Our Nerdy Secret: Better Than Ever, #2

ONE

JENNA

The last time I’d danced around in the dark with multiple glow bracelets wrapped around my arms and ankles I was a twenty-something party girl, experimenting with psychedelic mushrooms at a rave. This time, I was a forty-four-year-old sipping on a fruit punch juice box at my five-year-old niece’s birthday party. When that spitfire told you to put on a rainbow tutu and dance to Taylor Swift songs in her darkened bedroom, you did it. Even her uncle Aaron was wearing a tutu in a lovely shade of fuchsia. Aaron wasn’t even related to us—he was an old family friend—but he knew better than to disobey Lana’s orders. She was an adorable little dictator.

My brother Sal, also known as Lana’s father, declined a tutu and went for a feather boa instead. He was currently trying to moonwalk while Aaron attempted something that could have been the cha-cha or the Charleston. Fortunately, there was enough light coming through the sides of the curtains that I could see them both.

Napoleon Dynamite’s dance moves had nothing on you guys, I yelled to them over the music.

Suddenly, Sal grabbed his leg and crumpled to the floor in agony. Ooh, ooh, charley horse! Shit, that hurts!

Bad word, Lana scolded. Put a quarter in the swear jar, Daddy.

Sal dug in his pocket, pulled out a coin, and handed it to his daughter before he spasmed with another muscle cramp. Unsympathetic to her father’s pain, she dropped the coin with a clink into a glass jar on her dresser. As Sal furiously massaged his leg, Lana jumped up and down in front of Aaron.

Spin me, Uncle!

She always called him Uncle, never Uncle Aaron or Aaron. Never mind that she had two other uncles who were actually blood related to her. Aaron was clearly her favorite, probably because he had no kids of his own and plenty of money to spoil her.

Of course, princess. He reached out, took her hand, and gave her a big twirl. Lana squealed as she rotated, her ballerina skirt and long dark hair flaring out around her.

Breathing heavily and grateful for a break, I sank down on the floor next to Sal. Princess? I think empress or commander-in-chief are more apt names for that one.

True story. You know where she gets it from, right? Sal elbowed me in the ribs.

Your wife?

Seriously? Sal said. Have you forgotten what a ballbuster you were growing up?

I remember being a very sweet older sister to you. I tried hard not to smile, but it was impossible. Fine, I was a little bossy sometimes.

That’s putting it mildly. I only hope Lana isn’t as rebellious as her Aunt Jenna was as a teenager.

His jab raised my hackles. I turned out all right, and she will too, no matter who she takes after. Don’t you want a daughter who can stand up for herself?

We watched as Lana instructed Aaron on exactly how to lift her into the air.

I have no concerns about her taking care of herself, Sal said. The other day one of her classmates tried to push in front of her and claim her position as line leader. She walloped him with her lunchbox.

I chuckled, imagining her determined little face as she swung her floral lunch box. That’s my girl.

Aaron and Lana danced until the song ended and then Sal cut in, picking up his daughter and spinning her around until I was sure she’d puke. Instead, she laughed and screamed with joy. She also had a strong stomach, just like her Aunt Jenna.

May I have this dance? Aaron asked, extending a hand toward me as the song changed to one that was slower. I wasn’t going to leave him hanging, so I took hold of his hand and let him haul me off the floor.

His warm, strong grip reminded me how much I liked his hands. They were big but not beefy, manly but not Neanderthal hairy. And he had nice long fingers that I’d seen clicking keyboards and video game consoles many, many times. Sal and Aaron had been friends for thirty years, since kindergarten, and my house was like Aaron’s second home. And now his very nice, very grown-up hands were holding me, and I was taken aback by the flutter I felt in my stomach. Flutters were not supposed to happen when you were touching old friends of the family who were nine years your junior. And flutters definitely weren’t for people like me who didn’t want to fall in love ever again.

Before I could do anything about these unsettling feelings, he spun me out and then back toward him again. I wasn’t quite ready for these moves, and when I rolled back to him, we gently collided with each other, bumping chests.

Sorry! I couldn’t see his cheeks blushing in the darkness, but I knew they were.

You don’t know your own strength these days. I patted his pecs, which were indeed well-defined. Damn. I had to keep myself from rubbing them a little more. Must be all the Mud Warriors workouts.

Beneath the faded gray polo shirt and baggy pair of generic jeans he was wearing lurked a fit physique, but with Aaron’s terrible wardrobe choices most people couldn’t tell what he was hiding. And why was he hiding it at all?

Don’t be fooled by the tutu, he said, his expression serious. I’m not a professional dancer.

Totally fooled me. I thought you were the next Baryshnikov. I should have told him I’d pulled a hammy when he spun me, so I could end our dance. Instead, I changed our position, slipping my right hand into his left and putting my other hand on his broad shoulder. The sugar in that juice box must have gone straight to my head because I knew better than to encourage those belly flutters.

Slow dancing is easy, I said. You just sway to the music. Pretend you’re at a seventh grade dance.

He laughed as he planted his hand on my waist, his hold on me snug and firm. A shiver of excitement traveled down my inner thighs, a part of me that shouldn’t be thinking that way.

I didn’t go to school dances, he said. You know that.

He was at least six inches taller than I was, even when I was wearing sandals with a heel, but that didn’t matter. We were surprisingly well suited as dance partners. All I could think, as I stared into his hazel eyes, was that I was in dangerous territory. Now my cheeks were the ones heating up, and I felt slightly dizzy too.

Aaron smelled good. Too good. His shampoo left a citrusy smell on his hair, and his neck held the scent of Aaron mixed with soap and cedar. Was he wearing cologne? I’d known him so long that sometimes I was still surprised that he smelled like a man, not a sweaty teenage boy. He certainly felt like a man. His hands made mine feel small, and I had the wild notion that he might taste good too. He must have had the same thoughts about me because his eyes traveled to my lips. Instinctively, I wet them with my tongue and felt his hand on my waist tighten its grip. My breasts were touching up against his chest as we moved, and my nipples hardened in response. One thing was clear—I had to do something to break the spell we were both falling under.

Maybe— I swallowed and tried again. Maybe we should get some water. I’m really thirsty.

Same, Sal announced, plunking his daughter to the ground and wiping his bald head with his palm. I’m sweating like a— He side-eyed Lana. She’d confided in me that she was going to use the swear jar money to go to Disneyland. "Like a pig. I’m sweating like a pig. Let’s get a drink."

Sounds good. I held out a hand to Lana. Let’s go downstairs, Banana. I’ll make you a Shirley Temple.

She beamed up at me. Okay, Strawberry.

At the bottom of the staircase, we ran into Sal’s wife, Amy, the killer of all joy. She appeared to be her usual brand of dissatisfied.

Where were you guys? It’s time for cake. Any time Amy asked a question about where you’d been or what you’d been doing, it sounded like an accusation.

Sal pacified his wife with a kiss to the temple. Sorry, sweetheart. We were getting our groove on with Lana. She wanted a glowstick dance party in her room. Let me light the cake candles for you.

Amy immediately softened. Sal had a way with her that no one else seemed to, which was how he managed to stay married to her and not notice she was a wildebeest.

My entire immediate family, along with Aaron, who was an honorary Rossolino, gathered in Sal and Amy’s kitchen to sing Happy Birthday. That meant the kitchen was packed like the subway at rush hour. My three siblings, Sal, Dominick, and Paul, were all present with their wives and kids. Aaron, my dad, and I were the unmarried people in attendance. No doubt Aaron would get married someday too, and I’d be the maiden auntie, the lone singleton of my generation, which was okay by me. It was how I expected life to play out, and to be fair, it was how I’d engineered it.

I snapped pictures on my phone as Lana blew out her candles and then pointed to the piece she wanted.

I get the pink rose, she said, and Jenna gets the yellow one. Make us big slices, Daddy.

Say please, Sal reminded his daughter.

"Big slices, please."

My dad, also known as Pop Pop to his grandkids, gave her an exaggerated pout. Don’t I get a rose too?

And one rose for Pop Pop! Lana said. Give him the blue one. That’s his favorite color.

My sisters-in-law sat together at the kitchen table to eat their dessert, along with some of the kids, and I joined Aaron, my brothers, and Dad at the dining room table.

Did I tell you about the turkey fryer I ordered? Dad asked Aaron. You’re going to love it. I’m doing a trial run with the guys this week, and then I’ll invite the family over once I’ve perfected my skills with it. Aaron, who was seated across from me, caught my eye and we shared sly smiles. Dad’s love of gadgets was unsurpassed, and in his retirement he’d taken to cooking big meals for the other old guys in his motorcycle club. The Grateful Geezers were nine retirees who shared a passion for Harleys, sixties rock and roll, and, apparently, fried poultry.

Dad, I said, you already have a charcoal grill, a gas grill, a pizza oven⁠—

His eyes lit up with excitement. "Yeah, but this thing can fry a turkey and boil seafood. Surf and turf, baby!"

At the same time? Dom asked. My brother Dominick was the second oldest Rossolino and the airhead of the family. He figured out how to fix a radio at age ten and proved to be a genius with anything that had circuitry, and yet he had less common sense than a squirrel.

Of course not at the same time, ding dong, I said.

I thought surf and turf was seafood and steak? Paul chimed in. If you’re doing turkey, surf and sky might be a better name.

I turned to Aaron. Turkeys don’t fly, do they?

Actually, it’s a little known fact that turkeys can fly short distances. He pushed his glasses up on his nose, and I was astounded that I found this move adorable and sexy at the same time.

Inappropriate thoughts, Jenna.

Only wild turkeys can fly, Sal said, not to be out-nerded by his best friend. Commercially raised turkeys are too heavy to fly.

Dad leapt to his feet. Fish and Fowl then. I’ll get my laptop and show you a picture. I got a great deal on it.

My guess was that Dad was filling up his life with gadgets to avoid processing his feelings about Mom’s death four years ago, but I wasn’t one to talk. I’d had my own ways of dealing with losing Eric, my life partner, when he was only thirty years old, and not all of them were healthy ones either. The only thing that eventually helped me move past my grief was the passage of time, and the same would be true for Dad.

I heard about your most recent achievement, Paul said to Aaron. "Sal said you’re going to be on the thirty under forty list for Code magazine. Are you getting too famous to hang out with us?"

Hey, I didn’t know about this. Dom slapped Aaron on the back. Congratulations. You’re one step away from winning People’s Sexiest Geek Alive.

A few more million, and he’ll be launching himself into space, Paul said.

Can you take Amy with you and drop her off in another galaxy? I suggested. Sal kicked me under the table. Ouch! I was kidding!

You told everyone about the magazine? Aaron glared accusingly at Sal.

Sal put up his hands, palms out. I didn’t, I swear.

I told Paul, I said. Aaron directed his disappointed gaze at me. I’m sorry! I was proud of you and it slipped out.

I found it interesting that he was annoyed everyone found out about his magazine award, but he didn’t mind when my brothers razzed him about being a geek. Aaron was always too humble about his achievements.

We’re all proud of you, Paul said. We just like to give you a hard time.

Maybe we should move on to teasing you about that hideous shirt. I stared pointedly at Paul’s Hawaiian button-down, one of the many he owned and insisted on wearing in the summer to his wife’s great irritation. They’d been dating since high school, and she probably thought it was adorable at eighteen when he wore a loud flowered shirt to parties. At age fifty, it wasn’t as cute. All you need to complete the outfit is a ukulele. I turned back to Aaron. Don’t let these losers give you a hard time just because they’re never going to make it onto a magazine’s list unless it’s a worst dressed list.

They don’t have awards for electricians, Paul said defensively. He and Dom had their own well-established electrical business.

Yeah, I don’t think information security analysts get that kind of recognition either, Sal said.

I was voted best colorist in the Local Business Choice Awards last year. I gave my hair a toss. Had my name in the town newspaper, you may recall.

Just wait until you have your own salon, Aaron said. My stomach dropped as I watched the surprise light up my brothers’ faces. You’ll win all kinds of awards then.

Your own salon? Paul asked. Are you serious?

Maybe. I hated that I sounded unsure. It’s something I’m looking into.

That was an understatement. I had an upcoming appointment with a loan officer at my bank, and one of my coworkers, Chanel, was on board to leave Hair Envy with me when I opened my own place. Mindy was also considering making the move. I couldn’t risk telling Kumail about my plan yet because he had the biggest mouth on Long Island, but when the time came I’d love to take him with me too. It was fun to daydream about all of us quitting at once, leaving our disgusting boss with no stylists. It was only what he deserved.

My father raced back into the room, laptop in hand, and dropped down in his seat. Amy followed close behind him and curled herself up on Sal’s lap, even though there was still one chair available.

Here’s the picture of my fryer. Dad slid his computer around so we could see the screen before he finally noticed the awkward silence in the room. What did I miss?

Jenna just announced she wants to open her own salon, Dom said.

There was more silence and then everyone began talking at once, peppering me with questions and unsolicited opinions.

Owning your own business is a huge undertaking, Paul said. There’s the business side with payroll, insurance, and taxes. Have you thought about all that?

Before he’d even finished speaking, Dom cut in with, Then there’s the managing people part. Dealing with the landlord, the vendors, the clients, the employees.

She’s not really a people person, Amy muttered under her breath.

Do you have the money for this? Dad asked. I could tell he was trying to calculate whether he could help me out when we both already knew he had just enough money saved for his golden years, even if he stopped buying air fryers.

We’re not saying you’re not capable, Sal added, even though that’s exactly what it sounded like they were saying. We’re just worried you haven’t thought this through.

Of course I’ve thought it through. I mashed my last bite of cake with my fork, turning it into rainbow crumbs. What am I, the family idiot? Dom co-owns a business so it can’t be that hard, and I’ve been working in this industry for over twenty years.

Yeah, but you also thought you were going to own an art gallery one day. Paul lifted his eyebrows and raised his palms in a gesture that suggested enough said.

I glowered at my brother, wishing looks could kill or at least maim. "That was Eric’s dream, and it didn’t happen because he died. This is my dream."

Even after Eric was gone, I still talked about opening an art gallery. Keeping his vision alive made me feel like I still had a piece of him with me, but I never took any concrete steps toward making it a reality. Eventually, I let that dream fade away, and I lost a part of him with it.

You have to be realistic, Paul said. You know how much Dom and I work. Sometimes it’s sixty hours a week—even nights and weekends. We don’t have the party lifestyle you do so it’s fine, but for you⁠—

Party lifestyle? I was really heating up now. "I spent last night babysitting your kids so you and the wifey could go out to dinner!"

Sure, I was a wild child back in the day, but my social life had become much tamer post-forty. I went to rock shows occasionally, but I didn’t get blitzed or go home with strangers. It had been many years since I’d woken up in someone’s bed with only vague notions of how I got there. My brothers formed an idea of who I was at nineteen and they were still hanging on to it with fervor.

But you love cutting hair, Sal said gently. And you wouldn’t have as much time for that if you were the boss. Would that really make you happy, doing all the management parts of the job?

Sal’s failure to believe in me hurt the most. He was my mother’s change of life surprise baby, born nine years after me, and I’d helped raise him. We’d always been closer than I was to Dom and Paul. Sure, he said it more nicely, but his message was the same—you’re not cut out to own a business.

I stared down at my plate, my fists clenched in my lap. If I had a fit, it would only play into their idea that I didn’t have the proper demeanor of a salon owner. That didn’t change the fact that I wanted to start chucking cake at their heads. They had no idea the toll that standing on your feet all day took on your body. Sure, I loved cutting hair, but my back and feet ached every night, and I’d taken to using CBD oil and Epsom salt baths to soothe the pain. My coworker Chanel had tendonitis in her wrists, and it wasn’t unusual for stylists to develop arthritis in their hands in their fifties and sixties. I’d thought this decision through, both the physical and financial benefits, yet they all seemed to think I was acting on a whim.

I think you should do it, Aaron said. All eyes turned toward him, but his focus was on me. You’re totally capable, and you already put in long hours. You’ve got years of experience in the industry, as you said. Would your client base come with you?

I nodded. The room had gone quiet around us. They were finally listening. I think many of them would come with me if I can get the business off the ground soon. Some of my coworkers might join me too and bring their clients.

He shrugged. Perfect. You can learn the rest. I’m sure people didn’t see me as the leader of a company either, but I’m doing pretty well. All you need is some good software for the business end, a trustworthy accountant, and maybe a lawyer to help with employee contracts. The rest you’ll learn as you go along, just like we did.

My brothers glanced around at each other, waiting to see who would be the one to contradict the most successful man at the table. Turns out there wasn’t much to say when the guy with the multimillion-dollar company threw me his full support. The tightness in my chest eased as I mouthed thank you to Aaron.

Yeah, and we can help you figure stuff out too, Dom said, suddenly changing his tune.

You got the capital? Paul asked. Now that Aaron had confirmed my abilities, my brother was going to attack me from the financial front, my known weak spot. If not, you’re going to need a bank loan, and your credit isn’t the best. No offense.

In my family, mistakes you made decades ago would still be brought up to shame you. If we had a family motto, it would be forgive but never forget.

Not that it’s any of your business, I said, but my FICA score is solid now, and I’m going to the bank to talk about a loan this week.

Hopefully, the bank wouldn’t look at my rocky financial history the same way my brothers did and reject me on sight. Even though they’d been around to witness it, my brothers seemed to have no idea I’d grown into a responsible adult. Amazing that they let me babysit their children so frequently.

Huh. Paul stared at me as he reached for his water glass. Who knew.

I would just make sure that this is something you really want to sink money into, Amy said. You can be a little…impetuous. I’m not saying that’s all bad. You’re creative, we all know that, but owning a business calls for a level head and good judgment.

Her words stung, and I lashed back at her. Good judgment, Amy? Do you really want to go there?

What’s that supposed to mean? she shot back.

Before I could respond, Sal lifted his fork and said loudly, This cake is excellent. Very moist. Excellent job, honey.

Look at the time. Dom checked his watch. I need to grab the kids and get home.

Dom started to stand up, but Amy wasn’t letting my comment slide.

What do you mean, do I really want to go there? she asked.

With a sigh, Dom plunked back down in his chair. The mood in the room had turned grim, but I wasn’t afraid of Amy. Well, not that afraid, especially when I had a room full of witnesses.

Am I the only one who remembers Amy got sucked into a multilevel marketing scheme? I looked around the room at the faces of five men who looked like they wished they were anywhere but there. Cowards.

She jumped out of Sal’s lap and jabbed an angry finger at me. Hey, I made ten grand from that business.

And then you got stuck with five hundred pairs of defective leggings in your garage, I countered. How much were those worth? I knew the moment I said it that I’d gone too far. That was a common theme with me and my mouth.

How. Dare. You. Amy spoke in a deep, low voice that seemed to emanate from somewhere primal. She stomped out of the room as the rest of us held our breath. The rational part of my brain knew she wasn’t going to reappear with a meat cleaver, but the emotional side of me still looked over my shoulder to make sure.

Sal hurried out after her, and Dom and Paul made their exits soon after, leaving Aaron, Dad, and me alone in the dining room with all the cake plates. Of course those guys didn’t even clean up after themselves. Animals.

It’s not a Rossolino gathering unless someone has an argument, I said as I gathered up the dirty plates, stacking them into a pile.

What do you mean argument? Dad said. That was a conversation. There wasn’t even any cursing. He got to his feet. I need to say goodnight to my granddaughter. Aaron, always good to see you. Aaron stood up and shook his hand, then Dad came around the table and planted a kiss on my head. Goodnight, favorite daughter.

Only daughter. I stood up and gave him a tight squeeze around his middle, which had grown softer and rounder in retirement. Still taking your aspirin every day?

Yeah, yeah, he grumbled. See how she babies me?

She wants you around for a long time, Aaron said with a smile that lit up his eyes. After Dad left, Aaron’s expression turned comically frightened. You’re on Amy’s shit list now. Beware.

Been there for years, I scoffed. Permanent member, own the T-shirt.

Aaron pushed in his chair and helped me gather the rest of the napkins and plastic silverware everyone else had left behind.

For some reason she loves me, he said. I have no idea why, but I’m glad I’m never in the line of fire.

Everyone loves you, Aaron. As soon as I said it, I felt a rush of embarrassment, which was ridiculous. Obviously, I’d meant it in the sense that he was a beloved part of our family, but it still felt like a confession. I’m much harder to love.

I don’t agree with that, he said quietly as he followed me into the kitchen to dispose of the trash.

It doesn’t matter. I went to the sink to rinse my hands. She’ll get over her anger at me once someone else pisses her off.

You’re probably right. He came to stand next to me at the sink. "Don’t let your brothers get