Twenty Sicily
Twenty
Sicily
2028
Sicily walks over to check on Liberty at the snack bar. As it turns out, Sicily has a bit of a secret herself: she’s in love again. Really in love this time, and she knows it, because she’s older and wiser—mostly older. Though the last tour took a toll on her joints and her voice, the opportunities are only picking up. Her power-ballad hits and lavish stage productions combined with her difficult family background have made her a gay icon and comeback character who’s in hot demand the world over. The tide of public opinion seemed to turn a few years ago, with a slew of headlines like How the Media Let Sicily Bell Down and We Owe Pop Icons like Sicily Bell an Apology popping up far and wide.
But two kids and three decades of rigorous performing do a number on you, and Sicily has to be much more selective about what she does onstage—and off. Kent, her new man, works at a major talent agency; her own talent introduced them. He’s a little older than she is, divorced, with college-age kids and an ex-wife who spends most of her money (and the alimony) on saving baby rhinos in Kenya.
But he’s aging like fine wine—still youthful, with a megawatt smile and kind eyes. He takes a great interest in Noah and Liberty as well as Sicily’s life offstage and who she really is behind the scenes. Working in talent himself, he views her work as any nine-to-five job rather than a superstar lifestyle and encourages Sicily to keep some separation and balance within her personal life. It’s a perspective she really appreciates.
Germaine hasn’t met him but was happy for Kent to join Sicily at the villa later that night and attend as her plus-one at the wedding. Sicily hasn’t told Miranda much about him yet, though—just that she met someone and is seeing where it goes. Miranda’s not very sympathetic these days. The last time Sicily told her she was dating, Miranda begged her to get her tubes tied. Rude!
“Why can’t you just be happy for me?” she’d asked when they’d FaceTimed from across oceans last year. “Why is that always so hard?”
“I can’t be the enabling one anymore,” Miranda shot back. “I hate seeing you get hurt and set back by unplanned pregnancy. So, like, good for you—but I hope you’re being careful.”
“I am forty-three . You don’t have to talk to me like I’m a teenager sneaking out at night.”
“Well, you didn’t learn your lesson after Noah, so ...”
Sicily had not taken that well. “And is Liberty another ‘lesson’? No. She’s my daughter, Miranda. Butt out.”
They’d moved past it, but their friendship had been a bit lukewarm since then. Sicily definitely didn’t tell Miranda when her last relationship ended, and she isn’t in a rush to reveal her new love now.
Had she made some mistakes in her relationships? Sure. But who hadn’t? And Noah and Liberty might have been unexpected surprises, but now they were the two people in her life who brought her the most joy. There are a lot of things that Sicily wishes she’d done differently, but for the most part she doesn’t have regrets. She’d like to see Miranda say the same.
“You’re not cleaning me out, are you, chickadee?” Sicily says, teasing Liberty but making sure that her daughter has not taken more than one ice-cream bar.
“I’m only getting started,” Liberty says.
They join Miranda and Germaine at one of the large glass tables with rattan chairs and thick navy-blue cushions, enjoying the shade provided by billowing canopies fastened to a pergola. Liberty has retrieved her Hello Kitty wheelie bag from the luggage cart and is chattering happily about Hugo and Jaime.
“Why do you call him ‘Hugs’?” Miranda asks.
Liberty sighs like it’s so obvious. “Because that’s who he is , Miranda. He’s Poppa Hugs.”
Sicily smiles. “That’s what she’s called him since she was young, and we thought it was too cute. Hugo loves it too.”
“So Hugo is what—just, like, around all the time? Why?”
Sicily shifts in her seat. “He’s a good man, Miranda. It’s been a halfway-decent experience, actually, coparenting with him and Jaime, and they’re kind of built-in babysitters when I’m on tour.”
“That’s really nice to hear, Sicily,” Germaine says. She’s lacing her fingers together and looking at her thumbs. “I’m glad you were able to patch things up with him.”
But Miranda makes a face, glancing suspiciously at Germaine and then at Liberty. “You know he’s not your poppa, though, right? Your dad is the dancer, not the singer.”
Liberty looks confused. “So? I can have two.”
Sicily, sensing tension, shoots Miranda a look. Germaine throws a cushion at her. “Play nice,” she says.
Miranda opens her mouth to say something else, but just then Germaine looks over Sicily’s shoulder and waves. “Hugo! Jaime!”
“Hugs!” Liberty says, running over and throwing her arms around them both.
“Hey,” Sicily says. “Thanks so much for taking her.”
“It’ll be nice hot weather for the beach house,” Jaime says. “You picked a good weekend, Germaine!”
Germaine beams and Sicily relaxes. It’s nice that they can all be civil—she’s worked hard to repair her relationship with Hugo and Jaime for the sake of the kids, and she can respect the fact that they’ve done the same. Even if Miranda doesn’t. It’s not the arrangement Sicily would have picked for herself, but they work well together.
“You’re going to have quite the superstar when this one grows up,” Germaine says, nodding at Liberty.
“I think Sicily is already bracing herself,” Hugo says with a laugh.
“She’ll bring the crowds,” Jaime agrees. “Whatever she does. Maybe she’ll be a painter or join the circus instead?” she says half-hopefully, casting an expectant glance at the girl. But Liberty is already dragging her suitcase toward the exit.
“Let’s go !” she says.
“Okay, hold up!” Sicily crouches down, not without some difficulty. “Come give Momma a kiss. You be good, okay? You listen to Hugs and Jaime, and tell Noah I’ll see him after the weekend.”
Liberty runs over and gives her a loud smack on the cheek. “Okay, okay.” She points a finger at Miranda. “I won’t forget,” she says.
Miranda lifts her mojito in a toast. “Nineteenth birthday or bust.”
“Do I even want to know?” Hugo says.
“No, Hugo.” Miranda manages to keep the edge out of her voice. “You do not.”
Sicily waves goodbye to the three of them, heart full. But she’s struck by the oddly serious look on Germaine’s face when she returns to her seat.
“Everything okay?” Sicily asks, settling back with her Moscato.
“Your family is lovely, Sicily,” Germaine starts. “You’ve all managed to create a little community together despite—everything.”
“Thanks,” Sicily says uncertainly. She glances at Miranda, who seems just as in the dark.
“And ... I’ve been wanting to tell you about something related to that.”
“Okay,” Sicily says slowly. She’s beginning to feel a little uneasy, the wine making her mouth dry.
“Getting engaged to Justin has made me reflect on a lot of things. I want to be more open; I want to tie up some loose ends I’ve left trailing around and make a fresh start tomorrow. Sicily, when you came dress shopping with us, I was sorry to hear how long it had been since you talked to Kendra.”
Sicily snorts, hoping Germaine doesn’t intend to have some come-to-Jesus moment about forgiveness. “Don’t be sorry. What does she have to do with any of this?”
“Well.” Germaine wraps her hands around her glass. “It confirmed for me that I finally have to set the record straight. A long time ago—I think it was 2008. I booked No Exit for one of my parents’ hotel openings in Singapore because ... I wanted to sabotage his career. I don’t know; it was stupid. I was angry at how much better the press was treating him than you.”
“Very on brand, G,” Miranda says. “So far so good. I would’ve helped you with the sabotage if you’d let me in on it.”
“Miranda, come on,” Sicily snaps. She’s feeling irritated, confused. “Germaine, whatever it is, I don’t care, okay? I don’t know if I want to hear it.”
“Sicily, I’m sorry.” Germaine is speaking very calmly, but she looks nervous. “But the night didn’t go as planned. He came up to thank me for helping him get the gig, and we were drinking and talking—and he seemed so heartbroken about not being able to see Noah ...” She shakes her head. “I gave him the ammunition for the court case. It was my fault that he went after you the way he did.”
Sicily closes her eyes, opens them again. This doesn’t make any sense. “Germaine, no. Kendra got with one of his bandmates. She must have been acting as a direct pipeline for every little sordid detail he needed.”
“Maybe. I don’t know,” Germaine says. “But I was the one who told him about the adoption joke. I gave him way too many details about our 3AM Girl stuff, and that’s how he decided to go with the ‘toxic family environment’ angle. That was me.”
Germaine’s words sift through Sicily’s ears very slowly. The moment is stretching long and thin between them, but Germaine does not break Sicily’s gaze.
Miranda is the one to snap the silence in half, sucking air through her teeth. “Yikes.”
“Why?” Sicily lets the syllable fall, a single heavy question.
“I don’t know.” Germaine seems to resume breathing. She talks quickly now. “It just came out. I was at an awful place in my life, depressed, jealous—I mean, I wouldn’t have admitted that to myself, but when Hugo started talking about how he never got to see Noah and you had him all the time, it all reared its head. You and Miranda were both having such success. What was I doing with my life? Jack shit. I was bitter, and it was ugly.”
“I wasn’t successful,” Miranda says flatly. “I was sleeping with the director to keep my role.”
“What?” Germaine gasps, stricken.
“Tyler destroyed my reputation. And then I got drinking again, and—”
“ Shut Up about Tyler!” Sicily shouts, startling both of them. The ringing in her ears has reached a fever pitch. “You sold me out, Germaine? You got my son taken away?”
“Sicily,” Germaine says. “I never meant for that to happen. I was sick about it. I wanted to tell you—I wanted to help—”
“Then you should have helped!” Sicily shoots back. She’s yelling now, her volume grating against the tranquil luxury of the resort. But she doesn’t care. “All those years. You and your billions, traipsing around the world, while I was a prisoner in my own home. Ripped away from my child , forced to be my family’s puppet—”
“I know. You’re right. Sicily—” Germaine tries.
But Sicily puts up her hands and stands, hurrying away from them. She flees back to her villa and shuts the door behind her, sliding down to the floor and leaning against it. She’s been so happy lately, but the tears come easily now.
The familiar mistrust of the world hits her at full force again.