Chapter 2The thing about being part of an Italian family was that they were, well…boisterous.
As soon as I pulled up in front of my parents’ house close to eight that Tuesday night, the door opened. I was pretty sure that meant my mother had been watching for me.
This was not the home I had grown up in, which had also been in San Jose, but one that my parents had bought as an “upgrade.” My sister was a real estate agent and had helped them with the purchase.
“Fabian! There you are!”
I was enveloped in a hug guaranteed to knock you off your feet if you weren’t prepared for it. I was, fortunately.
“Mama.”
“I thought you’d be here much earlier!” She stepped back, but still clutched at my arm as I made my way to the trunk of the car to take out my bag. “I thought you were leaving in the
