“Who do you think Nonna picked for you tonight?” he asks. I shrug and look down at the floor. It’s too hard to maintain eye contact with him and not blurt our every thought swimming in my brain. “No idea.” “I wish it was me,” he says quietly, and my head shoots up. “You do?” I ask. He gets up from the chair and moves slowly toward me. “I wish all the dates had been mine.”
