26. Senna
— ? —
Senna
The first call comes from my mother.
I’m sitting in the kitchen of the house I’m still not sure I live in, drinking coffee that Rocco made before he left for a meeting with the label, when my phone lights up with a name I haven’t seen in weeks.
Mom
I consider not answering. I consider letting it go to voicemail, listening later when I’m prepared, when I’ve had time to build up my defenses.
Instead, I pick up.
“Senna.” My mother’s voice is strained, unfamiliar. “We saw the news.”
“Which part?”
“All of it. The press conference. The evidence. Everything about Fiorella.”
“And?”
A long pause. “We didn’t know.”
“Didn’t you?”
“How could we have known? She never told us - she never said anything about-”
“About stealing from me? About bribing her way into my husband’s career? About leaking my divorce filing to destroy my reputation?” I keep my voice level, but my hand is shaking around the phone. “No, I suppose she wouldn’t have mentioned any of that.”
“Senna, please. We’re trying to understand.”
“Are you? Because I’ve been trying to understand for thirty-three years, and I still don’t.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means-” I take a breath, steadying myself. “It means you spent my entire childhood telling me I was the gifted one. The special one. The one who didn’t have to work for it while Fiorella had to fight for everything.”
“That was true. You were gifted.”
“And what did you tell her? That she wasn’t good enough? That she’d never measure up to her naturally talented little sister? That no matter how hard she worked, I’d always be better?”
Silence on the other end.
“You built this,” I continue. “You and Dad. You set us against each other from the beginning, and then you acted surprised when she started trying to tear me down.”
“We never meant-”
“It doesn’t matter what you meant. It matters what you did. And what you did was create a competition that Fiorella could never win, and then you watched her become someone who’d cheat to even the odds.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” I laugh, and it sounds bitter even to my own ears.
“You know what’s not fair, Mom? Being told your whole life that you have this incredible gift, and then being made to feel like you’re wasting it if you don’t want to perform.
Being compared to your sister constantly, both of you always falling short of some impossible standard.
Being turned into rivals when you should have been allies. ”
“We loved you both equally.”
“You loved us both. I believe that. But you didn’t treat us equally.
You held us up against each other like we were in some kind of race, and you never stopped to think about what that was doing to us.
” I take a breath. “And when Fiorella hurt me - when she said cruel things or took things that were mine - you made excuses for her. Every time. Remember Christmas dinner? When she told everyone I’d wasted my voice?
Dad said she was just tired, she worked so hard, she didn’t mean it. ”
Silence.
“You never asked if she was right,” I continue. “You never asked if it hurt. You just smoothed it over and expected me to absorb it because I was the gifted one and she was the one who struggled.”
My mother is crying now. I can hear it in her breathing, the soft sniffles she’s trying to hide.
“What do you want us to do?” she asks. “How do we fix this?”
“I don’t know if you can.”
“Senna-”
“I’m not saying I’ll never forgive you. I’m saying I can’t do it right now. I can’t give you a clean slate and pretend everything is fine when I’m still processing what happened. What’s been happening my whole life.”
“Can we see you? Talk in person?”
I think about it. Really think about it.
“Maybe,” I say finally. “Not yet. But maybe.”
“We love you, Senna. We always have.”
“I know you do. I just need you to love me without comparing me to anyone else. Can you do that?”
A long pause.
“We’ll try,” my mother says.
“That’s all I’m asking.”
I hang up and sit in the quiet kitchen, staring at my phone, feeling the weight of three decades of complicated family dynamics finally starting to shift.
***
My father calls an hour later.
“Your mother told me you spoke,” he says. His voice is gruffer than hers, less emotional, but I can hear the strain underneath.
“We did.”
“I’m not going to make excuses, Senna. What happened with Fiorella - what she did to you - there’s no excuse for it.”
“But?”
“But we raised her. We shaped her. And I’m not blind enough to think we didn’t contribute to what she became.”
I’m surprised by the admission. My father has never been one for self-reflection.
“Thank you for saying that.”
“Don’t thank me. I should have seen it years ago.
The way she looked at you, at your life, at everything you had that she wanted.
” He sighs heavily. “Your mother and I thought we were motivating her. Pushing her to work harder. We didn’t realize we were teaching her that she’d never be enough on her own. ”
“And me? What were you teaching me?”
“That you were special. That your gift made you different.” He pauses. “Maybe we were teaching you that you didn’t have to work for anything, because talent would always carry you through.”
“I worked,” I say quietly. “You just never noticed.”
“I know that now.”
“Do you? Because I spent seven years working to support my husband’s career, giving up my own music, making myself smaller so he could be bigger. And you never once asked me if I was happy. You never once asked me what I wanted.”
“You’re right. We didn’t.”
“I wanted to be seen, Dad. Not as the gifted daughter or the supportive wife or the smaller sister. Just as myself. Just as Senna.”
“I see you now.”
“It’s a start.”
***
That afternoon, I go back to the rental to finish packing up the last of my things. Elena meets me there with wine and takeout, and we sit on the small balcony watching the sun set over Florence.
“I heard about Fiorella,” she says. “Dropped by her label. Management’s gone. Half the industry won’t return her calls.”
“I know.”
“How do you feel about it?”
I take a sip of wine, considering the question.
“I thought I’d feel triumphant. Vindicated. But mostly I just feel… sad.”
“Sad?”
“She’s my sister. For all the terrible things she did, she’s still my sister. And watching her fall apart-” I shake my head. “I don’t enjoy it. I wish I did. It would be easier if I could just hate her and be done with it.”
“Maybe it’s better that you don’t. Hate is exhausting.”
“So is forgiveness.”
“You don’t have to forgive her. You just have to figure out how to live with what happened.”
I think about that for a while.
“My parents called today.”
“How’d that go?”
“Better than expected. Worse than I hoped.” I smile ruefully. “They’re trying. I’ll give them that.”
“Are you going to see them?”
“Eventually. Not yet. I’m not ready to sit across a table from them and pretend everything’s normal.”
“That’s fair.”
“But I’m not cutting them off either. I’m just… setting boundaries. For the first time in my life, I’m telling them what I need instead of waiting for them to figure it out.”
Elena raises her glass. “To boundaries.”
“To boundaries.”
We clink glasses and drink, and the wine is warm going down, and the evening is soft and golden, and for the first time in months, I feel like I might actually be okay.
“So,” Elena says, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “What’s next?”
“What do you mean?”
“Fiorella’s dealt with. Your parents are managing themselves. The only thing left unsettled is-”
“Rocco.”
“Rocco.”
I look out over the city, thinking about the man who’s currently somewhere out there, probably worrying about me, probably counting the minutes until he can come home and make sure I’m alright.
“I love him,” I say simply. “I never stopped.”
“So what’s the holdup?”
“I don’t know. Fear, maybe. We’ve been through so much. How do I know we won’t end up right back where we started?”
“You don’t.” Elena shrugs. “That’s the terrifying thing about love. There are no guarantees. You just have to decide if the risk is worth it.”
“Is it?”
“Only you can answer that.”
I sit with the question as the sun sinks lower, as the sky turns orange and pink and finally purple.
My phone buzzes. Rocco.
“Hey,” I answer.
“Hey.” His voice is warm, a little uncertain. “Elena told me she was coming over. I didn’t want to interrupt, but I wanted to check in. See how you’re doing.”
“I’m okay. Better than okay, actually.”
“Good. That’s good.” A pause. “I’m at the house. If you wanted company later. No pressure - I know you need space, and I can stay in the studio, give you the bedroom. I just thought maybe you shouldn’t be alone tonight. After everything.”
I look at Elena, who’s watching me with raised eyebrows and a knowing smirk.
“I’ll come home,” I say. “Give me an hour.”
“Yeah?” I can hear the hope in his voice, barely contained.
“Yeah. But Rocco?”
“What?”
“Don’t make it weird. I just want to sleep in my own bed.”
“Our bed.”
“Don’t push your luck.”
He laughs, and I can picture him on the other end - running a hand through his hair, probably pacing the kitchen the way he does when he’s nervous. “I’ll see you soon.”
I hang up, and Elena is grinning at me.
“Shut up,” I say.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were thinking it.”
“I was thinking that you just called his house home. And that you’re smiling like an idiot.” She raises her glass. “To idiots in love.”
“To idiots in love,” I agree.
With the wreckage cleared, the only thing left unsettled is us.
And I think I finally know what I want to do about it.