Chapter Text
December 26th, 2015
“Yo,” Richie says, knocking a loose fist against the doorframe of Carmy’s room.
Carmy doesn’t look up. He’s been staring at a crack in his ceiling for… fuck, he doesn’t know how long. His head hurts. Maybe he should’ve had breakfast.
“What?” he says.
“Dinner,” Richie says.
“Dinner?” Carmy says, eyes narrowing, sitting up. “What dinner?”
“Dinner,” Richie repeats, like Carmy is stupid. “Remember? We’re doin’ sibling dinner tonight? Tiff is here? And Mikey’s girlfriend?”
“Oh, fuck. Right,” Carmy says, groaning, rubbing a hand across his forehead. He didn’t realize it was so late. Actually, he didn’t realize it had gotten dark out until just now.
“What the fuck do you do in here all day?” Richie asks, crossing over into Carmy’s room and looking around. “Clean freak. Do you just sit in here all day?”
“Can you please fuck off?” Carmy says, getting quickly to his feet as Richie picks up a book off his nightstand, leafing through it. “Can you please not touch that? Can you—Richie, put that down.”
“You’re so sophisticated, Carm. Fuckin’ Anthony Bourdain motherfucker.” He laughs, eyes shining.
“Can you stop?” Carmy says, grabbing the book from Richie’s hands and setting it back on his nightstand. “Go downstairs, I gotta change.”
“Change?” Richie says, “You’re dressed.”
“I wore this yesterday,” Carmy says.
Richie frowns in confusion for a second.
“You slept in your clothes?” he says.
“No,” Carmy says quickly. And it’s true. Kind of. Cause he didn’t really sleep. “Get out of my room, go do fuckin’ bong hits in your car or whatever the fuck you do on holidays when you’re not… pretending to be Italian.”
“Jebaj się,” Richie says with a false smile.
“What is that, Polish?” Carmy says. “What did you just say?”
“Nothing, nothing,” Richie says. “I’ll see you downstairs.”
Carmy scowls, waiting for Richie to walk out and close the door behind him.
“Asshole,” he mutters, quickly stripping last night’s wrinkled clothes off and pulling on a different pair of jeans and a sweater.
When he jogs down the stairs, pushing his hair hurriedly back into place, there’s a dull roar of voices from the dining room, and he can already hear a Sinatra record crackling away.
Something heavy and uncomfortable stirs in his stomach at the sound of all those people.
He rubs a hand over his sternum, trying to inhale, but his lungs feel stiff and tight.
They don’t have to invite him to things. He’s told Sugar before; he doesn’t mind staying in his room. She said that was stupid. But honestly, he’d rather be stupid in his room than stupid in front of a crowd of people.
He wonders how long it would take them to notice if he just stayed on the staircase, listening in. He could buy himself… twenty minutes, maybe, before Richie came back to ask what was taking so long.
He chews absently on the side of one thumb, irritating the cuticle he already got good and bloody yesterday night.
“Hey,” a voice says.
Carmy freezes as Mikey comes around the corner.
“How’d you know I was here?” Carmy says guiltily, lowering his bleeding thumb as discreetly as possible.
“Cause you’re fuckin’ predictable?” Mikey says with a smirk.
Carmy scoffs, unable to stop himself from smiling.
“Mind if I join for a minute?” Mikey says, taking a seat on the staircase, looking up at Carmy expectantly.
“Yeah, yeah. Go ahead,” Carmy says, sitting down next to him, wrapping one arm around his knees.
Mikey exhales, shaking his head slowly, still smiling.
“Mom’s freakin’ out on me,” he says, tilting his head toward Carmy. “What’s new there, right?”
Carmy nods, pressing his lips together to stop his anxious smile from getting any bigger.
“Dude, I’m glad you’re here,” Mikey says. “Cause like, Nat? Love her, right? But she’s so like—” He bugs his eyes out, bringing his hands up to shake frantically next to his face, miming a scream. Carmy barely holds in a laugh. Mikey scoffs fondly. “And you’re sort of like—” He lets his eyes go out of focus, staring off into the distance, nodding slowly. After a second, he looks back at Carmy. “Like, you’re doing it right now.”
“What? No,” Carmy says, cheeks burning from smiling.
“Yeah,” Mikey says, dragging out the word. “You’re chill, man. You’re like… a shark.”
“Thought I was a bear,” Carmy says.
“Nah, nah, I’m the bear,” Mikey says, “and, hey—” nudging Carmy’s knee, “—this is Richie, ready, he’s like—” He laughs before he can even start the impression, shaking his head quickly, wiping a hand over his mouth to stop smiling. “Okay, for real, ready?”
“Yeah,” Carmy says.
Mikey’s face breaks into a massive, shit-eating grin, eyes crossing slightly, brows shooting up.
A laugh tears out of Carmy’s mouth.
“Aye, stunad,” Mikey says, in a shockingly accurate imitation of Richie’s voice. “Fongool, you fuckin’ gavones.”
“Do mom,” Carmy says.
“Mom? No, no,” Mikey says, “we gotta be respectful, I couldn’t possibly do mom. I couldn’t. How could I—”
He turns his head abruptly away from Carmy, and when he turns back, his expression has shifted to their mother’s withering scowl.
“Carmen Anthony Berzatto,” he says in falsetto. “I told you diced tomatoes. What the fuck am I going to do with crushed tomatoes?”
“Oh my God, stop, it’s way too accurate,” Carmy says.
Mikey snorts, knocking his knee into Carmy’s again.
“Alright, come on tough guy,” he says. “You gotta come meet my girl. I been hyping you up all month—my baby brother, the lady killer.”’
“Shut up,” Carmy says, looking away, face flushing.
“No, I mean it, I mean it,” Mikey says, getting to his feet. “Come on, you got that blonde hair blue-eyes shit goin’ on, Neapolitan, very classy.”
“Mike, I don’t wanna crash your party,” Carmy says, quieter. “I don’t have a date, who am I gonna talk to?”
“Me, obviously,” Mikey says, immediately.
Carmy swallows hard. “What about your girl?”
“She’ll talk to you too, dude,” Mikey says, reaching out to pull Carmy to his feet, then putting a firm arm around Carmy’s shoulders. “Come on. Family dinner. Don’t take it for granted.”
“Fuck does that mean?” Carmy says.
Mikey hums in consideration, beginning to lead Carmy toward the dining room.
“Means one day soon, some girl might come and impress the shit out of you, and next thing I know, you’ll be spendin’ Christmas at her place.”
“Not likely,” Carmy says.
“No, no, I’m gonna be begging you on the phone; please, Carmen, we miss you! The ziti’s not the same without you!”
Carmy shakes his head, smiling again.
“You’re crazy,” he says.
They round a corner into the dining room and Carmy’s breath catches at the sight of the table and everybody at it.
Before he can take an inventory of everyone there, Mikey is patting him on the back and saying: “Look who it is!”
At the words, a cheer goes up from the table. Carmy’s stomach twists.
“What the fuck?” he mutters.
“What? I told ‘em to give you a warm welcome,” Mikey says, grinning. “Here, sit down.”
Carmy shakes his head, taking a seat and glancing around.
Sugar and her boyfriend (a weird skinny little nerd she met in her junior year, who everybody’s hoping she breaks up with before she graduates) are at the edge of the table. Richie and Tiffany are next to them—Richie has one arm tightly around her shoulders. And—
“You must be Carmen.”
Mikey’s new girlfriend; small, tan with dark hair, holding out a hand with perfect french-tip nails.
“Hey,” he says, “Carmy’s good.”
“I’m Mandy,” she says. “Your brother’s told me a lot of stories about you.”
“Oh, God help me,” Carmy mutters.
She smiles in surprise. “No, no,” she says, “nice stories. Mostly.”
Carmy leans back, unsure of how to respond to that, smiling as politely as he can.
Mikey sits down next to her, holding a bottle of wine from the kitchen.
“Here we go,” he says. “Let’s get started, let’s, uh— Richard, what the fuck. Are you eating?”
Richie freezes, fork halfway to his mouth.
“No,” he says.
“I just sat down!” Mikey says. “What the— you got fuckin’ lasagne hanging out of your mouth!”
“You were in the other room for like ten fuckin’ minutes! I’m hungry!” Richie says.
“Can you both watch your mouths,” Sugar says, rolling her eyes.
“You’re eighteen now, Nat, you can say fuck it’s not gonna hurt you,” Richie says.
“Fuck you, Richard,” Natalie deadpans.
“Attagirl,” Richie says, clapping his hands.
“Okay, okay, calm down,” Mikey says, “everybody, I just want to say thank you everyone for being here. Not you though, Richie.”
Richie snorts. “Classy, Bear,” he says.
“Everybody else,” Mikey says. “My beautiful family, all our new partners, we’re very lucky to be here. Let’s have many, many more of these nights. Mangiamo.”
“Thank God,” Richie says, shoving a forkful of lasagne into his mouth.
“You’re such a wise guy,” Mandy tells Mikey, pinching his cheek. He grins.
It’s weird.
Carmy doesn’t really understand how you’re ever supposed to let somebody else like you like that in front of your whole damn family. He’d feel like he was… stripping naked, letting everybody see exactly what a goddamn fraud he is.
The whole idea of it, of liking somebody in public like that, makes him feel cornered and afraid. He doesn’t know why.
“So, Carmen,” Mandy says, pulling him out of his thoughts. “What do you do?”
“What?” Carmy says. “Oh, I’m a… I work at a diner.”
“A diner?” she repeats, with a warm smile, quirking one eyebrow in interest.
“Irish diner,” Mikey says, “you believe it? He’s full time.”
“Full time,” Carmy agrees, nodding. “I wanna… maybe try for culinary school soon. I don’t know.”
“Ooo, very fancy,” Mandy says. “Mikey says you’re very ambitious.”
Carmy shrugs, looking down at his plate.
“He’s very ambitious, also very quiet,” Mikey says, with a laugh, “very, uh, self-contained.”
Mandy laughs. Carmy flushes a deeper red.
“Is that why you’re solo tonight?” Mandy asks, reaching out and touching Carmy’s arm with one manicured hand. “Don’t like talking to girls?”
Carmy forces himself to look up, though he knows his face must be a ridiculous shade of red.
“No,” he says, “no, I’m just—”
“How old are you? Nineteen?” Mandy asks.
“I’m twenty,” he says.
“Twenty?” she says. “You look nineteen.”
“Hey,” Mikey says softly. “Let’s lay off the kid.”
Carmy shoots him a grateful look, pushing his chair back.
“Bathroom,” he mutters, standing up. Mikey narrows his eyes, watching him go.
“Carm?” Sugar calls. “You okay?”
“I’m great, I’m good,” Carmy says, walking quickly out of the dining room and locking himself in the bathroom.
Predictably, when he looks in the mirror, his face is crimson, the tips of his ears burning hot. He sighs, running the water on cold and splashing some on his face.
He leans against the wall and breathes for a few minutes, trying to shut his brain off, until a knock comes against the bathroom door and he straightens up.
“Hey,” Mikey says from outside the bathroom.
Carmy inhales shakily, opening the door.
“Mike, what are you doing?” he says. “I’m fine.”
“Yeahhh, you’re fine,” Mikey says, backing him back into the bathroom.
“Hey— no,” Carmy says, “I don’t need another pep talk.”
“Yeah, no shit,” Mikey says. “I need one. Hurry up, shut the door.”
Carmy blinks. “What?”
Mikey kicks the door shut, raising an eyebrow. “I gotta break up with Mandy, dude,” he says.
“I thought you were in love with her,” Carmy says.
Mikey scoffs. “Jersey Shore? Absolutely not, man, I’m biding time here. Felt bad doin’ it around the holidays, but Jesus, that accent.”
“A dinah?” Carmy repeats in Mandy’s accent.
Mikey smiles in surprise. “Oh, you’re bein' a little asshole, aren’t you? Shit talking my girlfriend?” he says.
“What? No,” Carmy says. "You—"
“Yeah, you are,” Mikey says, with a conspiratorial smile. “Got a little edge under there after all.”
"I'm not—"
"I'm joking," Mikey says.
Carmy exhales.
“You should probably wait until New Year’s,” Carmy says. “To break up with her.”
“Yeah, I know,” Mikey says, with a sigh. “And you know, listen man, you’re gonna find someone.”
“I know I’m gonna find someone,” Carmy says immediately.
“Yeah?” Mikey says.
“Yes,” Carmy says, deeply wishing to change the subject as soon as possible.
“You got your eye on somebody?” Mikey asks.
Carmy rolls his eyes.
“Oh, he does!” Mikey says. “Who is it? Somebody from work?”
“I don’t know,” Carmy says. “Maybe… this girl comes in sometimes.”
“Yeah?” Mikey says. “You talk to her?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Cause I’m always in the kitchen. Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Alright, alright, for Christmas,” Mikey says. “My Christmas gift to you, I won’t give you shit about this until New Years, then I'm gonna bust your balls.”
“Great,” Carmy says.
Mikey nods. “You know, if you’re looking for someone,” he says, the corners of his lips turning up again mischievously, “you can always, uh, pray to Saint Anthony. Works every time.”
“Shut up,” Carmy says.
“Tony, Tony, come around,” Mikey says, putting his hands together in prayer and closing his eyes officiously. “Something’s lost and can’t be found. Dear St. Anthony. Please, please, please help Carmen find a girlfriend.”
“Great,” Carmy says.
“That’s gonna work, you watch,” Mikey says.
“Uh huh,” Carmy says.
“Alright, come on, let’s fuckin’ eat.”
January 5th, 2016
“Good Christmas?” Andy, the other line cook, asks as Carmy clocks in.
“Eh, it was alright,” Carmy says. “You?”
“Yeah, man,” Andy says, nodding enthusiastically. “I had my kids this year. We drove through a light show, and I made this big dinner, all their favorites.”
“That’s great, man,” Carmy murmurs distractedly, peering through the window between kitchen and dining room.
“You cook at home?” Andy asks.
“Uh, no,” Carmy says, “not really.”
Andy says something else, but Carmy isn’t really listening.
The girl, the girl with the dark curls and the big eyes—she’s sitting in her usual booth, across from her dad.
It’s been weeks since she came in.
She’s wearing a sweater—big red cardigan, with the sleeves pulled over her hands. She’s smiling.
“Carmen,” Andy says warily.
“What? Yeah,” Carmy says looking over his shoulder. “What’s up?”
“I asked if you spent Christmas with your family.”
“Oh, yeah, my mom, and my siblings,” Carmy says.
“That’s nice,” Andy says. “You got a lot of siblings?”
“Two,” Carmy says, glancing over at what Andy is doing—slicing up a chocolate cake. “Hey, who ordered that?” he asks.
“Girl in the corner,” Andy says. “Brothers or sisters?”
“Uh, one of each,” Carmy says, staring at the cake for a minute before a waitress comes to grab it and Carmy steps forward with a jolt of anxiety. “I’ll take that,” he says.
The waitress raises an eyebrow at him.
“What? Why?” she asks.
“I, uh, just…” he stammers.
Andy crosses his arms, totally unimpressed.
“Let the kid have his fun,” he says.
Carmy flushes, staring at the waitress wide-eyed, praying he doesn’t have to explain himself any further.
“Yeah, fine,” she says, after an unbearable second. “Go ahead, I’ll take my smoke break early.”
“Thanks,” he breathes, picking up the cake and walking carefully with it, out of the kitchen and into the dining hall.
He realizes, a few steps in, that he’s wearing a kitchen apron and a tee shirt, looking, objectively, like shit.
She hasn’t seen him yet. He could just turn around and pretend this never happened. But then again, if he did that, he’d have to look Andy in the eye, which doesn’t seem particularly worth it.
Fuck. He keeps walking.
She doesn’t look up until she’s reached his table. She’s telling her dad some funny story, moving her hands expressively.
“—in the couch the whole time, so now he’s accused this girl of stealing when actually it was his own fault—”
She stops, turning her head, going abruptly silent as her eyes land on Carmy.
Her smile fades. Her lips part in surprise.
“Uh. Hi,” he says, meeting her gaze, feeling like he might actually catch fire.
“Oh, hi,” she says, blinking a few times. “You’re not our waiter.”
“No,” Carmy agrees, mouth feeling absurdly dry all of a sudden. “No, I, uh, I’m a chef.”
“Yeah,” she says, nodding a few times.
She’s staring at him. Why is she staring at him?
Should he say something? Should he introduce himself?
What the fuck do you say? I’ve been watching you through that kitchen window for like six months?
“Waiter, chef, whatever,” her dad says, breaking the silence. “Can we get some candles for this cake? My daughter—”
“Oh my God,” she says, eyes widening. “Dad, can you please not?”
“I’m proud of you, Sydney!” he says, not really looking at Carmy, but rather locking eyes with his daughter as he says: “Early decision acceptance is a big deal! When you’re living it up two hours away at college, I won’t be there to embarrass you, so do me a favor and let me do it now while I still have time.”
Sydney.
Carmy stands there stupidly for a minute just looking at her. Sydney.
Fucking beautiful.
Then it sinks in.
Two hours away.
Oh.
Carmy clears his throat.
“Yeah,” he says, “yeah, let me just grab your server, she can get you some candles. She’ll bring this right back out.”
He begins to turn away, but Sydney stops him.
“Hey,” she says.
He looks back, raising an eyebrow, somewhere between hope and total abandonment.
“Um, thanks,” she says, with a tiny smile.
He forces himself to smile back, nodding a few times.
“Yeah,” he says, “yeah, anytime.”
He turns around, walking back to the kitchen, heart pounding weirdly fast.
He didn’t even tell her his name.
He barely looked her in the eye.
He could’ve said so much more. He could’ve said anything at all.
Shit.
“What, no dice?” Andy says, when he gets back to the kitchen.
Carmy scoffs humorlessly, shaking his head.
“I’m a shitty waiter,” he says.
“Keep trying, you’ll get it right one day, man,” Andy says.
Carmy chances a glance back through the kitchen window, locking eyes with her, then looking quickly away.
“Yeah, maybe,” he says, though he doesn’t believe it for a second.