i hate it here

Andrea blinked at him a few times as she sipped her iced coffee, savouring the taste. She couldn’t really say that she deserved expensive shoes considering she’d been quite a spoilt brat growing up - Andy would even admit to that, but when shitty things happened to her, splurging money on herself was a temporary fix. At least it made her feel a little better until she saw the next best thing to buy. “The same way I guess you could say you deserved all those drugs and hookers, or whatever you want to call them. New best friends?” She said as innocently as she could, cocking her head to the side. 

She leaned back in hear seat, fingers daintily tracing the glass cup, wondering if now was the time to spill all her woes to Gio; or if the chapter should just remain shut until her dying breath. Yeah, maybe she’d tell him when she was on her death bed, or maybe she’d get their mother to tell him - if she could even get in contact with him, that was. Pursing her lips as all those thoughts raced through her mind, Andy almost didn’t hear him. Almost. 

Immediately her mouth went dry, Andy opened her mouth to speak, to say anything, instead, silence came out. She couldn’t speak. There goes waiting until the day she died; silently cursing her brother’s existence for taking away that option as she took a rather huge gulp of her coffee. “There should,” she started, hiccuping after a moment, “really be vodka in coffee, y’know?” Andy spoke lamely, her cheeks burning up at the sheer absurdity of what she was about to tell Giovanni. 

“I - - well, you weren’t exactly around. It’s not like I could have called you on the phone, out of the blue, after not speaking to you for - - how long? Would you have even picked up the phone, Giovanni?” She hated how sharp her tone came out, but she continued. “Besides, do you see a ring on my finger?” she held her hand up for him to inspect, giving him a sour look. “I obviously didn’t get married, did I? It’s just… fucking embarrassing. Everyone sitting there, watching, waiting. Watching as he never showed up. Waiting, as his sorry excuse for a best man finally mustered up enough guts to tell me he wasn’t coming.”

Gio almost smiled at Andy’s icy comment about his past; he respected her attempts at his jugular, but the reality was she’d inherited only half of their father’s ability to deliver scathing disdainful commentary on Giovanni’s life choices. A lifetime of experience dealing with worse, Giovanni countered easily. “Now you’re shit talking sex workers? That’s not very feminism.” He lifted his coffee to his lips again, marvelling, not for the first time, at the fact that their familial connections had managed to get him out of any significant shit for who he’d been in his past. Not a single night in prison, not for lack of trying. He really was a spoiled little shit. “They were all great. They deserve thousand dollar shoes.” 

But the sense of achievement he got from dodging her shame on you was short lived, as he was reminded of the situation that brought him here. Fuck if he wasn’t an asshole; couldn’t even play nice for two seconds to be there for his own sister. His brow lowered as he watched her take a gulp of her coffee, almost suggesting they head over to a bar before he remembered it was just shy of ten a.m. He might’ve still put the idea out there if he couldn’t picture the headlines: Giovanni De Luca Back on His Bullshit, This Time Out to Kill His Sister -- Eden Graves Filing for Divorce? No fucking thank you.  Being married to an actress meant his public perception was something he actually had to manage, for the first time in his life. 

Guilt flooded him, because Andy was right. He probably would’ve screened her call, definitely would’ve thrown out the wedding invite without a second thought. “Jesus, Andrea,” He said, coming up short on platitudes  and niceties, because he’d never really used them before. “That’s -- who the fuck was this guy? Did he meet mom and dad? He never -- you never felt like he was --” He managed to cut himself off at  the last second, just barely thinking better of asking a reprised version of did you really not see it coming? “Fuck me. I really...” Christ, he was bad at this. “I’ve got a wine cellar at home. Maybe we should...” Yeah, figuring out how to be a good brother was going to be a longer road than he thought. “Fuck that guy. I should’ve been there.” 

Gio’s expression, stoic and unchanging, made her fall into laughter. Emmy leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek in greeting– despite the fact that she was certain he’d scowl like a cartoon Grinch. “Alright, more about the toenail clippings,” she said, taking a sip to prepare for the whole story. “Apparently, Percy is super big into modern art and even though our gallery technically prefers to stick to classic,” this word was done in enthusiastic air quotes, “Exhibitions, there was such a huge demand from the community for something new that they agreed to show them for a limited time just to see if we can get a buyer.” She made a face. “Honestly, still better than that monstrosity made out of tin cans and mouldy bread that I had to catalogue from Marlowe, and the former is literally a jar of nails.” Emmy lifted a shoulder, “Just another day on the job, I guess.” His words made her eyes roll, “Alright, what are you drinking then? Is it motor oil? Something rugged and disgusting? Maybe gasoline.” She mocked his tone, speaking at a low pitch to try and match his, “Only real drinkers drink gasoline, Emmylou, wish you’d try it.”

Despite his general insistence that he was straight up not having a good time right now, Giovanni rotated on his bar stool to face Emmy when she spoke, propping a forearm on the bar despite the fact it’d probably been touched by ten different filthy drunks within the last two hours. That didn’t concern him so much, since Gio used to be one of those filthy drunks; he figured he was immune to most of their diseases by now, like a rat who’d gone radioactive in a sewer. “So it’s all gonna be abstract art now?” His tone dripped with contempt. Gio was by no means new age in his outlook on art pieces. Then again, he could never pass up on an opportunity to razz, and Marlowe? That was a subject he was always amused by. “No shit. That motherfucker’s inspired. How much? I got like, twenty grand burning a hole in my pocket, begging to be spent on mould. Fuck my kid’s college fund.” He did crack a smile at Emmy for her mocking, though. “Yeah, gasoline. I sing in cursive and my name’s Halsey. Why don’t you act like an adult and consume poison like the rest of us?”

If you had told Andy a few years ago that she’d be sitting in a coffee shop having a drink with her brother, Gio, she would have laughed right in your face. Now though, as she turned her head towards him to study him slightly, noticing how he had changed over the years - there was something more free about him, that, believe it or not, made Andy a little jealous to see. She still didn’t really know why Gio wanted to go out for coffee, after all, why now? What had happened in his life that made him want to reach out and reconnect with his little sister? Because quite frankly, Andy didn’t think that Giovanni really cared. After all, his actions spoke louder than any of the words he’d ever said to her. No, his silence had said so much more. 

At his quip, Andy threw him a look and fought back the urge to let out a small laugh, even then, the smallest of smiles managed to permanently stick. “Please, are you trying to appeal to the secret humanitarian in me?” she joked, leaning back in her seat. Finally, her new coffee had arrived and she sipped it eagerly like a little kid on christmas with a hot chocolate, except it was cold and had a mildly bitter taste to it. Exactly how Andy loved it. “I’ll have you know, they definitely did. Probably cost more than his whole family’s life. But hey, who said I can’t treat myself? I deserve it.” She cut him a look, trying to gauge whether he knew anything about her life since he had left, she wasn’t sure what to say and what not to say. “So, what’s up buttercup? Do you finally want to resubscribe to the family newsletter? Can’t say I’m not surprised; you’re missing out on some incredibly juicy stuff.”

When Andy called herself a humanitarian, Gio really did laugh -- a scoff that was intended to be heard. What could he say? He was a snarky bitch. This was why he didn’t have many friends. But, Andy seemed to share the same self-awareness that Giovanni possessed, allowing them both to acknowledge their last name meant they’d been raised for the guillotine. Their older brother, Aldo, lacked this. Giovanni tucked away the conversation topic of him for later: surely if nothing else they could bond over making  fun of their stuck up sibling? Gio almost looked forward to it. “How can you deserve thousand dollar shoes? Check your privilege.” His tone dripped with irony; one of Gio’s favourite bad jokes was being fake-woke. 

But. Being a shit wasn’t what this was about. Although Gio was skilled at making most things about being a shit. Not now. The mention of quote, unquote, juicy stuff threw Giovanni back to the hideous cocktail party his wife had dragged him along to. Some guy he and Andy’d gone to school with, Martin, had practically wagged his tail at Gio when he arrived, which was a mystery since Gio was objectively unlikeable -- until it had turned out Martin had only dragged Giovanni into a conversation to break the news of “the saddest wedding I’ve seen since Debby Ryan wore converse with that dress”. 

If his sister being left at the altar could count as a wedding. 

Giovanni looked down at his coffee cup, swirling it gently for something to do, losing his nerve now that their interaction was about to be... this. “Spare me the family newsletter. I can’t fucking read,” He said, tip toeing around the subject. “But I did hear some shit on the street.” After a pause, “When were you gonna tell me you were getting married?”