Chapter Ten
LENA - ORANGE, CA
Ipulled my Fiat convertible out of the driveway of our home in Old Towne Orange to brave the traffic to downtown LA.
It was a beautiful blue-sky Southern California kind of day, but the Santa Ana winds howled.
I remember my dad mentioning the Santa Ana winds to me before I moved out west, but until I experienced them, they’d been a hard concept to grasp.
I’d thought, What’s the big deal? It’s just wind, but they took on a life of their own, like an extraterrestrial being that haunted my days.
The cypress trees bent as though leaning in to hear a juicy bit of gossip. A few oranges had fallen off their branches in our front yard, their bright color contrasting starkly with the drab brown of the mulch, announcing that something was amiss—reflecting my mood.
LA traffic crawled on the freeway. What else is new?
I hit the Bluetooth button on my steering wheel to call Anthony and took a deep breath.
This call would make everything more real.
Anthony—the other side of the Antinori-sibling coin, a reflection of my upbringing.
He was the only other person who had lived through our family drama.
As the phone rang, I wished for the hundredth time that Anthony lived out here.
No chance. Anthony didn’t fly far from the nest. He was a proud member of the Johnston Police Department, in the town we lived in during our middle school and high school years.
As a member of the force, he had to live in proximity to that town.
Plus, his wife, Donna, was a schoolteacher there, and their two kids—Christopher, seventeen, and Ella, fifteen—were being raised there.
I had to admit that Anthony’s geographical status benefited me as much as his parental one did.
Thank goodness he had kids and had stayed in New York, so our mother got to be near her beloved grandchildren, and my extended Italian family stayed off my back.
All anybody in our family ever asked was “When are you getting married?” if you were single and “When are you having kids?” if you were married, as if the only purpose in life was to procreate.
Anthony and Donna had done me a huge favor by having those kids.
“Hey, Lena. Believe the old man’s news?” My brother was a lot like my father. He always got to the point.
“Well, actually, I’m a bit surprised.”
“I’m not. Makes sense they’d want to get married at this point.”
Amazing. He's not freaked out in the least. So why am I so freaked out? Why can’t I just let this play out?
Anthony and I had shared so much growing up that I often felt like we should agree with each other about every aspect of our family issues.
Yet that had never been the case. He didn’t carry around our family secret like an albatross around his neck.
For me, it was burden I couldn’t escape that often forced me to twist myself into a pretzel as I went through the machinations of hiding in plain sight.
“Really? Because he was so damn good at it the first time around?” I asked.
“That was a long time ago. Different circumstances, different time. He’s changed.”
I chewed on that. Has our dad really changed? He’d become more himself over the years. This time, he was choosing marriage with a person who was the right gender for his sexual identity. But that didn’t excuse the many infidelities of his first marriage—and the scars they’d left.
Anthony continued. “The guy spent the first half of his life tortured for who he is. Let's try to be happy for him, okay, Lena?”
“I am happy for him. It just feels... strange. Almost like our past is being erased.”
“Nah,” Anthony said. “Don’t think of it like that. Think of it like his second act.”
“You’re planning to come out here, right? Don’t make me have to go through this alone, Anthony.”
“Of course. As soon as they pick a date, I’ll put in for the time at work.”
I smiled. Anthony was like a big teddy bear wrapped in masculine armor.
When he’d started dating in his teenage years, he was so into each girlfriend, thinking she was the one and practically asking her to marry him, even in high school.
When he fell from those relationship failures, he fell hard.
It was like watching him react to our parents splitting up over and over again.
Rinse and repeat. I’d been relieved and happy for him when he found Donna and settled down.
“Good, because I don’t think I could face this on my own.” I sounded like such the little sister.
“You won’t be alone. All of us are coming—me, Donna, and the kids. Come on. Try to be happy for the old man. Christopher and Ella are really excited. This is a big deal for Dad. And our family.”
I was happy to hear that my niece and nephew were thrilled about the news.
And why shouldn’t they be? All they’d ever known was a happy, well-adjusted, out-and-proud gay grandfather.
They knew little about the tsunami that had preceded that.
Anthony told them snippets here and there but downplayed it for their sake.
I certainly didn’t want to burst their bubble and tell them about all the indiscretions that had happened in our family years before they were even born.
“I’m glad they’re excited.” I made a mental note to text my niece, Ella, later if I didn’t hear from her first. We were constantly texting each other.
My nephew preferred to chat by phone occasionally.
A major benefit of serving in the role of cool aunt was that I got to enjoy a close relationship with my niece and nephew—one I treasured.
I shifted gears. “So, get this. Dad wants me to actually plan the wedding.”
“Yeah, he mentioned that. It’s a compliment. He knows you’re good at that stuff. You could whip something together with your eyes closed.”
“Yeah, well... that may be the case. But the timing sucks. I have so much going on at work, a big case I’m heading up.” I added, “Thank God he’s planning to keep it small. He doesn’t need some enormous affair. And neither do we.”
“Is that what you’re worried about—that he’s going to have some big wedding and invite the world?”
“He’s not,” I snapped. “He promised me it would be small. Only close friends and us.”
“Well, it’s up to him and Oliver. If that’s what they want, that’s fine. Don’t rain on his parade, Lena. Let them have the wedding they want. Don’t worry about the size of it or who they invite or... anything else. Okay?”
I rolled my neck, trying to crack a kink. “Okay. But it’s going to be small. Tasteful and intimate. If I’m planning this thing, I’ll make sure of it.”
Come on. You can pull this off and throw something together in a few months.
Rally, Lena, rally. In the back of my mind, I could already see a plan formulating.
I remembered a beautiful place near the ocean, the Terranea Resort in Rancho Palos Verdes, where Kevin and I had spent a day once with my dad and Oliver.
I would call and check on availability later this week.
“Of course you will,” he joked.
I lowered my voice, even though I was alone in my car. “I wish she could be there. Isn’t that weird?” I didn’t say her name. I didn’t need to. Anthony knew I meant our mom.
I stole a glance at the pearl ring on my right hand—her ring.
I admired its antique setting, the centered gem surrounded by tiny diamonds.
It was one of the few valuable pieces of jewelry she’d ever owned.
She’d worn it from the day her mother, Rosa, died until she gave it to me for my law school graduation.
I thought about her long, elegant fingers, and my mind drifted back to that fateful day when the spaghetti and peas went flying.
I recalled seeing the shimmer of that pearl ring on my mom’s hand as she jumped out of her chair at the dining room table.
The glint of the ring had matched the steely look in her eye.
I’d never seen her look like that before—or after.
“Yeah, a little weird. But I know what you mean,” he said, audibly letting out a long breath. “Listen, I gotta go. Call me if you need me. I’m here.”
Anthony always made himself available to me.
Unless he was in the middle of a serious issue at work or at home, he answered when I called.
I couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t been there.
We’d shared a room until I was nine and he was eleven, whispering secrets across the darkness between our beds.
When we first saw the house in Johnston, Anthony’s face had dropped as he realized he would be sleeping alone on the first floor, far from the rest of us.
Far from me. I remember how pleased I was, after years of sharing with Anthony, to move into a room of my own.
Filled with the dignity of my nine years, I picked out pink paint and white curtains, reveling in my independence and closet space.
But lying alone in bed at night, I would hear Anthony call, “Good night,” from the bottom of the stairs below and felt—well, wistful.
He’d taken me everywhere, letting me tag along to the park, the movies, and the pool.
His guidance smoothed my way through the awkward parts of childhood.
Sure, there were also pillow fights, hair pulling, and the terrifying time when I’d thrown a fork at him and it stuck in his upper arm.
I smiled, remembering how I’d hightailed it out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and into my room, behind the safety of a locked door, before he could catch me.
For every major event in my life, my brother had been there—all the boyfriends and breakups, when I went to college and law school, and when I moved away to California. Anthony had been on my side always. The least I could do was let him be happy for Dad with no reservations.
“Stay near the phone for the next few months. I have a feeling I’ll be giving you an earful.”
He laughed. “You got it. Talk soon. Miss ya.”
“Love you, bro. Bye.”