28. Some Christmas Miracles
28
SOME CHRISTMAS MIRACLES
MACKENZIE
Four mornings after my exposé dropped like a bombshell, I'm hiding out in La Famiglia's wine cellar. The vintage bottles around me have seen plenty of Gallo family dramas, but nothing quite like this shitshow. I swear the '82 Brunello is giving me the stink eye.
"You know, that Brunello is judging you hard," Lucia calls out from the cellar stairs. Outside the tiny window, Seattle's December snow is falling steadily, turning the alley into a freaking Norman Rockwell painting. Too bad I can't enjoy it over the mess I've made.
"Tell Nonna I'm good," I say, scrolling through another tech news headline. Keith's Twitter thread about "love in the time of corporate reform" is blowing up. Who knew heartache could trend so hard?
"Good? Really?" Lucia raises an eyebrow. "Because you're sitting in a wine cellar looking like a hot mess with last night's mascara smudged all over."
"It's a look, okay?" I sigh, running a hand through my tangled hair. My phone buzzes with another news alert. Just great, my 3 AM wine-fueled blog post is making waves.
@MizzByteMyAlgos: "brEAKING: Sometimes exposing corporate truth means losing your own. Who knew champagne was better at starting riots than romances? #LessonsLearned #ChampagneProblems"
"Champagne problems, huh?" Lucia reads over my shoulder. "Cute. But maybe dial back the booze metaphors?"
"Yeah, yeah." I wave her off, but she's right. I'm a wreck.
Lucia plops down beside me, her designer jeans meeting the cold stone floor. "You know, if emotional crisis were a wine, you'd be a full-bodied, slightly chaotic Merlot."
I laugh, despite myself. Above us, the lunch rush is starting. The familiar sounds of our family restaurant should be comforting, but they just remind me of Alex. Of family dinners and laughter and the trust I shattered.
My phone buzzes again. Roberto.
ROBERTO: Saw the tech news. Looks like you're still stirring up trouble. Katie says don't forget the baby shower. "New beginnings" and all that jazz.
"Delete it," Lucia orders, snatching my phone. "And for the love of God, clean up. You've got basil stains on your sweater."
"I'm wallowing, okay?" I groan. “I quit my job. And lost my boyfriend, remember?”
"Well, wallow with some dignity.” She nudges me, smiling sadly. “And maybe some therapy."
Sofia's voice drifts down from above, directing the lunch service. Life goes on, even when your love life is a train wreck.
"The exposé went viral," I admit quietly, eyeing a 1995 Barolo. "The one I didn't publish. Someone leaked it."
"Ah," Lucia nods. "That explains the stress-gnocchi situation upstairs. And Keith's new song."
My phone lights up with another notification. Keith's latest revolutionary carol is gaining traction .
" Last Christmas, I gave you my trust, but the very next day, you wrote an exposé... "
"Catchy," I admit. "Though I'm not sure HR approves of the lyrics about 'corporate passion's icy death.'"
"Mac," Lucia's voice softens. "Why didn't you just talk to him? About the exposé? About why you started it?"
"Because I fell for him, Lucia," I say, my voice breaking. "Because somewhere between champagne battles and corporate revolutions, I chose him. I just... chose too late."
Outside, the snow falls harder, like the universe is rubbing salt in the wound. My phone buzzes with another alert. Tech news covering the "unprecedented corporate culture transformation" at Drake Enterprises. Changes I helped create while planning to expose everything. Changes that actually worked.
"You know what's interesting?" Lucia reaches for a bottle of Amarone, because why not add day drinking to the mix? "How you're more upset about losing him than about losing the story. It's like you were trying to prove a point, but you forgot what the point was."
Before I can respond, Sofia appears on the stairs, armed with enough comfort food to feed an army.
“I didn’t leave my kids with their nanny so that you two could hold a secret sister fort without me.” She harrumphs, shuffling items inside her arms. “Also, Nonna says if you won't come up for lunch, lunch comes to you." She sets up an impromptu feast between wine racks. "Also, Keith sent another song dedication. Something about 'trust falling like December snow.'"
Nice. A revolutionary soundtrack to my emotional breakdown.
My phone buzzes again.
Alex's latest press statement.
Careful corporate language that says everything and nothing. No mention of champagne or revolution or trust broken beyond repair.
"You know what's really interesting?" Sofia starts unpacking containers filled with childhood comforts. "How you're hiding in a wine cellar instead of fighting for what you want. It's like you're stuck in your own head, Mac."
"I'm not stuck," I protest weakly.
"You're sitting in a wine cellar, avoiding the world," Lucia chimes in. "That's the definition of stuck. Now eat the arancini. Nonna stress-fried them while cursing 'stubborn hearts' in Italian."
Outside, the snow transforms the alley into a holiday movie scene. The kind where love conquers all and trust never wavers. The kind that doesn't exist in my reality.
"The blog posts helped," I say quietly, trying to make sense of it all. "They made things better. Until?—"
"Until you fell in love with the man you were supposed to expose?" Lucia passes me more wine. "Until you chose him over the story but forgot to tell him that part?"
Sofia studies me over a plate of stress-cooked pasta. “You ever think maybe you were sabotaging yourself, Mac?”
"I'm not sabotaging myself," I insist.
"You're hiding in a wine cellar, avoiding your problems," Lucia interjects. "That's textbook self-sabotage. And eat the cannoli. Nonna stress-baked them while giving the wine bottles relationship advice in Italian."
Outside, the snow continues to fall, making everything look magical. The kind of magic I stopped believing in after Roberto, after promotions lost to less qualified men, after years of being too much and not enough all at once. The kind Alex made me believe in again, until I proved myself right about trust and power and men who look perfect in suits.
My phone lights up with one last notification. Alex's latest press statement about "focusing on innovation through transformative leadership." Corporate language that says everything except what matters. Everything except "I trusted you" and "you broke that trust" and "I might have loved you anyway."
Using one hand to brush her dark bangs from her eyes and another to point with a cannoli, Lucia looks at me. “You know what you have to do now, right?”
“Chug the ’82 Brunello and order another plate of the tiramisu?”
“No. You have to write a new exposé.”
I blink. “A new what? Lu,” I snort, “I think the one and only was bad enough.”
“No. No, no, no.” She shakes her head. “Not on Drake Enterprises or Alex. Or Big Tech. No. You need to write an exposé on you. On your life. On everything that happened. Your career. Your firing. Your re-hiring.” She exhales. “On what happened with Roberto. Truth is: It might be the only way to get Alex to understand.”
I frown. “To understand what?”
“That it wasn’t him that you didn’t trust. It was yourself. You didn’t trust that being yourself was enough for anyone. Roberto made you feel for so long that both couldn’t exist.” Her green eyes grow glazed. “But you know that’s not true. You’ve always known it. Alex just reminded you of what was real.”
I don’t realize the tears are falling until my sister Sofia reaches out and wipes one from my cheek.
I sniff and glance between them. “You both knew I was self-sabotaging?”
“Well, yeah.” Sofia shrugs, pushing a curtain of dark hair over her shoulder. “But you’ve got the classic Gallo stubbornness. We knew you’d figure it out. Eventually.”
“When?” I ask. “When I was old and decrepit and drooling on my shoes?”
Lucia pipes up. “We’d hoped you’d get it together a year or two before that.” She nudges me again, rising to her feet. “Now, come on.” She offers her hand. "Time to face the music. Preferably before Keith writes another song about corporate heartbreak and revolutionary healing."
I let her pull me up, leaving behind vintage wines and empty plates and all the things I never meant to break.
Above us, life continues. Below us, my heart remembers how to beat. Between us, hope flickers like holiday lights through falling snow.