21. The Birthday Miracle
The Birthday Miracle
Lucy
Today is my grandma’s birthday, and I’ve been out in Portovino all morning, trying to figure out what to get her.
What’s an appropriate gift for the grandma you’ve never met and who wasn’t aware you even existed?
In the end, I settle on a pale blue silk scarf.
Hopefully, she’ll like it. I’m meeting Elio at the party, since I’m already in town, but I wish we could have arrived together.
Aside from him acting as my buffer, I also want him there for support. He has a way of putting everyone at ease with a simple smile . A talent I could really use, since I’m a ball of nerves right now.
I walk toward Paola’s house, but I decide to stop under a large olive tree at the end of the street to wait for Elio.
It’s another beautiful day—clear skies, the sun beating down on the winding streets, and a bright atmosphere that lifts my mood.
The heat of summer lingers in the air, but the gentle breeze is enough to rustle the olive branches above me and bring a hint of relief.
The street is quiet, save for the occasional drone of a Vespa passing by, and the pavement shimmers under the sunlight.
Fortunately, I don’t have to wait long before the sound of Elio’s powerful engine overwhelms the silence.
His silver car parks at the end of the street, and he gets out, wearing a light-blue linen shirt with the sleeves casually rolled up, paired with dark, slim-fitting chinos that highlight his effortlessly tailored style. A fashion icon, as always.
I smile and walk toward him.
“Hey!” I greet him, giving a small wave.
“Oh, hey,” he says, glancing at me with a faint smile. “What are you doing out here?”
I wince, shifting on my legs. “Waiting for you.”
“Scared to go in alone?” he asks, grabbing a small bag from the passenger seat of his car before locking it.
I sigh. “Terrified.”
He shakes his head. “It’s going to be fine. Don’t worry, they’ll love you.”
I blush at the L-word leaving his lips and nod.
As we walk toward the house, the only sound that fills the silence is the slight rustle of the wind through the trees and a songbird twittering on a branch.
But as my heart quickens, accelerating with each step, my pulse becomes the only sound I can hear.
I didn’t even register that Elio had rung the bell already.
Alessia opens the door. She’s wearing a red dress, a bright smile on her face.
“I’m so glad you’re here, and I love your dress.
Yellow looks good on you.” She pulls me into a hug, and I force myself to smile back.
I really am happy to be here, but my nerves are getting the best of me.
There is no way to prepare for a situation like this.
“Thank you,” I say. “You look great too.”
After she exchanges a few words with Elio, we follow her through the house, just like yesterday. Gifts are piled on the dining room table, so we drop ours beside them.
We approach the sliding patio door, which is already open. Just beyond, about ten people are standing around and having a drink outside, laughing and engaged in lively conversation.
As soon as we step out onto the patio, they all fall silent, and I’m pretty sure that’s the visual definition of the word “awkward,” right there.
The guests are all staring at us, probably not sure what’s more shocking. The girl who looks just like Alessia, or the famous driver. The guys are definitely picking Elio, but it’s still up in the air with the women.
“Everyone,” Alessia announces with a bright smile. “This is Lucy, Giulia’s daughter, and Elio, her, um, friend.”
Elio mutters something next to me, but I can’t hear it under the collective “hello” of the group, who come to greet us in a mix of English and Italian.
I shake a lot of hands, and Alessia introduces me to her brothers. There’s Michele, the youngest, and Dario, the oldest, who’s here with his wife, Anna, and their kids, Adriano and Elena. I also meet their dad, Emmanuele, who has the same kind eyes as his children.
And then, finally, I lock eyes with my grandmother.
She stands up from her chair across the patio, Dario helping her to her feet.
Her small frame trembles slightly as she rises, her expression shifting from mild curiosity to something more vulnerable.
Her gaze softens in recognition before growing wistful, like a wave of memories is crashing over her.
I detect a flicker of joy, but also sadness, a quiet grief from a long-forgotten past. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, I see my mother in her eyes—a spark of tenderness, like a lost echo.
My heart hammers in my chest, and an ache I can't name presses into my ribs.
“ Dio mio, sei tu .”
“Remember, Nonna,” Alessia says gently, a hand on her shoulder. “Lucy doesn’t speak Italian.”
“Right,” she replies with a thick accent. “I can’t believe you’re here. Yesterday, I didn’t even know I had another grandchild, and now you’re here.”
After a moment, I find my voice. “Um, yeah. It’s kind of the same for me,” I say, and everyone chuckles. “It’s so nice to meet you, and happy birthday.”
“Come here,” she says, opening her arms to embrace me.
As she does, there’s something familiar.
I don’t know if it’s the feeling of her arms around me, or the way she smells, but it’s comforting.
Tears well in my eyes, and I do my best to contain them.
I put on waterproof mascara in anticipation of this reunion, but I don’t want to ruin the rest of my makeup.
Cheers erupt around us as we break the embrace. Elio is still next to me, and I’m grateful for his presence. He’s like an anchor I can hold on to in this emotional storm.
“It’s so good to see you,” she says. “A birthday miracle.”
“I think those are only for Christmas, Nonna,” Alessia jokes, and we all laugh. “Come on. Let me get you a drink,” she adds, glancing between Elio and me.
We follow her to the small table at the end of the patio, where drinks and snacks are laid out, and she fixes us each a drink.
I glance around again, but there’s no sign of Paola. Suddenly, I wonder if she’s missing out on her mother’s birthday, at her own house, because I’m here. Our first meeting didn’t exactly go over well.
“Is, um, your mom coming?” I whisper to Alessia.
“Oh, yes. She just went to pick up the cake. She should be arriving any second—ah, speak of the devil,” she says, peering over my shoulder.
Sure enough, Paola has just stepp ed onto the patio, and she’s hugging her grandchildren hello.
I shoot Alessia a desperate glance. “Is she all right with me being here?”
She nods, placing a straw in her drink. “It’s fine, really. We had a talk, and she feels bad about her reaction. It was just a lot for her, but now that the shock has passed, she’s actually looking forward to meeting you.”
I release a small breath. Okay. Maybe it won’t be that bad.
“See?” Elio says, leaning toward me. “All good. Just relax, okay?”
I nod, offering him a smile. He’s right. It’ll be fine.
Turns out, this afternoon with my family is more than fine. The conversation is flowing, and I’m thankful for their various levels of English, because it would be tough to communicate if they spoke English as poorly as I speak Italian.
Alessia was right. Paola truly is fine with me being here. She does stare at me once in a while, but she’s been nothing but welcoming.
As I predicted, everyone is smitten with Elio, who’s undoubtedly the star of the show.
They’re all big Formula 1 fans, and naturally, they’re rooting for the Italian team.
I knew I’d score points by bringing him here.
He owns the role well, detailing what it’s like to be an F1 driver and sharing his funniest anecdotes from his ten years in the sport.
“So, how did you two meet?” Emmanuele says as he’s pouring everyone another round of lemonade.
We’re sitting at the patio table, halfway through a fantastic meal, and Emmanuele’s eyes are roaming between Elio and me.
Everyone has stopped talking and is now fixated on us, probably wondering how I scored a hotshot driver like Elio.
Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I force out a laugh. “Oh, no. We’re not dating. Absolutely nothing happening there. We’re just—”
“Professional,” Elio interjects, surprising me. “She’s a journalist doing a piece for her magazine, and I’m her subject. That’s all.”
I’m taken aback by his answer. I was about to say we were friends, but apparently, that’s not where his head is. Okay, I guess we’re not really friends since we haven’t known each other long, but him coming here today proves this is more than just a professional relationship.
Everyone at the table bobs their heads, as if our situation suddenly makes sense. I both hate it and understand it. Elio and I are not exactly in the same league. Not that I’d want to be like the girls he goes out with.
“Right, yes.” I try to hide the disappointment in my voice and instead focus on my plate.
“You’re a journalist?” Dario says. “That’s awesome. I’m a photographer.”
We start chatting about his job, but I’m barely listening. Elio’s comment really stung. I try to lock eyes with him, but it’s obvious he’s avoiding me. He continues to do so the entire afternoon, turning away from me and chatting about soccer with the guys.
They’re now talking about women, and I eavesdrop on their conversation.
“So, what’s it like being a Formula 1 driver? You know, with the girls?” Michele says.
Elio chuckles, and for the first time, his eyes dart toward me.
But as soon as he sees me looking, he focuses back on Michele, Dario, and Emmanuele.
“It’s great, you know? Perfect for a guy like me, who enjoys the single life and doesn’t want the burden of commitment.
Girls throw themselves at me, and who am I to stop them?
” His tone is cocky—so different from what I’ve seen of him this past week.