Chapter Five
Five
Dear Aurora,
Are you my cousin?
I just received a message with your information on the ancestry site, and it looks like we are related! This makes me so happy and I have many questions. My name is Catena and I live in Sciacca, Sicily, but my family is from Lucca. We have many aunts and uncles and cousins here. I would love to talk. This is my number on WhatsApp—please message me!
Catena
I read the email with growing excitement. Somehow, there must’ve been a child Mom didn’t know about. I knew Romano was a popular name in Italy, but maybe there truly was a connection between us. I imagined being able to talk to someone who was a blood relative, someone who would know something about Mom and her past. It was a thread to tug on.
I immediately responded with my phone number and asked if she was free to speak that night. She responded and we set up a time.
The hours dragged. I managed to counsel a few clients, but the podcast schedule had been hard to fix. After losing such big-name guests, we put the word out to some influencers, but only a few responded—with scheduling conflicts. Anxiety had begun to stir and grow as I realized I might have lost a lot of my progress because of my decreased social media posts and daily videos. People said they understood and were patient, but the world was moving at light speed, and if you didn’t continue putting out content, you were forgotten.
I reminded myself of my worth and that moving at a slower pace wouldn’t destroy me. Unfortunately, the achiever part roared its disapproval and tried to mentally berate my body for being so weak…so lazy…so average.
Finally, it was time, and I called the number.
“Aurora! It is so nice to talk with you!”
I caught my breath at the sound of her accent, rich and lilting, like music. “I feel the same way. I can’t believe this is happening. When I did the DNA report, I didn’t expect anyone to really show up.”
Her laugh was warm and infectious. “I’m the opposite. We have such an extended family, I’m excited when there’s a new connection popping up. But there hasn’t been one in a while, and never from America! Where do you live?”
“New York. A few hours north of Manhattan. Have you ever been?”
“No, but I dream of going someday.”
My mind whirled with questions, greedy for all her stories and information. “Catena, how are you related to my mom? She never mentioned you or any family connections in Sicily, and she was an only child.”
Catena paused, then made a low humming noise. “I do not know. But it shows that you are my first cousin, which means Serafina was my aunt. I need to ask my family. I have not had time to tell them about you yet. My parents do not like me being on the app. They say not to mess with God’s plans by poking our noses in others’ business. Maybe a half sibling no one knew about? Imagine a secret baby somewhere!”
A scandal surrounding my mother? Fascination over this new mystery gave me a shot of adrenaline. “Tell me all about you and your family.”
Her voice was light and gossipy. “I am twenty-four and have a brother, Teodoro, who’s two years older. Mamma’s name is Philomena, and Papà is Alessandro, but his name is Caruso, not Romano. I have many cousins. I did a family tree you can look at! It will give you all the names.”
I frowned, trying to piece things together. “How many siblings does your mom have?”
“Only one, my uncle Agosto.”
“So that means my mom should be related to Philomena and Agosto, right?”
“ Sì. But I am not sure how. My grandparents only have my mom and uncle.”
I nibbled on my lip.
“Maybe we can talk to your mom and mine? I’m sure we can find out and solve the mystery!”
Pain and sadness washed over me and I held my breath to ward off the emotions. No matter how smart it sounded to move energy and just feel, I hated being helpless and tossed around like a raft in the rough ocean waves. I’d take numbness over this gripping grief. “Unfortunately, we can’t. My parents have both passed. Dad died years ago in a car crash, and I just lost my mom recently.”
I heard a gasp over the line. I was used to people’s sympathetic reaction to such news, but something about this girl across the world, this person who might have a touch of my family’s blood flowing in her veins, made me feel better. Someone to share my mourning. “Aurora, I had no idea. What a terrible thing to go through. And you have no siblings?”
“No. That’s what brought me to do the test. I was curious because both Mom and Dad were only children. I wanted to see if there was anyone out there who maybe knew them.”
“My heart breaks for you. To lose both your mamma and papà so close? I could not live—I would have a complete breakdown! Oh, I must talk to Mamma about this, and maybe my grandparents. We will find the connection. I just know we are family—I feel it!”
I did, too. Which made no sense, and my rational brain said I was only looking desperately for any type of relation so I wouldn’t feel alone, but I didn’t care. My gut sang its confirmation that Catena was meant to have contacted me. I didn’t know what would happen, but I was ready to walk this new path.
“Can you tell me more about Lucca and your family?” I asked.
And she did. She painted a picture of a small Sicilian town where her entire family lived close, where farming and fishing were king. Catena and her brother owned a pub in Sciacca, which was close to Lucca. Most of her cousins attended school or worked in her aunt and uncle’s pizzeria. They also owned an olive oil business. I listened greedily to her description and wondered about my mother’s connection to any of it.
“And you? Please tell me all about New York!”
“I live in a small town called Cold Spring. It’s by the river and mountains, and the train can take you into Manhattan. New York is fast-paced and competitive and bloodthirsty, but I love it. My job is being a life coach, so I have a bunch of clients I counsel to live better, and I do a podcast called Step into Your Success . I’m also writing a book.”
Another gasp. “You are famous! My cousin is famous!”
I laughed. “No, I’m really not. But I’m hoping to keep building my reputation and trying to help more people.”
“I cannot believe you are a writer and do all of these things. I have never heard of a life coach. Do you tell people what to do?”
“No. I just guide them to be their true selves and feel confident. I try to get them to take action on the things they want.”
“I need one of those!”
I laughed again, enjoying her easy warmth. It already felt like she was a friend. “Consider all my advice free. Family discount,” I teased.
We chatted a bit more, trading stories. Catena asked me to give her details about my mom, and I savored being able to share with someone who cared. Finally, we were ready to say goodbye. “I will talk to my family about you and call you this week,” she promised.
“Thanks, Catena.” My throat clogged with raw emotion. “This meant a lot.”
When we ended the call, there was a flicker of hope burning bright inside, the possibility of more out in the world. Something bigger than me to take away this awful hungry pain that was my constant companion.
For the first time in a while, I was excited for tomorrow.
—
After a productive day, I felt like I was back to my old self.
Eliza pulled off a miracle and retained the up-and-coming actress turned motivational speaker Marley Greene to be our first guest on the podcast. Because of her schedule, we had a tight turnaround, so I went into the studio to steep myself in research and compose a Q and A. Since the party had gone badly, we’d decided to do something to grab attention: we were doing the podcast and simultaneous YouTube live.
I usually wasn’t afraid of live recordings. I did well on a mic and in front of a camera and had learned skills to create an intimate dialogue with my guests. Lately, though, my behavior had been unpredictable, so I doubled down on doing everything exactly right. With only a few days to announce the change of guest and promote the opening season, my team and I went into overdrive.
This time, I couldn’t afford to fail.
I left the couch and sadness behind and knew this was a turning point. Maybe the hard grieving was finally done. Maybe going to a therapist had allowed me an outlet, and speaking with Catena had given me hope. I even thought of reaching out to Jason but figured the best move was to prove myself by killing on my podcast premiere to show how wrong he’d been for leaving me. I wanted to return on an upswing and have a serious talk. If we were going to be together long-term, we needed to straighten some things out between us. Combining a declaration of love with a departure was screwed up, even if he believed he was doing the right thing.
On cue, my phone buzzed and I glanced down.
“You must do the thing you think you can not do.”
—Eleanor Roosevelt
My fingers clenched into fists at the mockery of such a quote. Really? Jason was sending me Eleanor? I mean, the first lady was incredible, but it was the type of quote I cut my teeth on years ago. He didn’t even have to dig for that one! That quote came up at the top of every Google search under quotes to motivate.
Was this the man I wanted as my partner?
I hadn’t even been able to say I love you back because he left me. Did I love him? I thought I did, but all my emotions were mixed up like ingredients in a blender. I couldn’t separate any of them.
The question was too deep right now, so I pushed it aside and kept on working. By the end of the day, I felt satisfied with the progress I’d made. Dr. Sariah would be pleased—I’d done much more than one task and I hadn’t cried all day. I was definitely better.
Even my staff made comments on my focus, welcoming me back. Confidence rushed back in full force. Why quit now when I still had more to do? I called a few clients to check in so they knew I’d returned ready to counsel, and soon my calendar was packed again.
I nibbled on my lower lip as I saw my appointment with Dr. Sariah for tomorrow. I was so much better, I probably could push it off to next week. Then I’d have free time to catch up on all the work I’d missed.
I quickly called her office and rescheduled.
I made some more calls, shot off more emails, and soon I was buried at my desk in peak form.
I’m back, baby.
When I got home, it was late, but energy bubbled in my veins. I sipped lemon water and scrolled through my feeds, dropping random comments on various posts to show I was ready to engage again. A text flashed up on my screen.
Aurora, can you talk? I found out about your mother.
I trembled and shot Catena a message to call me right away.
When the phone rang, I tried not to show my greediness for information. “Hi, Catena. I’m so excited to hear about my mom. Is she a relation to your family? Does anyone know her?”
An eerie silence settled over the line. I wished I could see her face on the screen to help navigate the sudden dread washing through me. As if I knew her next words would change everything and I’d never be the same person again.
Catena’s voice wobbled over the phone, increasing my fear. “Yes. I asked my mamma about yours last night. She was very shocked and wanted to know how I knew that name. I told her about the site and talking to you. Oh, Aurora. I didn’t know. They never told us.”
My heart galloped like a herd of Thoroughbreds. “Told you what?”
I heard a gulp as if she were fighting tears. “I think it’s best if you talk to my mother now. She wants to tell you the story.”
“Wait—why can’t you ?” I practically shrieked, but there was a low crash and then another woman began speaking. Her Italian accent was thicker than Catena’s, and a new heaviness forced me to pace back and forth, helpless to do anything but wait for her explanation.
“Aurora.” My name sounded like a prayer from her lips. A torrent of Italian came over the line, and then Catena’s voice yelling, “English, Mamma!” and then she switched back.
“I am your aunt Philomena. I did not…I did not know about your mother’s death. If we had…” A deep breath. “I hoped one day she would come back, or write, or call, give us some sign that we could mend things, but after she left, there was nothing.”
My head spun and nausea pitched in my gut. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” I said, shaking. “This makes no sense. My mother was an only child. My grandparents died when she was a teenager. I have no family.”
“Oh, mia nipote , you do have a family. Serafina was my sister. She grew up in Sicily with me and my brother, your uncle Agosto. You have many cousins, aunts, and uncles in Lucca Sicula.”
Lucca? Aunts and uncles and cousins? How was this possible?
Why had my mother lied and cut me off from my relatives?
Struck mute, I struggled to make sense of this information bomb. “Why?” The word broke from my lips in a half whisper. “Why wouldn’t she tell me?”
More Italian. Yelling and knocking in the background. “Serafina left when she was nineteen. It was a terrible scandal, an awful thing. Your grandfather told her if she left us to marry, she would never be able to return. The next morning, she was gone—she’d disappeared without a goodbye. We were all broken, Aurora. It was a terrible, terrible time.”
I dropped to the couch, suddenly dizzy. “My dad? She left Sicily to marry my dad?”
“The Englishman?”
Oh God, yes. “His name was Peter York. He was a wonderful dad and I loved him.”
A long breath. “ Sì. Sera always loved big. I am not surprised she chose to follow. Her heart would not have been whole without him.”
“What about my grandparents? When did they die?”
This time, the silence seemed to fill with surprise. “Your grandparents are still here.”
I sucked in a breath. “They’re alive?”
“ Sì. Sera never told you anything about us?”
“No, I knew nothing.” Bitterness and anger and a wallowing sadness overtook me as my mind furiously tried to sift through this information. “No one kept in contact with my mom? No one knew she died?”
“We did not know. Mio Dio , I did not know I lost my sister.” Deep sobs rose to my ears, but the familiar numbness edged through to protect me. It was too much to understand right now. Mom had lied about her entire life. She had a war with her family and I was the casualty. Dad had known, too. They’d both betrayed me. “Is there anyone else? A brother or sister?”
“No. It’s just me.” Ice prickled my skin. “It’s always been just me.”
More sobs and a litany of Italian and then Catena came on the line. “Aurora, we are all in shock. No one told us we had an aunt or a cousin in America. But you are one of us! We must meet each other and talk. Come to Sicily, Aurora.”
I blinked. “I can’t,” I said automatically. “I’m sorry, I need—I need to go. I need to think about all of this.”
“Yes, of course. You will have questions. Call me back, and I will make sure you get your answers. We both deserve them, no? We deserve the truth.”
The truth. My entire family background was a lie. The shadows in my mother’s eyes when she talked about the death of my grandparents. The flicker of pain in her brown eyes when she stared out the window and didn’t realize I was watching her. As if she were gazing into another time and place.
It hadn’t been my imagination. She’d left another life behind, one with her siblings and parents and a home across the ocean. I hadn’t gotten to choose. If she’d sat me down and told me the story, would I have sought out my relatives sooner? Would they have all been able to forgive for the greater good?
I’d never know because it was too late.
I stumbled over my goodbye to Catena and hung up.
I’d stood alone at my mother’s funeral and watched her being lowered into the ground. Other than Jason and my college friends, whom I’d lost touch with, no one was there to share in my stories about her, in the laughter and tears of the past. I alone held her memory, and I wasn’t big enough to carry her legacy. Until right now, I hadn’t realized that our parents are the only ones to love us unconditionally, passionately, generously. They are the first ones to turn to in celebration or heartbreak. Without them, I’d built no other foundation, and being alone had made the knowledge so much harder to bear.
But I did have family. I shared blood with people who’d known my mother as a girl. Who’d raised her and seen her fall in love with my father. Who’d challenged her and forced her to choose between family and love.
There was no defense against the secrets she’d kept from me, and that made my heart hurt so much worse. If only the lawyer had read a will after she passed, a personal letter explaining the details of her family and allowing me to choose. But this wasn’t some novel or Netflix series where everything worked out in the end.
Mom was gone and it was up to me to put the broken pieces together.
Lethargy crept in to save me from my aching head. My limbs gave out, and all the productive energy from the day whooshed away. I crawled into bed and pulled the covers over me. Tears stung my eyes, but I felt too awful to cry. The image of my mother’s face drifted behind my closed lids, and mercifully, sleep came to take me away from all of it.