Chapter Two #2
I feel myself begin to relax with another sip.
Something about Serena’s presence is comforting, and I feel the tension in my shoulders ease up.
Though she can’t be more than a handful of years older than me, there’s something almost motherlike about her aura.
Reggie hops up on the little love seat next to me, turns in a circle, and makes himself a little napping spot, clearly feeling as comfortable as I am.
“Reggie and I are from a small city in upstate New York called Northwood. We still live there. And I’m here for work.
” I don’t like to dive right into what I do for a living.
That’ll come up sooner or later. I’d like to get to know Serena a little better first.
“And you’re here on your own?”
I nod. “It’s my first time here.”
Serena sighs, tucks her feet up underneath her butt, and sits back. She takes a sip of her wine before speaking in a dreamy tone. “I remember my first time. Magical. Romantic. Just lovely.”
“What about you? Are you here alone?” I’ve stopped assuming people have husbands or wives, preferring to let them tell me.
“Oh, yes. My Anthony died two years ago.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“He was a good man, if a tiny bit old-fashioned,” she says, and the fondness in her voice matches the wistful expression in her eyes.
“But he left me this house, and I can’t bear to leave it.
So here I am, a completely eligible bachelorette in the most romantic city in the world, all by myself.
” I can’t tell if she’s sad about that, but then she laughs heartily. “Who needs men?”
We cheers again.
I like Serena. A lot. We’re talking about dogs when an older Italian woman appears out of nowhere, laden down with a tray of charcuterie, and I almost jump out of my skin. That sends Serena into a fit of laughter I am not sure she’ll recover from.
“This is Ria, my Housewoman Extraordinaire,” and the capital letters are implied by her tone. “She makes sure I eat and that my house is clean.” Then Serena says something in Italian that I think referred to the groceries I helped her carry in, and Ria smiles, gives one nod, and is gone.
We’ve polished off a bottle and a half of the wine before I even start to feel it. We’ve decimated the charcuterie, only two green olives and one lone piece of bread left on the tray.
“Do you want to stay for dinner?” Serena asks, and I really, really do. But I also know I’ve used her as an excuse to avoid trying to work today, and that’s not good.
I frown. “Rain check?”
“How about Friday? I have guests coming to visit from the States and I’m throwing a very small dinner party. I’d love you to come.”
Dinner parties with strangers are certainly not this introvert’s idea of a good time, but like I said, I like Serena, I feel exceedingly comfortable with her, and her blue-eyed gaze gives me a gentle nudge toward a yes.
Apparently, that’s all I need, and I hear the words come out of my mouth before I even realize I’m about to say them. “That sounds great.”
I’m nervous.
It’s always like that when I’m about to spend time with a group of people I don’t know.
I’m not sure if it’s the introvert thing or if I’ve got some social anxiety or what, but the butterflies in my stomach have become drones, going from a weird flutter to an uncomfortable knocking around in my stomach, and I seriously consider texting Serena my regrets.
A glance at the desk with my closed laptop gives me the poke I need, because if I stay here, I have to try to work.
I spent all day trying to force words—and I got some.
Just not many. And I don’t know that they’re any good.
The storyline is feeling very weak to me.
Never a good thing. If I’m not excited about my characters, how can I expect my readers to be?
And currently? I am not excited about my characters.
“All right. Fine,” I say to my reflection.
I’m wearing a cute ivory sundress with spaghetti straps and a yellow pattern that feels very summery.
Serena’s place is air conditioned, but I’ve noticed she also likes to open her windows and doors, so I’m not taking any chances.
I don’t want to be sweating like a farm animal in front of people I’ve just met. “What do you think, Reg?”
Reggie’s on the bed watching me get ready. He tips his head to one side, then sighs and puts his head down on his paws.
“Great. Thanks a lot.” I go to him and swoop him up, not caring that my dress will now be accented with tiny brown hairs.
“It’s a good thing you’re so cute, you know that?
” I can feel his tail whacking against my arm, and he licks my face with affection.
I give him a squeeze. I love my dog more than most people.
I’m not even kidding. We take care of each other.
“Okay, you stay here and watch our place. Make sure nobody breaks in and steals anything.” I glance at the desk again, at my laptop.
“Except that. They can take that. I won’t be late. ”
I give Reggie some treats, grab my jean jacket, just in case Serena changes her mind about the open-air atmosphere in her house, and the bottle of wine I purchased yesterday, and I head out.
The feeling outside is different on a Friday night than during a weekday.
It’s busier, yes, but there’s also an element of celebration in the air.
It’s kind of hard to describe other than to say people seem more…
festive? Which makes sense. It’s the weekend.
I merge into the throng of bodies moving down the street, catching snippets of different conversations as I make the short trek.
Italian, of course, but I also recognize some English, also a little French.
Lots of people here from lots of different places.
Serena’s gate is open. I approach her door and am just about to ring the bell when suddenly, I hear cheers.
Like, from every direction. Joyous, ecstatic cheering fills the air, echoing all around me as Ria opens the door to greet me.
I must have a question in my eyes because she laughs and says simply in her glorious Italian accent, “Football game.”
“Oh,” I say, and draw the word out as I step inside, and Serena greets me. I forget how insanely popular soccer is in Europe.
“Lily!” Serena breezes in like she’s on a hoverboard, and once again, she’s wearing a flowy caftan or something.
This time, she’s all in royal blue with some lighter accenting shades.
Her blond hair is down and slightly disheveled, though I think that’s intentional.
“I’m so glad you’re here. Come, come.” She thanks me for the wine, hands it to Ria, hooks her hand around my elbow, and leads me into the house, past the kitchen, and into a living room I haven’t seen yet, and I start to realize Serena’s place is way bigger than I thought, much bigger than it looks from the outside.
The living room is typical of the rest of the house: elegant, expensive, slightly ornate, but not unattractively so.
There are two couches facing one another, a cool fireplace on the wall between them.
The walls are a crisp white, the floors marble, the furniture a deep gray.
It feels modern and classic at the same time, and before I can take in the art on the walls or the vase of flowers to my left, Serena is introducing me to the people sitting on the couches.
“Lily, these are my dear, dear friends from back home in Nyack.” She indicates the man and woman on one couch.
“This is Margie and Robert.” Across from them on the other couch are three more people.
“Their daughter Bethany, her husband Chris, and their daughter Sophie.”
I put Margie and Robert as slightly older than Serena. So, early sixties maybe? Bethany and Chris are younger—I guess mid-thirties. Sophie is clearly a teen. They’re all smiling, and I step forward and shake everybody’s hand.
The evening goes by quickly, and I’m surprised to realize it as we sit around the dining room table talking, plates empty, our bellies full of pasta and wine.
I’m having a better time than I expected.
Margie and Robert are super sweet, and they have lots of stories about Serena and her husband.
While Bethany and Chris lived elsewhere during Serena’s time in Nyack, they must’ve been around for many of the gatherings, as they also have stories.
“So, I have to ask,” I say, gesturing with my wine glass. “Did any of you get a chance to see Serena as a Rockette?”
“Oh, I wish!” Margie says with a laugh, and the tender look on her face tells me she absolutely does.
“No, I was retired before Tony and I moved to Nyack,” Serena says. “Met these guys after.”
“Make sure she shows you her photo albums, though,” Bethany says to me. “She’s got some incredible shots. You’ll be blown away.”
Serena waves a hand, but her face has tinted pink.
“I will take you up on that,” I say to her.
“So, what do you do, Lily?” Margie asks.
“Oh, I’m a writer.” I sip my wine, trying to remember how many I’ve had. Ria is far too good at keeping glasses full, so I’m not sure how much I’ve actually consumed. But I feel warm, a little fuzzy, and very, very happy. So…three glasses, maybe?
“Really?” Bethany asks. “Sophie writes.” She indicates her daughter sitting next to her, scrolling on her phone. When Sophie doesn’t look up, Chris nudges her.
“Soph.”
She glances up. She’s cute, with blond hair and too much eyeliner. Her blue nail polish is chipped as she holds her phone and looks around. “What?”
Bethany swallows a sigh, and I figure she probably does that a hundred times a day. “Lily here is a writer.”
“Really? That’s cool,” she says, and it seems like she might really think so. “What do you write?”
“I’m mostly a romance writer. I’ve done a few articles here and there.
” I sip my wine. “A couple screenplays. A series. A bunch of books.” Sophie’s eyes get a little bit bigger with each item in my list, which is fun to watch, but I steer the conversation back to her. “What about you? What do you write?”
She lifts a shoulder in that teenage shrug that seems to be more of a tic than anything. “Mostly fantasy.”
“She writes about dragons and vampires and stuff,” Chris says, but rather than sounding dismissive, his voice is tinted with pride.
“Well, romantasy is very big right now,” I say.
Sophie sets her phone down and leans forward, and I can see in my peripheral vision how her mother and grandparents exchange a glance. “It is . I know! I’m working on one right now, and I’m trying to add some romantic stuff, but it’s hard.”
I wrinkle my nose as I nod. “It really can be, huh? But you, you have to build worlds . That’s pretty impressive.”
She nods and smiles. “Thanks.”
“Maybe I could read some of your work sometime?” Then I wave my hand. “No pressure, though. Some writers don’t like to share their work. I get that.”
But Sophie’s face has lit up, brighter than it’s been since before dinner. “Yeah, that’d be awesome.” And she looks like she really thinks so.
“Remind me to give you my email address when we go,” I tell her. Then I look to her parents and their parents. “How long are you all staying?”
“A week,” Bethany says, then looks to Serena. “Serena’s got a few things set up for us, since she knows the city.”
“We’re doing a food tour tomorrow,” Sophie says, and her eyes are bright, a sparkle I recognize. She’s found somebody who gets her passion for words. I’ve felt the same way on occasion. “Hey! You should come, too!” She looks to Bethany. “Right, Mom?”
“Oh, I don’t—” I start to protest, but I’m cut off by Serena.
“Absolutely,” she says. “You should join us. I take every visitor who comes to see me on this tour. They’re fantastic.”
“We went last year,” Sophie says. “I was so full .” Her tongue lolls out and she slides down in her chair, making me laugh softly.
“But this is your visit with Serena,” I say, my gaze on Margie and Robert. “I don’t want to impose.”
Margie makes a pfft sound and waves a dismissive hand, much like Serena does. I can see their friendship in their shared mannerisms. “You should definitely come. It’s a blast. Good food”—she gestures around the table—”great company,” and we all laugh.
I like these people. If I didn’t, I’d have headed back to my hotel not long after dinner.
But as it is, it’s after nine and I’m still here, still enjoying the conversation, not at all in a hurry to get back.
I’m sure Reggie is crashed out on my bed, and other than him, the only thing waiting for me back there is my barely begun manuscript. And pressure.
“You know what? I’d love to come. As long as I’m not stepping on any toes, I’d love to come.”
Serena’s smile is wide, and it occurs to me that she might be lonely in this foreign country alone.
She has a house; I wonder if she has friends here.
Or if they’re all from other places. “Fabulous!” She reaches over and grasps my forearm, and I can tell from her expression—wide smile and blue eyes crinkled at the corners—that she’s happy I’m joining them.
And in that moment, I’m happy, too.