A Song for Julia

Julia.” I held out a hand to shake.
    Jack burst into laughter, and the other guy chuckled and took my hand. “I’m Tony, the token Italian in this nuthouse. And please don’t take offense, but I’m single, and you’re just about the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. If you and Dougal aren’t a thing, well …”
    “Tony D’Amato!” Margot said in a scolding voice. “She’s young enough to be your daughter!”
    Tony grinned, and I tried to stifle the furious blush I could feel running down my face.
    “A man can still wish, even if he’s all old and broken down!”
    I didn’t know how to react to any of this, especially since the object of the party—Sean—was sitting alone in the other room. For just a second, I felt intense embarrassment at Tony’s comments. Then I let that pass. He was teasing. Much like Jack, he’d instantly accepted me here. And that made me suddenly feel a prick of tears in my eyes. I blinked them back.
    “Beer?” Tony asked me.
    “Yes, please,” I replied.
    Jack shook his head and said to Margot, “You see what happens when you let Italians in the house? They start going through your things and giving them away.”
    Margot giggled, and in that moment, she looked fifteen years younger. She had stepped away from Jack but kept a hand on his shoulder. Tony handed her a beer without even asking.
    “Few more minutes,” Jack said. “I told Sean I’d cook him whatever he wanted tonight. No food restrictions. No nothing. What does he do? Asks for pizza. Delivered.”
    “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Margot asked.
    Jack shrugged. “It’s the kid’s seventeenth birthday. Let him eat what he wants.”
    She nodded, the pensive expression returning to her face. We were crowded there in the kitchen, so I slipped around the table and sat next to Tony. “Since you made such a gentlemanly offer, the least I can do is keep you company,” I said. Then I fluttered my eyelashes at him outrageously.
    He nearly spit up his beer laughing, then cried out, “Jack, help me! This one’s beating me at my own game.”
    I grinned at him. “So, I’m trying to keep everyone straight. Tony, right? Friend of the family? Relative?”
    “God forbid I’d be related to any of these drunken micks,” he said. “I just come here for the free beer.”
    “Ah, shut up!” Jack said.
    Tony ignored him. “Jack and I have been partners on the force for what, ten years now?”
    “It’s been like a life sentence,” Jack replied, his tone sounding weary.
    Tony laughed. “Originally I says to the Captain, ‘Don’t make me partner with that guy, he’ll run off and get drunk right in the middle of a high speed chase,’ but then I met Margot, and she was so easy on the eyes, I figured I could survive Jack if I got to see her every once in a while. Plus, if Whitey’s mafia ever offed him, I’d be able to run off with her into the sunset.”
    Margot smiled, her eyes straying back to Jack. “You two are so bad.”
    Crank didn’t say a word, just leaned against a wall while slowly nursing a beer. And something just … didn’t add up. It was plainly obvious, from the way they touched each other, the way they looked at each other, the way they talked to each other, that Margot and Jack still loved each other passionately.
    Why the hell were they separated then?
    It didn’t make any sense at all.
    The doorbell rang.
    “Ah, that’ll be our last guest, Mrs. Doyle.”
    “I’ll get it,” Crank said. He stepped out of sight, and a few moments later returned with Mrs. Doyle in tow. She said hello to everyone, and that’s when Jack announced it was time to move into the living room. We got up, and everybody moved into the living room, just as the pizza arrived.
    Honestly, it was a fun little party. Everybody laughed and joked. Even Sean joined in, awkwardly telling a story from the manga he was reading, which convinced me I’d made a good choice in gifts.
    Every once in a while, I’d look over at Jack and Margot, fascinated. They were in their early fifties, I guess, but from the way they kept touching each other, you’d think they were teenagers. He kept a hand on her knee, and sometimes she’d reach up and touch his hair or his shoulder. They stayed close, very close. I couldn’t help but draw a comparison to my own parents, who were distant, sat at opposite ends of the table, and rarely touched or even smiled at each other.
    In some ways, the party reminded me of my own