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Chicago winters were always a marvel to Carmy.
When he was younger, he stopped playing in the snow when he was 11, fear of Richie pushing him down and calling him gay again. Mikey told him he meant no harm but the wet slush on his face, the tears from the embarrassment, and the hollowing laughter of his mother’s smoke filled lungs was unforgettable.
He grew out of it though; 23 touring New York unashamedly with his coat and hat on. He sat in cafes and just watched the snow fall, painting the world white. He wondered if he’d ever go out and play in it again. Maybe not.
Christmases were also a bit of a soft spot for Carmy, too. His first Christmas without Mikey he spent smoking up the most nicotine in the world in the parking lot of The Beef, refusing to let his brain shut down to process any emotions. The next one he spent crying in Sugar’s arms. Growth, he and his therapist called it.
They got less and less heartbreaking as years went passed. New additions to his family made them easier. Cutting out old ones made them even more pleasurable to go through. And now, here he was, his eighth Christmas without Micheal.
He didn’t wake up with a panic attack. In fact, he’s been panic free these past two months. His last attack was from a nightmare. Luckily he had someone to calm him down.
Speaking of which.
Carmy’s eyes blear open, blinking again and again before they stay ajar, his body and brain activating in tandem with one another. He groans, huffing out air and turning to glance at the clock, but his body is weighed down by another, a soft groan leaving her lips, forbidding him to move.
He smiles at the ceiling, his favorite part of waking up nowadays. He leans up slightly, catching a glance of her back, breathing in and out, her braids over one shoulder, tucked under her scarf, and the rest over their shared pillow.
Sydney Sydney Sydney.
If you told Carmen Berzatto he’d be happily married and sleeping in with his wife on Christmas Day on their day off any amount of years ago he’d never believe it. If you told him who his wife was, he might try to choke you out for fucking with him like that.
But it was true — Sydney Adamu–Berzatto, 33 and sleeping soundly across from him, snuggled under right arm and holding him tightly. He feels his smile grow, leaning over to hold her closer, the fabric of her sleep shirt meeting his lips as he kisses her sweetly. Sydney breathes and breathes and Carmy swears it’s the most amazing sound in the universe. He kisses her again and moves up and up to her neck, sliding some braids away to meet the skin and he hears her sigh, somewhat awake.
“Syd,” he says, full of love and sweetness, much like every morning. She grumbles and refuses to let him go, shuffling deeper into the arm she’s held captive all night and he laughs full of air. “Baby. I’ll be right back,” he swears into her ear, kissing the shell and watching her face press deeper in the pillow, definitely trying to hide her smile. He knows he’s won when Sydney sighs once then blinks her own eyes open, brown meeting blue in the darkness and smiling at him. He smiles back, giddy and full of love and doesn’t let her speak as he kisses her gently.
Sydney was soft. Softer than he ever thought humanly possible. And it made him believe Syd was beyond human. She always shoves him when he says something akin to that, “I fuck up and do stupid shit like anyone else,” she swears but he puts her on the pedestal anyways. Sydney decides she likes being up there.
He kisses and kisses her until she’s giggling again, pulling away to run her now free hands through his hair, pushing back curls and kissing his stubble. Carmy smiles into the affection, feeling warm despite the harsh snow outside.
Sydney is the one who encourages them to wake up officially, kissing him and leaning up for him to follow, which she knows he’ll do regardless. It’s something about brushing their teeth and how she wants breakfast, but Carmy doesn’t mind. Wherever she is he’ll be there.
In their bathroom, it smells like Sydney. She moved in rather early into their relationship but she had already been over time and time again and the only reason it wasn’t already her second home was because she was trying to keep the lines clear of their work–partner relationship before she and Carmy threw all professional integrity out of the window. Now, cocoa butter and oils and Jergens lotion is all he smells and sees. Many arrays of scarves and bonnets in all drawers, eyelash curlers and a case for her retainer lay amongst his dresser top. Their medicine cabinet is full.
She always brushes her teeth on the left side. He’s on the right. Sydney’s still somewhat sleeping, arm moving in slow, circular motions while she leans on him entirely. Carmy doesn’t mind. He never really does.
It’s barely 9 when he finally does check the time. Sydney’s on his shoulder and following behind him, cold hands under his shirt to gather warmth and the flesh there. Sydney noted his change in weight. She likes it. He lets her lean on him on the walk back to their bedroom but stops, “Bed or breakfast?” he whispers into her silk scarf and she mumbles, “Bed,” deep into his shirt and he doesn’t hide the smile that graces his lips.
They lay back down per Syd’s request, because that’s really the only reason Carmy does anything, and she lays on his chest, breathing deep with her eyes closed.
And he’s content like this, listening to Sydney’s breathing and thinking of the shortbread tarts he might make for breakfast, listing off ingredients and recipes. Until his wife starts to move.
He doesn’t feel it at first but the second or third move of her hips tells him something. He forms a soft smile, “Syd?”
She doesn’t say anything because she knows she never has to, just leans up and kisses his face, holding one cheek close in one hand and sliding the other down his shirt. He lays still, always wishing Sydney were more vocal about her needs beforehand, and doesn’t move. Syd, used to getting her way, huffs. “Carm,” she says impatiently, looking at him with those soft, doe eyes, full of a sleepy want that may have been the reason she woke up in the first place. He looks back at her, smiling and cups her face, stroking her full, soft cheeks, “Yeah?” he says because he’s cruel and loves her pout.
She huffs again, climbing on top of him and he laughs, surprised at her forwardness. She grinds her underwear against him, a soft wet spot meeting the flesh of his stomach and Sydney looks at him, “I wanna — please? ” is all she says. Carmy gives in, because he’s too sweet for her, and nods, leaning up and holding her face gently, kissing her full lips and separating him with his tongue.
Sydney is sweet. Right now she mainly tastes like toothpaste and mint, but it’s still so very, very sweet. She wraps her arms around him in a sigh, tasting him just as deeply as he is her and they pull each other closer and closer, his hands snaking under her shirt and grabbing at her butt while she feels up and down his curls.
Carmy never tires of kissing Sydney. Even on their wedding day, when he was nervous about kissing her in front of his family and loved ones, once her lips met his everything around him faded away. Her lips were soft and sweet and full, reminding him where he was and how active all his senses were. He cherished every kiss.
She pulls on his biceps after moments of this, he noting she wants, maybe even needs more. He huffs, pulling back and allowing himself to drink her in, wide eyes now full and awake and her lips flush and pink and wet. He swallows, Sydney was always too beautiful to look at.
She flushes, “What?” she remarks, always one to shy up under his gaze. He smiles, like he always does, smitten like he always has been. He holds her face, making her look at him with those delicate eyes, those who see through and for him. “You’re so fucking gorgeous, Syd.” is all he promises. She huffs, rolling her eyes in mock disgust and he leans forward to her neck, kissing her cheek and earlobe and murmuring against the skin, “I’m serious, baby, you really are,” he says again, kissing her neck and lifting her shirt. She helps him get her out of it, and she pulls back to look at him, hands at the hem of his shirt, moving him to do the same. “Yeah, I—” she says and shrugs, looking at his arms, “You — you are too. You’re like … really fucking pretty, Carm,” she says while the fabric goes over his head.
He laughs a bit, she’s said this to him before and he’s never pressed for an explanation before, but he’s feeling a bit more bold today. “Pretty?” he asks gently, urging her to lay back so he can slide her shorts off and she happily lets him. Sydney shrugs loosely again, nails digging into his shoulder when he slides two fingers between her folds, gathering all she’s accumulated there, the electricity burning her.
She sighs, nodding, “Mhmm. Very,” she whispers and he leans up, laying her all the way back against the other side of the bed and sliding her legs more open. Reaching her lips, he murmurs against her, “Say more, yeah?” and she nods to that, so Carmy adds pressure to her clit as a reward. He kisses her slowly, taking her breath away.
Sydney – ever the reactive – moans lowly, head leaning back and body already warming up with his touch. She sighs as Carmy kisses her skin, breasts folding in his free hand. She stutters, “You’re – ah, fuck, you’re so pretty, like a fucking painting... Like it’s your — your eyes.” Her hips move when he finds a particular spot and her nails dig. Carmy nods, wanting more, the print of his dick beginning to leak through his shorts and dampen her thigh.
She closes her legs together when he sparks a spot and moans, eyes slightly crossing before she closes them again. “Baby,” she sighs blissfully, that sweet plea of ‘More, more, more,’ and he can hear the request before it even leaves her mouth. He nods, leaning up to kiss her lips and taste her again before he kisses lower and lower, cupping her breast when he reaches it, sucking on the dark bud just because he can. She arches, needing more and the soft huffs from her mouth make him more and more aware of her want.
It’s slow and sweet and indulgent like baking. Kissing lower and lower and feeling the anticipation like the hairs on her skin rise and burn like the oven to 350º. Carmy keeps every noise she makes in the back of his mind, licking her stomach and sucking her thighs and separating her legs. He doesn’t need to rush, he knows Sydney’s in it for the long game based on her elongated moans and the way she’s gently tugging his hair instead of urging him forward. Carmy greets her pussy with two wet kisses, dragging her lips with his tongue and making her gasp and moan and twist. Sydney bucks, appreciating the stimulation and whining at the loss when he pulls off.
Sydney is his favorite taste. Her lips and breasts and sex and sweat and kisses — it doesn’t matter, he’ll cherish it all. He kisses up her thighs and lets her gasps and wet sighs greet his ears. She’s not speaking anymore, not allotting him the knowledge of how she sees him and even though he knows, he’s always been a tease. “Syd,” he says, looking up between her legs with glossy lips and eyes full of love. She sits up and looks down, eyelids hooded and slightly panting. He nods down, “You were saying? ‘Pretty’?”
She smiles and rolls her eyes, head falling back down on the pillows and hands holding the ones he had placed on her stomach, “Fuck off,” she laughs out and he smirks back, licking up a stride and collecting the slick there, kissing up for her clit and sucking. She gasps, squeezing his hand and thrusting up, “Oh, shit,” she says, all the air out of her lungs. Carmy takes his time like he always does, sucking and licking all that he could, letting his wife use his mouth for all she could. Sydney bucks and whines, sweet moans and calls of his name that make Carmy push his dick against the sheets to alleviate the pressure she’s causing him.
He moves with patience and love. Licking wherever he can and holding her close, her thighs closing and opening on his head and her pussy enveloping and gushing all over his mouth. Carmy squeezes her hand twice and she lets go, their nonverbal communication growing ever stronger over the years, and he reaches down, releasing her clit for a second of relief from its consistent abuse and licks his fingers, coating them and stretching her lips, pushing in slowly with two. Sydney groans, “Carmyyyy..” loud and long, back arching because she always, always loves getting fingered.
He looks up between the glorious sight that is Sydney in every way, from her pussy gushing on his fingers to the way her back is arching and he can slightly see her beautiful face construed in pleasure, eyebrows down and mouth agape, panting with love and honesty. She’s never been one to hide her reactions, but truly only ever with him. After so many years of knowing her, she’s more and more obvious. He knows her face and voice and body better than his own.
Carmy moves inside her slowly, collecting all the cum and slick her can and rubbing against every spot he knows she likes. Sydney loves it all, her whines increasing in longevity and volume, Carmy taking the hint she’s close. He leans back down, sucking on her neglected clit, moving his fingers deeper and thrusting at an angle that makes Sydney’s thighs squeeze. She groans, “Oh fuck, I’m — uh huh, I’m coming, baby,” she cuts herself off with a shout, nails digging into the hand she’s still holding on to against her stomach as her thighs twitch against him. Carmy nods and licks right along, sucking and accepting whatever she has to give like he always does.
Sydney’s orgasm is drawn out, long and loud. She whines up in the air and tosses on the bed, Carmy open and accepting. She lets out a cry when she’s done, clit pulsing in his mouth and her moans settle into soft gasps of over stimulation. He pops off her, mouth wet and chin spilling onto his neck with her and Sydney’s legs fall, taking in all the air she could muster.
Carmy comes up to her, kissing his way there and holding her taught, Sydney’s body is plush and she weak so he pulls her on her side and kisses her breathless lips. She kisses him back with ease and love, sighing in his mouth and wrapping her arms and legs around him slowly. After regaining her consciousness, she kisses him with fervor and grinds on top of him, itching his boxers down his legs with her skilled hands. Carmy lays down, pliant and accepting, letting her warm hands overcome him with ease. He sighs into her mouth.
Sydney’s on top of him now, much like she was at the beginning of their morning and he steadies her still shaking hips with his own hands. She’s still kissing him, wet and warm, drawing their tongues together to make art with their spit. Carmy sometimes thinks Sydney likes kissing him a lot more than he does her.
She pulls back, lips glistening in the soft sunlight of the day. She exhales and collects herself, “Can I?” she asks, grinding her hips down to finish her question, and Carmy nods, eager and willing to obey her ever will, want, and command, leaning over to grab some lube which she happily takes. She’s kissing him again, licking at his earlobes and making him shudder. Sydney had brought a whole new side of him once they finally consummated their relationship — he had no idea he was as sensitive as Sydney made him. He holds on to her waist as she strokes him, kissing her shoulder and trying to keep his moans down, still somewhat embarrassed how loud she can make him. She shakes her head, “Mhmm, let me hear you, please, Carmy? Love how you sound,” she sighs against his neck and he moans aloud, sensitive and stimulated and he can feel the smile on her lips against his neck, “Yeah, that’s it,”
He thrusts up and whines and she gets the hint that he doesn’t want to come from her hand, but inside her instead. She shushes him, happily taking control and lifting up, grabbing the base of his dick, swirling the pre-cum he’s accumulated around his head and making him arch up into her touch. She licks her lips and holds his eyes as she lowers herself down, spread and open and wet, taking all of Carmy in like she’s done many times before.
They both groan, sharing the same sound, tone, and mind they have had for the past 6 years. Sydney settles quickly, she’s so used to Carmy inside her there’s barely need for adjustment. She tilts her head back and grabs at her breast, moving the skin around while her body relaxes. Carmy, enamored and in awe, leans up and plays with the other one, bringing her closer to him and she looks back down and captures his mouth again. Their nipples rub together as their breaths combine, lungs itching for each other and mouths moving to swallow the other whole. Four years into marriage and it still can feel like they hadn’t had each other in ages.
Carmy moves slowly, his hands sliding from her breasts to her ass and squeezing, hips starting in small stutters that make her breath hitch and pull away from his mouth. She sighs out a sweet noise, a lovely, “Carmy,” with her perfect wet lips and her gorgeous eyes and her lovely, warm hands on his shoulders, holding onto him like she’ll float away otherwise, like she’s the boat and he the anchor. Carmy stares at her and sighs back, cupping her face with his left hand and letting her lean into it, smiling, “Hi, baby,” he says, same tone, listening to their shared heartbeat. She smiles, eyes closed and leans for another kiss, leaning them both back as to achieve that angle they both love.
Sydney lifts and lowers slowly, dragging out the fire they both feel and they both moan at the feeling. Carmy leans back and closes his eyes, mouth hanging open and wide, letting out all sorts of noise as Sydney speeds up. She lays her hands on his chest and Carmy leans back more to give her more leverage, finding his hands at her hips and helping her on the way down. She moans, just a bit louder than the last and he knows to stay there, keep hitting that same spot.
This is the part Carmy loves the most. Their moans colliding in such symmetrical bliss, bodies connecting and ending together, no way of knowing where the other begins and ends. Sydney’s bottom lip is in her mouth, breathily moans and deep sighs escaping her, and her thighs begin to shake and Carmy’s notes she’s close. He opens his eyes, now completely focused on her pleasure and thrusts up, letting their thighs meet. Sydney’s eyes open, a low, “ Fuck, oh, fuck Carmy,” leaves her and he smiles, moaning with her, “Yeah? Good?”
She nods, braids falling from her scarf that’s been long gone for a while, words failing to come out. Her hands are shaking against his stomach, he feels it happening before she can actually announce. Carmy feels it, her heart speeding up, the slow of her hips, and the shaking of her thighs. He holds her steady, nodding and encouraging, “That’s it, that’s it, come love, I got you,” over and over and it spikes at Sydney’s skin. She lets out short, high pitched moans and then a long one, squeezing around him and slowing her movements to a halt. Her hands move to the sheets and she pulls, ripping at the fabric as her orgasm overtakes her.
Carmy feels his own sneak into his skin, somewhere in the middle of his wife’s finishing moments. He tips own head back, huffing and Sydney sees him, leans forward and kisses his neck, moving her hips with the little mobility she has to get Carmy over, muttering encouraging words in his ear, begging him, “Please, Carm, wanna feel you, please, come for me, baby,” over and over until he stutters, both in sound and motion, cumming deep inside her and somewhat thankful for his vasectomy two years ago. Sydney moans with him, holding him close and Carmy moans aloud, now completely unashamed of his vocalness.
He breathes deeply when it’s over, Sydney still panting on top of him and they both sit still in silence, Sydney’s thighs still shaking a bit and her head hid in his shoulder. He keeps his hands on her hips and listens to her breath, in and out.
It’s still until she suddenly says, “You wanna visit the property?”
And he smiles and nods, because of course he does.
They bought a new lot in the fall.
Four streets and seven blocks from The Bear, much bigger, and already fully furnished. Their new restaurant, Nostra Cosa (italian for ‘ our thing ’ because Carmy is a fucking sap and Sydney likes when he speaks Italian so she’s an even bigger sap, sue her), was coming along great. Sydney had first talked about moving from the Bear and was met with Carmy’s broken heart right on his sleeve and immediately took it back. Truth be told, she never did want to leave (moreso, she didn’t want to stop cooking with Carmy), just expand their food and their menu to other places. And one random Monday, Tina’s friend of a friend of a hitman says he’s got a spot, furnished and ready to be opened, just needs a team willing to do it. And she looks at Carmy, smile big and bright and he has that look, the same one he gave her when she came back and they decided to build the Bear together,
The name came first, actually during their honeymoon to Italy and Norway and Copenhagen and fucking Mexico because of Carmy, the rich piece of shit. She found Carmy spoke many languages, which makes sense in hindsight since his job took him everywhere and he did live a life before her. She still can’t believe how well his tongue is, double entendre intended.
Sydney thinks of the name while he’s going down on her in Naples, swirling his tongue and her hands are pleated in the sheets. She bucks and suddenly sits up and grabs his attention, “Carm, fuck, Carmy wait, wait,” and she’s softly pulling his hair and he releases her clit with a pop, mouth, lips and chin wet and eyes full of worry a if he’s hurt her.
She’s quick to react, “No, hey, I’m good it’s just — the name, it should be italian, yeah?” She pants out and Carmy pulls a hand through his hair and has a glossy smile on his face, highlighted by the sunset, “That’s what you’re thinking about right now?” he jokes, and she rolls her eyes but he nods, agreeing then finishing where she would have.
Now, the flooring had just been finished.
Carmy watches Sydney patter around the foyer, playing hostess and standing at their podium in her sweater and long jacket and silly smile. “We should really finalize the menu like before February, babe,” she says and he nods, looking at the marble tile and counting how long it took him to walk from the door to the hostess stand.
“I finished my part, you’re the one who needs to fly down to Louisiana for this ‘everything cookbook,’” Carmy air quotes the last part, standing up there with her, loose smiles on both their faces.
Sydney fakes hurt, “Don’t hate crime me on Christmas, Carmy, please. It’s not my fault Nigerian recipes are literally one in a million to come by. Plus, my auntie would never let me take it out of her complex, let alone on the plane to fucking Chicago.”
He hums, laying on her shoulder, “She likes me though,”
A scoff, “Because she’s not used to how white you are. You fucked her up with that Italian, she still calls me and asks if I learned any,”
“Quando lo farai?” He asks in her ear and she giggles like she’s fourteen and she’s dating the foreign exchange student. “When I have time to study, I’ll learn, I promise. But I can understand you and that’s all that matters, right?”
Carmy shrugs, blushing, because Sydney still does most of her things for him like he does her. “Yeah. Yes, it does. You ready?”
She shakes her head, “The kitchen. The pots there yet?”
Another shrug, “Delivery guy said won’t be till after Christmas, Syd,”
She frowns, the cutest face ever, “Fuck me,” a sigh. He smiles, “I just did, like—” a quick look at his watch, “Yeah, maybe two hours ago? The again in the shower, we should at least break the booths in first,”
Sydney laughs, “No no, we agreed no restaurant fucking outside of that one time. And I’m tapping out until Tuesday, I think you’re aging backwards old man, I can’t keep up,” that makes him laugh and they move together, Carmy having note of the time and Sydney noting his noticing.
“It’s not till three hours, baby,” she says this every year. Sydney kisses his forehead and he leans in, “Yeah but I wanna finish the rolls before everyone gets there. Plus, Teddy wants to see you before you ‘go away into the kitchen forever’,”
She smiles at the funny quote from her favorite and only niece, “Then yeah, we should go I gotta see my Teddy Bear,”
Christmas dinner is now and always at Nat’s house.
It’s never nearly as big as dinner at his Ma’s house and now that they’ve both gone no contact, they have no idea if she even still does the Dinner of Seven fishes that usually feeds no one.
Going no contact for the both of them was a hard but necessary decision. Nat’s pregnancy and Carmy’s breakup with Claire was supposedly going to bring her back around full force, according to Richie and that chilling feeling he got whenever he hung around Claire, like his mom was just around the corner. But, nothing. She never came around or called back. And when Nat had the baby unannounced and Carmy got with Syd a year later, she had gone into victim mode again, even though they had both reached out to no avail. Not a month later, with the stress of the money, the baby, and their respective relationships, the remaining Berzatto siblings cut contact with Mama Bear and spend Christmas with each other, crying and cooking.
Every year since then, they’d cooked and cried and talked with the little family they had. Nat with her Pete and Teddy Bear and Carmy with Sydney and Mr. Adamu, who was insisted in being called Emmanuel but Sydney always told him to never take the bait.
Theodora Berzatto was always the highlight of the Christmas dinner, most times preparing either a song or an art piece or performance of sorts to show her them. Ever the creative like the rest of the family, the only person who knew of what was to come before anyone else knew was her Auntie Syddie, who she dubbed her second mother and was her favorite Berzatto of them all, even Nat knew it. Cousin Michelle most times stopped by if she were in the state and Uncle Jimmy always came for the new menu for the year, asking if he should keep giving Carm and Syd more money. (He does and always will.)
The Faks would pop over but won’t stay long. They’re running classes on how to become a great host with cousin himself. Somehow, Jimmy supports it and it actually is the Faks one and only running business that is somewhat legitimate. Around their arrival Richie will start fucking with Teddy to preform early and she has yet to break under the fake pressure. Teddy and Richie are so unalike, they all think she knows that he’s not really a cousin but plays along anyways. Teddy bosses him around and Riches follows eagerly, having much experience in this area. Her and Eva are close friends, more like sisters, Teddy would argue.
Other than that, it’s the same 9 or so people every year and Carmy always loves the consistency. It’s the same thing — him and Syd arrive first. They’ll either have ingredients to cook or already had cooked and just came early to help Nat and play with Teddy. Either way they’re always first. Richie comes next, Eva with longer hair every year and larger and larger earrings. She’s almost Sydney’s height now, and Sydney tries not to think too hard about it. (She’s not old, Eva is just growing, she always says.)
The Faks and Cousin Michelle will come or not come around the time the food is done. If they come by, Nat will lead their prayer, the only Catholic thing they actually do on the holiday. If they’re not there, everyone will sit and share stories. Nat always goes first and Richis always tells one too many. Uncle Jimmy stops by for a plate and some stories but will stay for Teddy because he always swears he doesn’t have a gift for her, but he definitely does and she’s spoiled rotten because of it.
Then, Emmanuel will stop by. A knock and Sydney will jump up, the door will open to a soft groan of “Hey, baby, smells good,” and Carmy will feel his heart swell.
Emmanuel will eat and listen then share some tips to Richie about suits or cards or Fenway or whatever sport is on and Richie will listen intently. Uncle Jimmy and Mr. Adamu will gather and talk about how proud they are of the dynamic duo of Syd and Carmy. They both pretend to not hear it every year. Then, Teddy’ll clear her throat and ask everyone to gather around the tree while she performs. Last year it was an original song about food. This year, who knows.
The night usually ends after that. When Teddy is in Sydney’s arms while her and Pete talk about being married to a Berzatto and everyone is full and drinking water to get home safe. Nat and Carm typically end up doing the dishes. (This year maybe not, since her stomach makes it hard to reach certain areas.) Sydney’ll put Teddy to bed and put the food away while Pete cleans the living room. Richie might stay and help, but it’s always just them. Uncle Jimmy leaves when he knows Teddy’s put to bed and everyone has worked off whatever low grade alcohol they’ve drunk. Every year, it’s the same.
Carmy smiles as he and Sydney reach Nat’s doorstep. She knocks twice and he adjusts the bag he’s holding full of food, ready for a seven year old to tackle them.
And, of course, when the door opens and Nat’s bright smile enters his vision, he feels a pair of strong arms wrap around his legs and lay on his bag, “Carmy, Syddie!” and, “Hi, guys. Ugh, thank God you’re here, Pete keeps fu— messing up with the lobster. Syd, could you?” She gestures vaguely behind her and they both see Pete, waving anxiously behind her with a steel pot in hand.
And they nod, making their way inside as they greet Teddy, sweet girl with another missing tooth and a tutu on, her hair a wild mess of curls like Carmy and her eyes just as sweet and open like his sisters, “Yeah, sure, I — yes, Teddy, you gotta tell me what you’re doing tonight, lemme put these bags down, okay, baby?” And Sydney’s sweet and patient voice is overtaken by Teddy’s squeals of “Syddie’s here! Syddie’s here!”
He hugs his sister with his side of groceries, cold fish and crab and veggies poking her protruding stomach, the only new addition to the yearly event. “Hey, you okay?” he asks naturally, setting down bags and looking at her flushed face. Nat, ever the older sister, waves a hand and doesn’t answer, “I just — water, that’s what I need. And, hey Theo! Theo, Theo bathroom, now!” she yells just past him, Teddy and Syd somewhere in the kitchen and vaguely he hears, “I don’t have to go!”
His sister’s face changes, “Bear. Now, go. You just drank all that punch and Syd is here, go and don’t potty on yourself.” she turns her attention back to him while he unpacks, “No, but yes, I’m good. I just, I can barely stand and my fish is fucked because my tastebuds are off, I can’t— it all tastes weird,”
Carmy nods, “Trout?”
“Sweetfish. I have some crappie but I don’t know.”
He calls because he knows she’s listening, “Baby, you brought the arugula?”
And she’s instant, “Yeah!”
He nods back to Nat, “We got it. Sweetfish, cucumbers and sweet salad, light dressing, you’re good, Sug,”
She smiles, eyes thanking him and then, “Pete, let Sydney cook please, she knows where the dishes are.” And she’s walking off to the downstairs bathroom, yelling at Teddy to close the door when guests are over, family or not. Teddy, of course, argues back. They sound a lot alike.
He makes his way into the living room, deeper and past the tree, the pictures of Mikey arranged in a different order this time. He smiles, not sad or anxious, just warm.
Sydney comes behind him, warm hands taking off his coat and he smiles a bit wider, “I’m good,” he says, turning to her and she arches her eyebrow. Carmy kept his jacket on when he was anxious and wanted to leave. Or he put it on when he was ready.
He comes to her close, holding her waist, “I’m okay. I love you,” and kisses her nose. Sydney smiles, feeling his own relaxation meld into her skin, “If you’re sure. I love you, too. Help me scale?”
He nods, “Yes, chef,” he says dutifully.
They’re perfect together in every kitchen. Sydney’s seafood okra stew is simmering slowly and she’s adding more peppers while he preps Nat’s sweet fish and they talk shop and menu, “You want my okra on it?”
Carmy shrugs, and even though they’re facing opposite directions, he knows she can see him, “I love it, Syd, so yeah. App? Or main?”
He sees her own shoulders like he felt his. He cleans the arugula and takes the stock and dips the sweetfish in, “Both?” she suggests, “One bowl for app, larger one for main? Side of catfish, maybe? Thinking sour,”
He nods, “I hear that. You got onions? Need more for my stock,”
Suddenly, onions are at his side. “I guess it’s more gumbo than stew. Maybe the main will have more crawfish? Also, you done peeling?”
He turns to her and hands over the headless and shell less crawfish, fingers red but satisfied with his hard work. Before Carmy turns away, a quick kiss is given to his forehead, a sweet “Thank you, chef,” leaves her mouth and it makes him stop, looking at her. He smiles, “‘Course, chef,” and she blushes, that Sydney look when she scrunches up her nose and winks with her left eye, her lips curled and she turns away, still so embarrassed that Carmy still has that effect on her.
This year it’s a seafood menu. Last year it was chicken based, whole, skinned, baked, fried, in a roll, on a salad, anything really. He and Sydney always picked what they wanted for the next year, and Nat was always willing to help. She comes waddling in the kitchen, tapping Sydney’s shoulder so she can see the Mac and Cheese seafood bake she has in the oven, still browning on top. She sighs, standing back up slowly, grabbing the counter, “Okay I know I said last year I wouldn’t have you guys completely alone in the kitchen again, but I really need to sit, are you guys —”
They don’t let her finish, “Nat, go, please, yes we’re good,” “Yes, please, sit, you’ll literally pop,” their voices sound a lot alike, too.
She smiles, completely and truly thankful and walks off, just as slowly, heading to the living room while Teddy runs around with her dolls. Carmy thinks, “You think she’ll wanna be little chef again?”
Sydney snorts, moving his pot of lobster to the backburner, “ Hell no. Remember she was crying because she thought she burnt the roux and when I told her it was supposed to be brown, she still cried. She’s never eaten gravy since.”
Carmy smiles. He does remember, sweet five year old Teddy in Sydney’s arms, confused on how she did everything right but the bottom of her pan was still a burnt, prudent brown that Sydney insisted was purposeful and good. “Syddie, I messed up! I’m a terrible chef, we’ll never work together!” she repeated and repeated and sobbed and it took Dad Pete to come in and save the day. “No baby, it’s okay. You can be a chef at any point, okay? It doesn’t have to be now,” and that seemed to calm her down. He remembers Sydney's face, somewhat sad and wanting to offer comfort to her little chef. But eventually, Teddy had moved on to the next thing and Carmy was rubbing her back and telling her not to worry.
Since then, she rarely stepped foot in the kitchen with her aunt and uncle. Hence the “Go into the kitchen and disappear forever,” phrase.
He hums, “You think our kid’ll be a cook?”
The question doesn’t surprise Sydney. They’d been talking about it for a while, “Yes. And no. Actually, I don’t know. I think she'll definitely have an excellent palette. She’ll know how to cook, but pursue it as a career? I don’t know. Maybe art, maybe writing. Mom was a writer,” she’s done with her etouffee and properly moves it to the counter to cool, taking his sweet fish and plating it on a sheet pan to broil for three minutes.
He checks her stew/gumbo. “She’ll be funny, at least.”
That makes her laugh, “Oh definitely . We’re the funniest people we know.”
That makes him laugh in return. And suddenly, “Merry Christmas Lizards! I got the wine!” is yelled at the door, which is said every year. Richie comes in with a 13 year old Eva, white matching boots and sweaters with denim. Every year the sweaters get bigger and fuzzier and uglier. Teddy comes first, laughing about her dolls to Eva and tugging on Richie’s leg to give him her new hat, the one his wearing and had no intentions of giving away.
They both yell from the kitchen, “Hey Rich!” and he snarks, “Oh they’re back there again! Y’know, some chefs mingle!” the dig never hurts because it’s never deep. Syd and Carmy roll their eyes. “Hey, Pete, my man, c’mon let’s get some tunes going! It’s too quiet in here! Trying hear that Lionel, right?!”
And, collectively, like every year, “No!” is said by everyone.
This year no Cousin Michelle but Two Faks.
Everything is prepped and set by the time Uncle Jimmy gets there, big bag in hand, another year where he tricks Teddy into thinking he’s Santa. Teddy comes up to the table where Carmy is, scratching her sweater because she’s hot and she uses her hand to ask him to lean down and then she whispers to him, “Is Syddie pregnant?” pink face covered in unknown frosting.
He holds his smile in, “I don’t know,” he says, but he does. Teddy has longed for Syd and Carmy to have a baby and the conversation just started to come up more in their own household. He’s making appointments to look at his vasectomy and she to look at her uterus but Teddy doesn’t need to know that. So, when she asks, he always says, “I don’t know,” never discouraging her and always making her go to Sydney and ask herself.
Teddy huff, face fat and he grabs a towel and wipes her cheeks, and she closes her eyes and lets him do so, “Aunt Syd deserves a baby. And you do, too. You guys love me a lot, you’d be good,” and even though she’s said this to him before, the comment still makes him swell and eyes weld up a bit. He kisses her face and she giggles, a sound that reminds him of his sister, “Thank you, baby Bear,”
“Carmy! Help me plate, please!” His wife’s voice takes him out of the moment and Teddy nods twice, noting it’s time for her to bother the Faks with questions about baseball. Richie will inevitably join but realize two hours in Teddy is just asking to make conversation, not to learn about the rich history of the Sox.
Carmy comes to Sydney’s side instantly and grabs the ladle Mikey owned from where it sat in Nat’s perfect kitchen. They only take it out for the holidays. She brings it over to theirs for Thanksgiving and it’s used for the Memorial Grill at Richie’s. Sydney calls it the Bear Spoon. (And she is aware Bear Ladle could also be said, but she likes spoon more.)
They make Nat’s plate first, pregnancy rendering her to the couch while she and Pete look at photos. This pregnancy, Nat never allowed the man to be more than four feet from her, so they didn't mind that he couldn’t move and help. Some etouffee and sweet fish salad with fennel and cucumbers and mint, helping with her stomach. Carmy made his famous Sprite and poured that to her in her favorite cup. (It’s Sydney’s favorite too, but she relents the cup to Nat for the holidays.) Nat gets some seafood bake and Carmy’s famous lobster and crab rolls, but they leave out Syd’s gumbo. “Too spicy,” Nat says, every year, every version. Sydney’ll always roll her eyes and say to Carmy, “Fucking white people,” and he’ll always laugh.
(He thinks it’s too spicy too, but still eats it. Every year, every version.)
They plate Teddy’s and Pete’s next. Teddy can handle the spice but Pete, of course, can’t have any gumbo either so he gets two rolls and more seafood bake than anyone else. They bring them out to the table and tell the Faks and Richie and Uncle Jimmy to go on and eat, still chefs willing to eat last.
They look at their family, thankful smiles and happy stories being shared as everyone plates up and gathers more than enough food. Carmy knows Mr. Adamu will be here in the next hour or so, getting off early on Christmas so Carmy taps Sydney’s back and motions forward and she smiles, every year, always the same. He knows this part is actually her favorite.
Silently and slowly, they grab their coats and walk out together, hand in hand just to get a moment. On Nat’s back porch, or what Chicago considered a porch, her head on his shoulder.
She speaks first because she always does, “You want it now? Or around the tree?”
He chuckles, “Now, please. But I will say — I think saying ‘no gifts,’ every year but still getting gifts is so cliche,” he says, nodding. Sydney giggles, “But it’s so fun! You fucking love it,” and she pulls away from their embrace, and hands him a small bag, the same size as his.
They both smile, faces cold but hearts heating up their bodies and exchange. There’s no pressure to get the other something crazy but they're too competitive, even with each other.
Sydney smiles and pulls her box out first, a small ring, one almost identical on her hand now, but flexible and non-slip. Her initials are still engraved on the inside. She smiles, wider and sweeter, and he explains, “You hate taking your ring off to cook,” and Carmy grabs his own box and pulls out his gift. It’s his band, the exact one that’s on his hand now. His initials are there, too.
He smiles and looks up. Sydney cocks her head, “So do you,” she explains. Carmy laughs, taking off his glove and putting on the band as Sydney does the same. They both admire their rings and laugh, “God, I hate us, we’re too cute,” she says and he nods and agrees.
She lays back on his shoulder, full bear hug, and she sighs. “I can’t wait for it to open,”
He nods, looking at the sky and breathing in and out. “60 tables, yeah, I’m sure you can’t wait. You and your big fucking foyer,”
She smiles because he knows she knows he means nothing behind it. She had to fight him on that foyer. (She didn’t and she hadn’t. He’d give her anything she wanted.) “Two stars and keeping up with you, I deserve a big fucking foyer, thank you. You’ll be happy when the tables are set and everyone is eating your stuffed caravelli shells, yeah?”
He blushes. He did work all year on those shells. “Okay, whatever, you got me.” Carmy mumbles and she kisses his cheek.
A comfortable silence falls as Sydney laces their fingers together. The years were getting easier and easier.
“I really want a baby, Carmy.”
It’s really quiet, but he hears her. He looks over at her and she’s still looking at the stars with her full, deep, brown eyes. He doesn’t hesitate, “Okay. Next year, then?”
She nods, not blinking. “September. We’ll fuck on New Years.”
That makes him laugh, shocked at her response. She turns to him and laughs at his laugh, “What? I mean, it makes the most sense! Nine months, whole baby. Easy math,” Their laughs conjoin and Carmy pokes, “You’re also saying you want me to get this thing out in the next seven days with no appointment,”
She scoffs, “Oh whatever, you were already getting it out in January. I’m just saying you still have to fuck me on New Year’s. It’s a Tuesday, anyway.” He smiles, grabbing her waist and pulling her for a kiss, slow and deep and she sighs, somewhat surprised but more than willing to open her mouth and let him.
They kiss and kiss until Carmy pulls away, panting and looking up. The snow had just started to fall.
Sydney smirks. “This is some movie stuff,” she jokes and he laughs in agreement. He let the snowfall right on his face and cover his beanie, closing his eyes and relishing the moment. Sydney takes her hands from his and cups his cheeks and kisses them, soft and sweet then whispers, “I’m kinda hungry,”
He nods, eyes open and full, “Me too,” and they head back in.
Emmanuel is just walking up to the door as well and Sydney smiles, “Dad, hey! We’re just going in, too,”
And he smiles, that sweet old man smile that makes Carmy feel all the love in the world. His cap is still on and he has on the coat Carmy got him last year. “Hey baby, Carmen, how are you guys?” and they walk in together. Carmy, of course, still greets him as Mr. Adamu.
They’re welcomed back with warmth and laughter, Carmy's smile still plastered on his face, his cheeks hurt. Richie and the Faks are reviewing the new business model for the year and Nat and Pete are helping Teddy with her second sweater of the night, saying she can’t just change shirts wherever she wants. Jimmy is coming up to Emmanuel, their yearly conversation coming early because of Nostra Coas’s grand opening soon. Sydney and Carmy head back to Nat’s kitchen, Carmy making Sydney’s plate and Sydney making Carmy’s plate, their silent, unspoken rule.
Sydney gives him more than enough gumbo and he gives her four lobster rolls. When they face each other and see their respective plates, they both smile. She comes close to him, checking in, right on schedule, “You okay?”
And Carmy of course, nods, “Yes. Very,” because he really is.
They sit and eat. Carmy listens to everyone’s stories in a sweet silence. Listens to Emmanuel talk about Sydney’s first Christmas, a story he’s heard a million times but loves to watch his wife fake embarrassment when he tells it. Watches Teddy grab her sketchbook and poke her mom’s shoulder to show her the piece before everyone else sees it, another sweet tradition.
Sees Pete pour richie another glass of wine and Neil complain that Richie is still their ride, which said cousin waves away and drinks down the glass. He notes that Eva and Teddy are now gone, singing at the tree to Mikey like they always do and the adults start to share more stories, many of them about the first year of The Beef and the first years of The Bear.
“I remember the cans, God — Mikey really got us with those cans, when Carmy called me,” Nat laughs wearily and Pete smiles. Carmy nods, “Worst phone call of my life,”
“Oh, remember — Babe, remember the fucking, what were they, Richie? Your gang friends I had to feed to get them off my front? All those leftovers, just gone,”
Richie always defends his friends, “Yeah and they become patrons of your little Italy trip, so whatever miss knife for hands! Anyone remember that, huh! It’s still scarring over!”
“Dad, your butt is fine!”
“Eva, honey, you don’t know your Auntie Syd like I do, baby!”
“You said it was gone last year!” Everyone laughs.
“I think she’s right, Richie, but I can give you a new one if you’d like,” and that makes Carmy laugh, always on his wife’s side.
The chatter continues until Teddy is ready. She clears her throat and she’s shy, even though she does it every year, but still talks. “Uuh, last year Uncle Carmy and Auntie Syddie gave me some crayons and markers because of Carmy’s tattoos. And uhm, I drew this, because I love you guys very much.” It’s so direct and matter of fact like her mother and everyone laughs and waits. And she flips around her sketchbook.
It’s all of them — Sydney, Carmy, Nat, Pete, Eva and Teddy, Richie and Cousin Michelle next to both Faks, and Uncle Jimmy and Emmanuel, all in front of The Bear, the logo under them shining with Sydney’s two stars. For a seven year old, it’s incredible. She’s got their faces and dimples and expressions as accurate as can be and they’ve all got on clothes they’ve definitely owned before. Carmy tears up, just a bit and Nat is full on bawling, pulling her daughter into a hug, everyone else comes forward with accolades and all the praise you can give a child. Her toothless smile and red, fat cheeks is all Carmy needs in his life to know everything will be okay.
Sydney’s hand is on top of his suddenly and he looks over to her, her eyes spilling over and her sweet smile. They share the same face and thought. Yeah, he hears them both think, we’re definitely having a baby. Mentally, he starts to think about his next Christmas next year, one more addition to it. His heart swells to his chest feels soft.
The piece symbolizes the end of the night, though, everyone full and happy and wrapping plates. Jimmy agrees that the gumbo should be both app and main and Sydney fists bumps herself, as if he’s never agreed with her her entire knowing him.
Richie cuts the music down and starts drinking water even though everyone knows he’s nowhere near drunk. Eva and Teddy are asleep on the couch together, the brownie crumbs on their faces and fat stomachs under sweaters definitely the cause. Jimmy makes a joke, asking if Carmy put xanax in the sprite and Nat slaps his back and Richie’s for laughing, so of course they stop immediately.
Sydney and Carmy start on the dishes as Emmanuel makes his way to the door. Richie walks him out and Sydney smiles, saying she’ll be over before the week ends. Carmy says he’ll make sure she actually follows through on that. They laugh as Emmanuel waves them both off, knowing he may not see them till the New Year. Since long before marriage, they’d become somewhat of shut ins.
He bumps his hip into he’s as he washes and she dries, “You okay?”
Sydney looks up and smiles, “You like Norah? Or Aaliyah more?”
He thinks, “Aaliyah. But Norah is good, too. Or Evangeline. From that movie,”
She snorts, “Don’t say ‘that movie’ like Princess and the Frog didn’t change your life. If I recall correctly, you looked over at me and said, ‘Us,’ and then cried the rest of the movie,” he shrugs, decidedly remaining clueless, “It was good,”
She smirks and continues. “Maybe Morgan. Or Slyvia. Or Sade. Or Adanna. That was going to be my name, y’know,”
He does. He nods, washing the pot of Sydney’s finished gumbo. “I love that. Adanna Adamu–Berzatto.” He says it with ease and Sydney swoons. “Oh, yeah. That’s it,” and it suddenly decided.
Carmy thinks about what Sydney’ll look like pregnant. If their baby will have his deep blue eyes or her flawless brown ones. If their cabinet can take more hair products and scarves. He realizes he’ll happily make space. “One girl?”
She shakes her head, “Two. Two years apart. Space for Adanna to have us then she’ll have a sister. Gia. Gia Adamu–Berzatto.” she puts the dish down and sighs, her imagination in overdrive like she’s making a dish. “That’s — yeah. God, I want my baby,” she whispers the last part and Carmy suddenly feels that edge and urge to give her everything. And, in truth he can, just a small surgery and Sydney would be good. He feels like his appointment can’t come faster.
He put his dishes down and grabs her shoulders, nodding, “Me, too,” he whispers because he really does. He feels now that he’s known his daughters his whole life and saying their names makes him feel like he’s supposed to go out and find them.
Sydney nods. “January?”
It’s decided, “January.”
They go back to the dishes. “I can’t wait.” he can hear the smile in her voice.
He agrees. “Me neither.” She leans over and captures his mouth, sealing their promise with a kiss.
Because life is always full of surprises, Sydney gets pregnant in February, a week after Nostra Cosa opens. And, of course, they have twins instead.
Gia and Adanna Adamu–Berzatto are born on October 12, healthy, fat, and heads full of her out of the womb. (Carmy fills their cabinet up once more.) Nostra Cosa is respectfully opened then shut down for a week before the Adamu–Berzatto’s send their crew back with no captains but full faith. Everything is fine, which of course it is — Tina’s there as their CDC, eyes and ears and so is Nat as their Sous, and Richie stages on the weekends.
Their baby girls are perfect in every way. A wonderful, long nine months of waiting, meeting and raising them had come so naturally to Syd and Carmy. They were sweet and quiet babies, but got loud when necessary and always, always were down to be in their slings while mom and dad cooked. Three wonderful months of many sleepless but fulfilling nights were starting to become Carmy’s routine.
And their first christmas is full of coos and spoilings, new and old, and traditions.
They have two strollers in hand instead of a bag of groceries. Well, it's actually just still in the car.
Nat opens the door, baby Eli on her hip, babbling and still teething. Her bright smile fills Carmy’s view and he hears sweet Gia babble in Sydney’s hand while Adanna sleeps peacefully in his. Teddy and Eva are already playing dolls and Richie and the Faks are pitching their new idea overseas to Uncle Jimmy. Cousin Michelle is brushing at Eva's hair, seemingly given up on Teddy's. He breathes and smiles. Another year and more traditions to make.