And so I left Los Angeles behind, temporarily, though I knew the family unit would attempt to convince me to stay, and headed up north for their San Jose home
On the way, I got a little Dionne Warwick in me and belted out “Do You Know the Way to San Jose?” Fortunately there were no dogs around to torture with my terrible singing. But it did improve my mood. 2
The thing about being part of an Italian family was that they were, well…boisterous.
As soon as I pulled up in front of my parents’ house close to eight that Tuesday night, the door opened. I was pretty sure that meant my mother had been watching for me.
This was not the home I had grown up in, which had also been in San Jose, but one that my parents had bought as an “upgrade.” My sister was a real estate agent and had helped them with the purchase.
“Fabian! There you are!”
I was enveloped in a hug guaranteed to knock you off your feet if you weren’t prepared for it. I was, fortunately.
“Mama.”