Chapter 31 Elena
E LENA
When Mamma opens the door, it’s written all over her face that she’s seen the letter. She knows.
Mamma reaches for Christian first, kissing both his cheeks. When she hugs Elena, she grips her so tightly, her ribs hurt. It’s almost impossible for Elena not to cry.
‘I’m sorry I was rude to your friends,’ Mamma whispers quickly in her ear before leading them inside.
What happened between Mamma and Gayle and Mike? Not knowing is killing her.
Mamma brings out a tray with leftover almond biscuits from the funeral. She’s shaking all over. Elena can’t imagine how many questions must be racing through her head right now.
Christian jumps to his feet and takes the tray. ‘Anna-Maria, you spoil us! Look at these beautiful sweets.’
Mamma pours Elena a black tea. She never owned a kettle until Elena told her over the phone once that she enjoyed drinking tea. The next time she called home, Mamma told her she’d bought a kettle for the next time Elena was back in Venice. But she never came home after that, until now. Mamma held on to that kettle, waiting for her daughter to return for over five years. Did its presence in the kitchen make Mamma sad every time she saw it?
Elena doesn’t know how she’s ever going to get over the guilt of it all. She wishes Christian would go to the bathroom so she can at least tell Mamma how sorry she is, but he doesn’t move off the couch.
It’s difficult for Elena to make any kind of small talk when she’s this anxious. Luckily Christian’s a natural at carrying the conversation. So she sips her tea as Christian’s voice fills the room. He engages Mamma on everything from the rising waters of Venice and the new art exhibition to Italy’s refugee crisis, the restoration project of the Basilica San Marco and how corrupt the Italian government is. Christian defers regularly to Mamma for her opinion, and Mamma struggles to make herself understood with her broken English. Elena translates a bit for her and Christian listens respectfully and with patience.
Elena can see the confusion on Mamma’s face. This guy, Elena? Are you sure? But he’s so lovely.
Elena looks around the apartment while the two of them talk, and she tries to take it all in, knowing that very soon she’ll never see any of it again. The threadbare brown couches are the same ones her parents have owned since she was a little girl. The family used to snuggle under thick blankets at night watching talent shows and comedies on television. They weren’t a wealthy family, but they were a happy one. Then Paolo got cancer in the summer before his second year at university and everything changed.
There’s a photo of Paolo on the mantelpiece, taken at his first Holy Communion, all dressed up in a white suit, smiling his big cheeky smile, his light brown curls greased slick with a wide side part. So full of mischief, those eyes. Even now, all these years later, it’s hard for Elena to breathe when she sees his face. If he had stayed alive, she never would have run away from her grief to Australia, never would have been in that pub the night she met Christian.
Also on the mantelpiece are other family photos, dating back to her great-grandparents’ weddings. Her ancestors look so young and solemn. Her own wedding photo in a brass frame, taken at Sydney’s botanic gardens, turns her blood cold. Poor Mamma must have suffered not being able to share that day with all of her family and friends back home. She and Papà were fish out of water at the wedding.
Elena doesn’t have enough fingers to tally the cruel things she’s done to her mother. And now she’s going to tear her away from this home, forcing her to leave everything behind just so they can be safe from the man who’s currently standing behind Mamma, giving her a shoulder massage. He’d commented that she looked tense and he knew just the thing that would help – the magic Christian Taylor touch.
Mamma looks straight at her while Christian rubs her shoulders.
Elena tries to convey to Mamma with her eyes what’s in her heart.
I’m so very sorry I did this to our lives.