TW: Victim Blaming
The meal was so awkward it was killing me. No one was talking or really looking at each other. Well, except for my mom, who was staring holes into my face. Abel and Liam were taking turns looking around the table, but they kept their mouths full, probably so they didn't have to speak first. My dad looked really intimidated as Frankie's dad stared him down like a killer, albeit absentmindedly. Aunt Hazel kind of just sat quietly and ate her food with a sour face.
"You don't like the food? What's with the face, sourpuss?" Giacomo probed, his voice cutting through the silence.
"I beg your pardon?" Aunt Hazel gasped, clearly offended.
"Oh! Get a load of the Queen of the Manor! I asked what's with the face? You don't like Italian food? That's impossible!" Giacomo asked again, his tone laced with sarcasm.
