Chapter 31
Daisy Peonia Mary Parker
Reggio Calabria, Calabria, Italy
My jaw dropped as soon as I got out of the car. Before me stretched the sea, impressive and serene, dotted with the lights of street lamps brushing the waves at its edge.
“Benvenuta a Lungomare,” said Fabiano, extending an arm, inviting me to follow him.
That place, Lungomare, seemed like something out of a summer dream.
Palm trees sprinkled the streets and the beach, some narrow and impressively tall, others rounded and adorably small.
They mingled with sections of garden that cut across the pavement, forming a mix of vegetation where rural Italy and the tropics blended together.
There was a huge building with a facade where red tiles and beige granite mingled, all reminiscent of Gothic arcades and similar window arches.
It reminded me of an aristocratic mansion. I wondered if it was one.
I spotted some kind of humanoid statuettes, covered with letters and other symbols, along the lawns of the gardens and a cluster of Greek-style columns made of what looked like wire.
Along the seafront, there were bars and restaurants scattered about, from which most of the buzz came.
Even so, there weren't many people around.
“The street we’re in is called Via Marina,” explained Fabiano, who was rolling up the sleeves of his denim shirt.
We walked slowly through the gardens dotted with lampposts, and even so, despite the brightness of the surroundings, we could see something beyond the sea.
Another coast. Fabiano pointed toward it. “Sicily.”
I caught my breath, my problems dissolving into the salty air as I stared at the horizon. I couldn’t help but smile, not believing that I was seeing the coast of one of the most iconic places in all Italy.
“Another day, with more time, we can take a boat and go there. What do you think, Daisy?”
I felt excitement wash over me. “Oh, please! I'd love to!”
Fabiano laughed and walked in front of me, blocking my view of the sea. Although he was also a beautiful sight, I would have preferred to continue enjoying the idyllic landscape.
"Allora... There are some very important choices to be made. We can go to my cousin Carlo's restaurant. He is Uncle Gennaro's son, by the way. We can have dinner there like tradition demands. Or we can eat an extra large serving of gelato and make the local children jealous."
I let out a theatrical exclamation, clutching my chest. “You can't ask a person to make that choice, Fabiano. It's cruel!”
Fabiano laughed. “è vero.” He then winked at me. “So, let's do this. We'll have dinner at my cousin's restaurant and then eat gelato! What do you think?”
I grinned like an idiot. “Sounds perfect!”
Minutes later, there I was receiving two kisses on the cheeks from a bunch of strangers and marveling at how much Carlo, the restaurant owner, looked like Gennaro.
The son was a carbon copy of his father!
They even had the same moustache! Even if Fabiano hadn't told me that this was his cousin, their resemblance would have given it away.
The restaurant was a modest, traditional-looking place, where the tables were all covered with white linen tablecloths and wicker baskets filled with sliced bread.
Of course, Fabiano was quick to point out that the restaurant's olive oil and wine came from the Vicari cellars.
We ate bread with olive oil and olives while we waited for our food, and Fabiano told me bits and pieces about the region.
“We are quite old school around here. Northern Italy is more modern, open minded. But in the south, we like to keep things traditional.” I noticed that, there, in such a public space, he avoided talking about Castello dell'Fiero, except to praise the Vicari products. “Tell me a little bit about your country, Daisy. How’s Mississippi?”
I sighed, leaning back on the chair. “Well, it’s definitely different from Italy, that’s for sure.
But I think at the same time we have a lot in common, you know?
” I pointed out, realizing what I was actually saying.
How many similarities there were between the southern culture of the United States and Italy.
“We value family a lot, we follow God and we also value food.”
Fabiano smirked, chewing on an olive. “I have to confess, American food scares me.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Oh, come on! You can’t believe all we eat is donuts and bacon!”
“Isn’t it?”
I paused, twisting my mouth as I realized he had a point. “Ok. We do eat donuts and bacon a lot, BUT… That’s not all of it. For example, in my town, our specialty is fried catfish. And you should try my aunt Lizzie’s burnt sugar cake recipe. Argh, it’s to die for.”
Fabiano nodded, taking a sip of his glass of water. “How old is your aunt?”
“She turned forty-six this January.”
“You like her a lot, don’t you? I can see it on your face.” He pointed out, making me smile.
“Yeah, she’s… She’s the only family that’s left.” I admitted, fixing the napkin on my lap. “I mean, I’ve a mother and a half-sister, but I cut ties with them.”
That instant, a waiter who didn’t look older than eighteen, appeared with a silver tray of grilled octopus and a bowl of tomato salad.
And to my delight, although Fabiano seemed to be a good wine connoisseur, he appeared to love a good beer as much as I did, and that's what he asked the boy to bring us next.
When we were alone once again at the table, he gave me a knowing look.
“I know how it feels to not get along with our parents.” He admitted, and I listened closely. He then shrugged, “My dad used to beat the shit out of me with a belt. He never liked me or my mamma. He beat her too, until I was old enough to teach him a lesson.”
“I’m so sorry, Fabiano.”
He shook his head, a peaceful smile on his lips. “Don’t be. That was a matter I took good care of.”
My eyes widen. “That means…?”
He nodded. “With the late Don Patrizio’s blessing, the last time my father raised his hand to hit my mamma, he met Dio.”
Something twisted in my stomach. I should condemn that. Fabiano was saying he murdered his own father. Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to judge him. If the asshole hit him and his mom, he deserved what he got.
“You know what? Good for you!” I blurted, and he chuckled, stretching his arms to serve me a generous piece of grilled octopus.
The waiter came back with cold beers. Fabiano and I had our appetizers while he told me a little bit more about his family.
Apparently, his mother was retired. She had him when she was already forty-two and after a very hard life, she was now enjoying her free time helping out at the small chapel of Castello dell’Fiero.
Fabiano made sure his mom had everything she needed and I deeply respected him for that.
And then he also pointed out how close he was with his uncle Gennaro, who apparently always treated him like his own son.
“I immediately noticed you guys were close.” I pointed out, emptying my glass of beer.
“Uncle Gennaro is my guardian angel, Daisy. Every time I got in trouble, he was always there. Until this day I can’t understand how he and my dad were brothers.
” He admitted with a sigh, and then smiled cheekily.
“But since we are getting to know each other, and talking about close bonds… Do you have a boyfriend back home, Daisy?”
I laughed heartily, shaking my hand dismissively in the air. “Oh, no! I’ve been single for the past twelve years!”
His eyebrows knitted. “Twelve years? How old are you?”
“Almost thirty.”
Fabiano blinked. “You don’t look thirty. And yes, it’s a compliment.”
“In that case, thank you very much.” I answered, trying to pull away a slight pang of embarrassment. I cleared my throat. “Fabiano, can I ask something?”
He smirked. “Should I be afraid?”
“Just a little.” I teased, and he nodded, indicating me to go on. “Your boss, Camillo. Why is he always so… uh… cold? Arrogant? A complete asshole?”
Fabiano laughed, and pressed a finger to his lips. “Don’t say that here, Daisy. Someone can hear you and we’ll be both in trouble.”
I leaned over the table, and whispered, “Okay, but why is he that big of an asshole?”
Fabiano sighed and shook his head. “He was not always like that, you see? Don Camillo used to be the typical youngest child. He broke rules, he got himself into trouble, and nobody said anything. He was not to become the boss, so his famiglia never enforced any rules.”
“Who was supposed to be the boss? His brother?”
“Sì. Signor Mario. He was prepared since birth to become the new Padrone.” He explained. “Basically, Signor Mario had to follow many rules. His famiglia expected a lot from him. But Don Camillo was just the younger sibling, who could basically do whatever he wanted to.”
“But nothing went as planned.”
“No.” He confirmed, shaking his head and taking a sip of beer. “Don Camillo was a spoiled boy who believed the world was his oyster. But then the accident happened and he went from having everything, a famiglia, a wife, a granted future, to have nothing. He was forced to grow up.”
I felt a pang of pain in my heart. “It must have been hard…” I muttered.
“For sure. You should have met him before. He was spoiled, but actually a fun guy to be around. Always smiling, always ready to go for drinks. If he is the way he is, we can just blame life for that.”
I simply nodded. I wasn’t going to tell Fabiano, but I could relate to that. Losing those we love, seeing the future we planned crumble before our eyes, changes us forever. Irreversibly.
The rest of dinner passed in small talk, followed by stuffed pasta and finished with cannoli for dessert, filled with a magnificent mascarpone cream.
However, I had to admit, they fell short of Donatella Condello's.
After too many beers and too much food, we finally left the restaurant and rushed off to some random gelato place, and oh my Gawd.
When tourists said that Italy had the best ice cream, they weren't kidding.
We ate chocolate gelato with wafers sitting on a bench facing the sea.
Although I responded to everything Fabiano was saying to me, I allowed the darkness in which we found ourselves to lull me and inhaled the salty sea air.
Sicily, on the other side of that sea, was like a fantasy land.
A promise of something nameless. To top it off, the sky was clear, peppered with stars as far as the eye could see.
When it was time to return to Castello dell'Fiero, I took in Reggio Calabria one last time.
Its relaxed atmosphere, the friendliness of the people, the mystical beauty of the streets, and the scent of the sea.
And I realized that, little by little, I was beginning to fall in love with this country that would be my final destination.
We were already halfway back when Fabiano turned down the radio.
“I was just thinking...” he began, his brow furrowed in question. “Daisy is Margherita, isn't it?”
I smiled warmly, nodding. “Yes, Cupcake!” Fabiano's eyes widened at the nickname. “Oh my God, I'm so sorry! Where I come from, it's normal to give people affectionate nicknames. Sugar, cupcake, love... It's nothing unusual. I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to make things awkward!”
“It's not that. I'm just surprised to be called Cupcake. Am I that fat?” He joked, a crooked smile on his handsome face.
My laughter filled the car. “No! But you're a sweetheart. And you paid for dinner... and gelato. If you wanted to win my friendship, congratulations. You succeeded!”
"Well, well, it's been so long since anyone called me a sweetheart!
If you hadn't added the dinner and gelato part, I would have believed your affection.
“ He teased me, joining in my good mood. ”I think you're a sweetheart too.
.. Margherita. I'm going to call you Margherita from now on, just so you know.” He blurted out. “So, we're friends. It's official.”
“Welllll!” I dramatized with a long sigh. “We're friends, but not friends friends. For that, I still need a few more servings of gelato.”
“I feel like I'm being blackmailed,” he groaned. “Va bene, Margherita. It's a deal then. We'll come back to Reggio Calabria more often, sì?”
“Deal... Cupcake.”
We bickered the rest of the way, with Fabiano insisting that I could choose a more appealing food than a cupcake and me retaliating that I accepted bribes in food.
We were already in Castello dell'Fiero when he promised me that the next time he took me to Reggio Calabria, we would spend the afternoon at the beach, an idea I thought was exceptional.
But as everything wonderful was short-lived, the pickup truck stopped in front of Villa Vicari and we were greeted by Luca, Gennaro, and a very murderous-looking Camillo.