Gina closed her eyes. Through the window above the sink she could see the Lombardos' backyard, where a plastic Nativity glowed in the snow, Joseph slightly tipped over as though he'd been hitting the eggnog.
"He's nobody," she said. "He's a tax attorney. I met him at Halloran's. We had cocoa."
There was a silence on the other end of the line so profound that Gina actually checked to see if the cord had come out of the wall.
"A tax attorney," Rosemary breathed.
"Ma, don't."
"I'm not doing anything. I'm just saying, a tax attorney, that's a good profession, that's steady. Is he Catholic?"
"I didn't ask him if he was Catholic, Ma, we were having cocoa, not filling out a census."
"Ma." Gina put her forehead against the cold kitchen cabinet. "Please. I'm twenty-six years old."