door. It takes me like three days  to recover.

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James has a new friend. Some kid from fuckin' music class. Of course.

His name is Kyle. He plays the electric guitar and wants James to sing with him on Fun Friday. I want to vomit. I watch them flutzing around in the corner in ape music. James looks giddy. 

"Kyle is trouble," I say to Jimmy one day on our walk home. He's got his headphones on so he doesn't respond.  Since he won't hear me, I say: "If he fuckin' makes a move on you, I swear to god, I'll kill him."

Before he leaves my house that day, he calls out to me. "Oh, and Vin?"

I pop my head back in through the doorway that leads upstairs. "Yeah?"

"Don't worry about Kyle. He's straight."

This sentence keeps me up for weeks. 

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It's 3:30 in the morning. My bedroom door opens.

"Vin?"

I sit up immediately. "James, what's wrong?"

The light in the hallway is on, so I can see his silhouette. He shakes his head, then walks towards my bed. "Mom's boyfriend," he says.

"Fuckin A. Get in."

I move over enough for Jimmy to fit, but barely. He sighs deeply when he curls his back against my chest.

In the morning, we say nothin about it. I walk downstairs to find him eating a bowl of Cheerios at the kitchen table. I pour myself some and sit across from him.

When he finishes, he puts his bowl in the sink. Before he walks out the front door, he leans down and places a fuckin' kiss on my fuckin' cheek. "See you at school," he says. I physically can not say anything back.

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Jimmy spends Christmas Eve at our house. He's part of the family, ma says. Caramellino, Gram calls him. Meaning little caramel, because of his hair. Dad gets him a gift—a Vitale Family Bakery shirt. Special edition just for him. Jimmy has tears in his eyes the whole day. I keep an arm around his shoulder so he doesn't cry.

"James," I ask him later that night when it's just the two of us sitting in the family room. The lights are out, but the Christmas tree is lit up. "You think your ma wants to come over tomorrow? Spend Christmas with us?"

Jimmy shakes his head. He doesn't tell me much about his mom. Or the fuckin' boyfriend. Or what happened that morning at 3:30. I've only been to his apartment once. "No. Thanks, Vin. I should go home."

We both stand up, and before he can leave I act on an impulse and I pull him into a giant bear hug. He sighs. "I love Vitale hugs," he says, his voice smushed by my chest. "But yours are the best." I ruffle his hair when he pulls away from me. "I don't get them enough."

His comment makes me blush for some strange reason. "I'll keep that in mind, kid," I tell him.

Again, for the second time since we've been friends, he reaches up and kisses me on the cheek. I've always thought of him as this lanky, awkward goofball. But when he kisses me, he's delicate. He's porcelain.

"Night," he says, leaving me alone in the family room.

"Merry Christmas, Carver." I touch my cheek.

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