Read Blessed Are Those Who Mourn for Free Online

doubt it,” Dante says, flashing a grin that has made women melt since he was five. “Mama wants a new grandbaby more than anyone.”
    Dante dated his way through every pretty girl in our high school and then every woman at Diablo Valley College before he met Nina in his philosophy class and fell hard. She was a soft-­spoken poet who hoped to get into the MFA program at Berkeley. But her dreams flew out the door when she got pregnant at nineteen. I always wonder if she regretted meeting my brother even though she appears to adore her life.
    Standing, I squint against the sunset to watch my daughter, pretending I didn’t hear Dante’s prodding.
    Dante starts comparing the shine on his shoes to Marco’s even more expensive Italian loafers, teasing Marco about a small scuff. Even Marco does la bella figura better than me. I give up. I ignore my brothers’ banter and focus on my daughter.
    Donovan is over by Grace now, crouched down, showing her and Maria how to tie the wreaths into a crown. As soon as the wreaths are on their heads, they take off around my grandmother’s garden with arms stretched out like they are flying. They look like little fairies in the flowered wreaths and their Sunday dresses.
    Like a specter, my mother is at my side.
    â€œElla, I don’t mean to be a pest, but Dante has a point. You should have all your babies when you’re young. Trust me, it’s easier that way.”
    I was a fool to think she didn’t hear what we were talking about.
    I know better than to argue, even though the thought of having a baby right now makes me squirm. My mother misreads my expression.
    â€œThere’s nothing wrong, is there?” she says, her forehead creasing with worry.
    My brothers stop their good-­natured bickering and look up.
    All eyes are on me, and I squirm. After Grace was born, I immediately started taking the birth control pill. I’m way too superstitious to risk giving Grace a sister fourteen months younger. That’s too much like Caterina and me. I refuse to tempt fate that way. But I can’t explain why I’m still on the pill years later.
    â€œEverything is fine, Mama.” I force a smile and wrap my arm around her in a sideways hug. I lean over and pick a sugared strawberry off my dish of panna cotta on the table. The remains of our regular Sunday feast—­platters of meatballs, pork chops, and Italian sausages, giant pots of pasta with marinara sauce, bowls of fresh vegetables, and loaves of fresh-­baked bread—­all have been cleared. All that remains on the large tables are pitchers of water, bottles of wine, and several types of desserts, including wine-­soaked peaches, the pignoli cookies I brought, and cannolis.
    â€œIt’s been a while since we’ve had a new baby in the family,” Marco says, pressing on, shoulders back, reveling in his role as Patriarch of the Giovanni family. He beams, looking at Sally, two of their young daughters squirming on her lap, angling for the best position. She looks at me and blows her blond bangs up in the air in mock frustration. She wouldn’t have it any other way.
    A new baby . Going back to the newsroom from my three-­month maternity leave meant holing up in a smelly upstairs bathroom using the obnoxious breast pump and feeling like a cow on an assembly line. More than once, something big would go down on the scanner while I was pumping and Kellogg would send someone else out to cover a story on my beat . And it wasn’t uncommon for me to be stuck covering a crime scene way past the time when I should have been pumping and having to keep my arms tightly folded over my chest to keep from revealing tennis-­ball-­sized stains on my shirt.
    And that was after Grace was born. While I was pregnant, it only took one time huffing and puffing up a steep driveway and being engulfed in black smoke from a house fire that made me admit I wasn’t at my