Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
F rom the hospital, I walked across the road to a series of restaurants whose survival probably depended on the thousands of people who populated the hospital. One person’s demise was another person’s bonus. I hadn’t eaten since the white chocolate and macadamia muffin this morning, and I couldn’t remember the last time I was as hungry as I was now.
I chose the Italian restaurant because of its discreet lighting and delicious garlic aromas, and because it had an empty booth right at the back. I accepted the menu from the middle-aged waiter and a glass of sparkling water.
The second he left my side, I plucked my phone from my backpack. It was five-thirty in the morning for Zali, but banking on her being up, I sent her a text.
Hey babe, you awake?
My phone buzzed just seconds later.
Unfortunately.
Can you talk?’
Absolutely. I need the distraction
Okay, give me a few minutes
I picked up the menu and scanned for something that would fill the hole in my belly, but hopefully not remind me of Roman. But as I looked at all the traditional Italian meals, it suddenly seemed like such a bad idea choosing this restaurant. The soups reminded me of Roman’s Pappa al Pomodoro in the Swiss Alps. The pastas reminded me of all the times he spoke of his mother’s wonderful cooking. Even the dessert reminded me of the ice creams we’d eaten together in Amsterdam when we had the post-marijuana munchies.
I was two seconds off grabbing my backpack and scurrying out of there when a plump Italian mamma waddled to my table with a smile that, although she looked weary, confirmed how happy she was that I’d chosen her venue over the four neighboring restaurants.
Quickly scanning the list again, I ordered spaghetti carbonara, a garlic pizza, and a glass of the house white wine.
“ Grazie .” Mamma relieved me of the menu and headed back toward the kitchen on legs that looked like she’d ridden the Camino trail on a donkey ten times.
With my meal ordered, I rang Zali.
She answered instantly. “I’ve got my coffee. I’ve set me and Kane up on the lounge so we’re all comfy. I’m ready. Tell me. What happened with your mom? And I want to hear everything. I’ve been dying with curiosity.”
It was pretty sad that my horrible life was the highlight of hers. Maybe I would go visit Zali when this shit blew over. Lord knew we were overdue for a real get-together.
My wine arrived, and I accepted it with a smile and took a gulp. It was tart and a little nasty, but I took another sip all the same. Then I told Zali all about my discussions with Mother and what had happened to her sister, Lily.
“Oh shit. That’s terrible.”
“I know. I couldn’t believe it. She says she named me after Lily. Two flowers.”
Zali moaned. “Awww, that’s really sweet.”
“Yeah, but she could’ve told me that ages ago. All this time I’ve been thinking it was because she was pissed at my naming ceremony.”
“She probably was.” Zali chuckled.
I laughed along with her. My garlic pizza arrived, and with the amount of large chunks of garlic on the top, I’d need to scrub my teeth for a solid hour before I went to bed. As I nibbled away at the delicious starter, I relayed the beatings Mother got and her story about running away from home.
“At fifteen!”
“Yeah, she said she never went back.”
“So, what did she do?”
“I don’t know yet. But I plan to find out.” I sipped on the nasty wine, wishing it was a glass of Louis Roederer champagne instead. I didn’t even know if my favorite French champagne was available in Australia. It was just another thing I was going to miss about Europe.
“It’s weird that she never told you,” Zali said.
“I was thinking about that.”
Mamma stepped up to my table with a steaming plate in her hands.
“Hang on, Zali.”
Mamma slotted the plate in front of me. “Would you like parmesan?”
“Yes please. Lots.”
She grated the fresh cheese on top of the steaming pasta. “Enough?”
“ Prego . ”
She flashed an enormous smile, showing off a gold tooth, then nodded and left my side.
“Sorry,” I said into the phone. “I’m just having dinner.”
“I can tell. Italian, by the sounds of it. You trying to channel Roman through your meals?”
“Yeah. Something like that.”
“You were going to tell me your theory about why your mother didn’t mention Lily.”
“Oh, right.” Twirling the fork in my pasta, I said, “I guess there could be a few reasons. First up, it would be really hard to talk about it, and it would make it harder because I was a child. When is the right time to talk to a kid about that type of stuff?”
“That’s true. But how come she never put the photo out?”
I forked a sliver of pasta into my mouth and the first bite was delicious. “I don’t know. But you know what else I’ve been thinking?”
“Oh, here we go.”
“What?”
“You know what happens when you start thinking.”
I chuckled. “What? Can’t I think anymore?”
“Not when it comes to your fucked-up mother.”
“That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking about. What if the reason why Mother always moved around was because she’d been doing it since she was fifteen and she knew no different?”
“See . . . I think the opposite. If you’ve been moving around forever, wouldn’t you want to settle down and find a place to call home?”
Oh my god. I jabbed at my pasta with my fork. I’d been doing exactly what my mother had done. I too had become a nomad, and hadn’t even thought about settling down. Other than my random promise to myself yesterday .
“Hey, you still there, or have you fallen asleep in your pasta?”
I huffed. “I’m here.” Deciding not to share my connection, I said the other thing that had been on my mind. “You know what else makes sense?”
“That you should get right back on a fucking plane and return to Roman?”
“What? That makes zero sense. No. I was thinking that the reason why Mother never remembered my birthday was because of what happened to her on her birthday. She hated them.”
“Hmm.” Zali went silent. She rarely did silent.
I gulped at my wine and immediately wished I hadn’t. Hoping to quash the bitter taste, I bit into the garlic pizza instead. In contrast to the chardonnay, it was delicious.
“Daisy.” Zali rarely called me by my name. It was usually ‘babe’. So, I prepared for the lecture that was coming by shoving a forkful of food into my mouth.
“One of the things I hate the most is when people blame something they did as an adult on something that happened to them as a child. Wouldn’t it have made more sense if she’d made every single one of your birthdays the most memorable days of your life?”
“Oh, they were memorable all right.”
“Not in a good way. And that’s what I mean. Regarding the moving around—that shit makes no sense. She should’ve given you a beautiful home and made it the most incredible, loving experience possible.”
“You missed your calling, babe. You should’ve been a therapist.”
“Fuck no. Could you imagine it? I’ve got no patience for that shit. I’d be standing over my clients with a whip like a dominatrix, demanding they talk.”
“You’d be a very sexy dominatrix though. ”
“Hell yeah. But seriously, babe, using that it-happened-to-me defense is pure bullshit. I mean, spin it around. When you have kids, are you going to forget their birthdays because you never had any fun ones?”
“God no.”
“Exactly. You’ll be giving them a pony and jumping castles and fucking topless waiters at their eighteenth birthdays. And you’ll make birthday cakes that’ll give your kids a sugar high for a month. You better make sure I get an invite to every one of those birthdays, by the way.”
“You’re getting ahead of yourself. I’ve gotta have kids first. Fuck, I’ve gotta find a man first.”
She didn’t respond, and although I already figured what she was thinking, I hoped she didn’t voice it.
“I think you’ve already found your man, babe.”
Shit. Too late. “Anyway, my pasta is going cold.”
“You can run from him, babe, but you can’t hide.”
“What? Oh no. You’re cracking up. I think the line’s faulty.”
“Ha ha. Very funny. Ring me tomorrow. Love ya.”
“Love you too.”
“Oh, you can hear me now?”
“Bye.” I ended the call with a smile on my face. Zali always did that—including when she was hitting me with some seriously tough comments.
I tucked into my pasta, and even once I’d eaten everything on my plate, I still couldn’t decide if Mother’s treatment of my childhood was justified. If anything, I understood her reluctance to celebrate birthdays, as that would’ve brought up some truly horrific memories. But the moving around all the time—that was a different story. If she hadn’t wanted to do it for herself, surely, she should’ve wanted her young daughter to have a nice home.
It was a question I was determined to have answered tomorrow.