I pull the eartips of the stethoscope out of my ears and drape the rubber tubing around my neck. “Okay, this is not good dad.” I level my father with a stern look as I unwrap the blood pressure cuff from around his meaty upper arm. “You need to lay off the pasta and the cheese.”

The stubborn old man swipes an arm through the air, his expression dismissive. “Do it again,” he orders me. “That reading must be wrong. Your machine is broken. Or you’re not doing it right.”

He’s unbelievable. Any challenge to his eating habits and he’s ready to go on the defensive. “Denial won’t lower your blood pressure. Only exercise, healthy diet and decreased stress levels will.”

I know—to him my words are blasphemous. He’s spent his life indulging in Alfredo sauce, pizza and spaghetti. He’s built his family a very cushy life by serving those dishes to all of Copper Heights. I know that I’m making a big ask, but his health depends on it. His stocky five foot seven frame can’t handle much more weight and his heart is bound to short-circuit unless he changes his lifestyle.

He casts a glare at my mother across the expansive gold-veined marble table covered in dirty plates and utensils. “This is ridiculous!” he hollers as he gesticulates wildly in my direction. “She wants me to stop eating pasta! I’m Italian and she wants me to stop eating pasta! She might as well perform a damn lobotomy on me!”

Nonna Lucia’s features harden and she grumbles something in Italian under her breath. She looks even more upset by the news than my father does. My grandmother taught her son everything he knows about cooking so it’s no surprise that she’s taking this as a personal attack.

Sophia and I share a look.

Mom refuses to make eye contact with me, just like she has all night. Under the spotlight of the gaudy, oversized crystal chandelier, she folds her arms across her chest and lifts her chin into the air like a petulant child. “I don’t know why you’re over there playing doctor with that girl.” Her voice is full of vitriol as her dainty fingers circle the stem of her wine glass. “I’ll make you an appointment with a real doctor next week. One who didn’t get booted from their internship.”

Fine, then—No blood pressure reading for you, Mom.

Expertly brushing off my mother’s low blow, I round the lavish table, smiling widely at my grandmother as I approach. Her lips go flat and she holds up a wrinkly hand like a stop sign. “You no tell me to no eat spaghetti!” she threatens and I halt with my medical equipment, mid-journey.

Okay, then. Moving along.

So, this family dinner isn’t going all that great. But my sister and I both expected that. Gianni and Agata Gallo can’t seem to decide which of their daughters they’re more disappointed in. The one who turned up pregnant after getting ditched on her wedding day or the one who lost her prestigious medical internship for screwing her superior. The competition between Sophia and me for top spot on our parents’ shit list is very damn tight.

Y’see—my family is New Money to the bone, meaning that our wealth isn’t several generations deep. Dad came to this country as a little boy and he worked damn hard. He invested wisely—first, by opening a little Italian eatery and then, investing the profits into real estate and other businesses—to afford the luxuries and social status that his family does today. And Mr. and Mrs. Gallo have never been afraid to flaunt what they’ve got. Take this mansion, for instance. It’s damn tacky. It looks like it was decorated by Tony Montana’s interior decorator.

My mother—she’s a trophy wife and she’s damn good at it. After all, her country club membership wasn’t passed down from waspy ancestors. She had to fight and claw her way up the social ladder to earn it. She never lets us forget that.

So when her kids do dumb shit, like the transgressions described above, it does nothing to help her social cause. To Agata Gallo, image is worth its weight in gold.

Again, Sophia and I didn’t expect this family dinner to be easy. That’s why we avoided the tall, wrought-iron gates of the Gallo mansion for as long as we have.

But at this point, I’ve decided—I’m an adult and I’m done cowering for my parents’ approval. I want control of my life and I’m ready to fight for it. That means owning up to my mistakes and standing by my decisions regardless of who takes objection. I stand by who I am—even when it’s scary—and my parents are gonna have to get with the damn program.

Good old Cousin Franco throws his hand up, volunteering to get his blood pressure read. “I’ll go next,” he says in his usual easygoing way. My footsteps echo as I move across the room and drop into a plush velvet dining chair next to him. “So how are you liking being back in Copper Heights?” he asks with a good-natured smile as I wrap the blood pressure cuff around his arm. He’s obviously trying to diffuse the tension in the room.

Unfortunately, we’ve just landed in another hornet’s nest.

My mother’s expression goes even tighter and a bitter laugh spouts past her lips at the question. I do my best to ignore her. “It’s been great,” I say brightly to Franco. “I’m really starting to find my stride at work and it’s been nice catching up with old friends.”

Dad lights up a big, fat cigar because, with the current state of his health, smoking’s a great idea! “Old friends, huh?” my father mutters sarcastically. “That’s what you young folks are calling it these days?”

I roll my eyes up at the golden angel mural on the high, dome-shaped ceiling. Here we go…

“I hear you’ve been sniffing around with that Riggs boy again.” His narrowed eyes tell me that he’s not pleased about the reunion.

“I haven’t been ‘sniffing around’,” I say as I press the stethoscope’s bell to the artery on the inside of Cousin Franco’s arm. I feel the flutter of nerves in my stomach. But I’m not going to pander to my father just to get his approval. “Ben and I…we’re together.”

Dad’s face goes red with displeasure. “So, you didn’t learn your lesson the first time he walked all over you?”

I pull in a strengthening breath. “That was a long time ago, Dad.”

“People don’t change.” He takes a long drag from his cigar and blows a thick puff of smoke across the table. “Look at me—I was a pasta and cheese lover twenty years ago and I’ll be a pasta and cheese lover twenty years from now.”

If the pasta and cheese don’t kill you first, you mean? “Dad, are we really gonna do this right now?”

My mother throws in her two cents. “You hope you’ve got your escape route planned out again. You had to leave town the last time he chewed you up and spat you out and now you’ve ruined your reputation in the medical community. Where are you gonna run off to when that boy throws you away this time?”

Cousin Franco’s bicep twitches in my hand when he flinches and Sophia throws me a sympathetic glance from across the table.

Dad’s elevated voice rings out. “I know this very nice boy. A business investor. Ryan Barre. Very nice man. I should introduce—”

“I don’t need you getting involved in my sex life!” My temper flares.

“Watch your tone, Angela!” The dirty silverware jumps when his meaty fist connects with the table.

“No—unless you want the salacious details of my sex life, you need to just butt out!”

My father’s chair hits the floor when he jumps to his feet. “You will not talk to me like that in my house!”

I press my eyes shut to rein in my anger and an uncomfortable silence blankets the room. My parents don’t have to agree with my decisions. We can still be civil toward each other even if we don’t see eye to eye on certain things. But the respect has to go both ways.

A loud burp comes barrelling out of Sophia and she slaps her napkin to her mouth, looking completely mortified. Mom casts a sharp glare her way. “The both of you have brought disgrace to this family!”

“Oh, cut her some slack,” I mutter. “She’s pregnant.”

When the venom in my mother’s eyes settles on me, I know it’s time to cut this evening short before things escalate any further.

Stripping the blood pressure cuff off of my cousin’s arm, I rise slowly from the table. “Okay—so, I think we’ve had enough for one night.” I affectionately squeeze Franco’s shoulder and he gives me a wink in agreement. “I love you all very much…” I place a kiss on Nonna’s forehead, “…and I’d really, really love for us all to work on finding common ground…” I wrap my arms around dad’s shoulders and give him a squeeze, “…so, let’s try this again some other time…” I give my mother air-kisses to keep from compromising her carefully-applied makeup.

Nobody says a word. My father stares off blankly across the room as he keeps on puffing his cigar. Mom’s got her arms folded tightly across her chest. At some point in the middle of the argument, Nonna Lucia pulled out her rosary beads. Now, she’s glaring daggers at me and muttering prayers under her breath.

Tilting my head toward the door, I give Sophia the universal ‘let’s get the hell out of here’ signal. My sister’s entire body slackens and her eyes go wide with relief.

We don’t wait for anyone’s assent. We hightail it out of the dining room, bustling through the foyer and out to the cobblestone circle driveway where my broken-down chariot awaits.