Overexposed

For the first two weeks after he'd returned from the Middle East, Nick Santori genuinely didn't mind the way his family fussed over him. There were big welcome home barbecues in the tiny backyard of the row house where he'd been raised. There were even bigger dinners at the family-owned pizzeria that had been his second home growing up. He'd been dragged to family weddings by his mother and into the kitchen of the restaurant by his father. He'd had wet, sticky babies plopped in his lap by his sisters-in-law, and had been plied with beer by his brothers, who wanted details on everything he'd seen and done overseas. And he'd had rounds of drinks raised in his honor by near-strangers who, having suitably praised him as a patriot, wanted to go further and argue the politics of the whole mess. That was where he drew the line. He didn't want to talk about it. After twelve years in the Corps, several of them on active duty in Iraq, he'd had enough. He didn't want to relive battles or wounds or glory days with even his brothers and he sure as hell wouldn't justify his choice to join the military to people he'd never even met. At age eighteen, fresh out of high school with no interest in college and even less in the family business, entering the Marines had seemed like a kick-ass way to spend a few years. What a dumb punk he'd been. Stupid. Unprepared. Green. He'd quickly learned...and he'd grown up. And while he didn't regret the years he'd spent serving his country, he sometimes wished he could go back in time to smack that eighteen year old around and wake him up to the realities he'd be facing. Realities like this one: coming home to a world he didn't recognize. To a family that had long since moved on without him. "So you hanging in?" asked his twin, Mark, who sat across from him in a booth nursing a beer. His brothers had all gotten into the habit of stopping by the family-owned restaurant after work a few times a week. "I'm doing okay." "Feeling that marinara running through your veins again?" Nick chuckled. "Do you think Pop has ever even realized there's any other kind of food?" Mark shook his head. Reaching into a basket, he helped himself to a breadstick. "Doyouthink Mama has ever even tried to cook him any?" "Good point." Their parents were well matched in their certainty that any food other than Italian was unfit to eat. "Is she still griping because you wouldn't move back home?" Nodding, Nick grabbed a breadstick of his own. For all his grumbling, he wouldn't trade his Pop's cooking for anything...especially not the never-ending MRE's he'd had to endure in the military. "She seems to think I'd be happy living in our old room with the Demi MooreIndecent Proposalposter on the wall. It's like walking into a frigging time warp." "You always did preferG.I. Jane." Nick just sighed. Mark seldom took anything seriously. In that respect, he hadn't changed. But everything else sure had. During the years he'd been gone, the infrequent visits home hadn't allowed Nick to mentally keep up with his loved ones. In his mind, when he'd lain on a cot wondering if there would ever come a day when sand wouldn't infiltrate every surface of his clothes again, the Santoris were the same big, loud bunch he'd grown up with: two hard-working parents and a brood of kids. They weren't kids anymore, though. And Mama and Pop had slowed down greatly over the years. His father had turned over the day-to-day management of Santori's to Nick's oldest brother, Tony, and stayed in the kitchen drinking chianti and cooking. One of his brothers was a prosecutor. Another a successful contractor. Their only sister was a newlywed. And, most shocking of all to Nick, Mark, his twin, was about to become a father. Married, domesticated and reproducing...that described the happy lives of the five other Santori kids. And every single onKelly, Leslie is the author of 'Overexposed ', published 2007 under ISBN 9780373793518 and ISBN 0373793510.