Chapter Fifteen
Fifteen
I looked at the email requesting I check in for my return flight and paused on the confirm button. My conversation with Quint the other night had been spinning on repeat in my mind. Afterward, I’d texted Jason and asked him to call me back.
I still hadn’t heard from him.
Yesterday, I shared the day with Catena, Teresa, Magda, and Aunt Philomena. We spent hours popping in and out of local shops as I went on a buying binge I refused to regret. Stocking up on future holiday gifts and treasures for my home, I steeped myself in the Sicilian crafts of ceramics, paintings, and jewelry. I indulged in delicate hand-stitched table linens and a set of gorgeous plates with fruits swirled at the bottom, colored in bright yellow and orange. We relaxed with a two-hour lunch at La Lampara, drinking sparkling wine and nibbling on tasting plates of spaghetti with smoked sea urchin, grilled vegetables, and a bright salad seasoned with olives, anchovies, sweet onion, and delicate Parmesan cheese crisps. We finished with soft, fragrant pears with ricotta, blood oranges, and dried apricots.
I’d been afraid of the sea urchin, but one taste silenced my inner skeptic. This time, I didn’t flinch when bread was served and took a few precious bites swirled in fragrant olive oil. My aunt and cousins looked on proudly, as if I had finally been allowed secret entry into their food club. It wasn’t my foray into daring culinary dishes that impressed me.
It was my refusal to criticize myself while I enjoyed every morsel.
Catena took me to the fish market and schooled me on the mechanics of negotiation. Her wicked-fast Italian was hard to keep track of, but I studied the fishermens’ body language to know what was going on. They screamed back and forth. They whipped their hands into a frenzy. They glared with stony stares and deep frowns. Thank goodness Catena had warned me not to panic, because it was all par for the course. We ended up with prawns, octopus, and sea bass. Catena was happy with her prices and wore a satisfied grin on her face. I was reeling from her feminine fierceness. It was even better than the hoot I’d taught my clients.
I’d never bargained with anyone before. When someone told me the price, I just paid it. The idea of such negotiation both thrilled and scared me, but I tucked the new experience away to be pulled out at a later date, if needed.
I wondered if I could use my cousin’s talent to get discount designer clothes. That’d be cool.
Later that day, I gathered at Bar Sciacca with my new friends and ate the fish, cooked by Quint’s skilled hands. Even though he wasn’t the official cook, Catena told me he involved himself with every meal, sometimes joining the chef to create a special side dish or change the menu. I loved how passionate he was about not only the pub but the food served. He’d told me at the winery his goal was to impart pleasure and comfort in every bite he served. But he didn’t want to be a full-time chef. He said it was too stressful, and he preferred to assist, bartend, and be involved in the business side with Catena and Theo.
Quint knew exactly who he was and what he wanted. Once, I’d believed the same thing about myself, but now I was beginning to accept I was still on my journey and had been forced to the side of the road.
With a hell of a lot of potholes.
Jason called me later that night, a full twenty-four hours after my text. When I picked up, I tried hard not to be resentful or open the conversation with accusations.
“Hey, babe. I’ve been so busy here. The new gym was written up in the paper and I got a ton of client sign-ups. Oh, and I decided to expand the health bar. When we started offering shakes, I figured it’d barely break even, but a ton of profit is popping from clients wanting to hang and socialize after. We’re going to begin offering more items, but it’s a lot to take on.”
I stared at the FaceTime screen and wondered if he even saw me. He was home, but walking around his house as if trying to talk to me and straighten up at the same time.
WTF?
I couldn’t help the sharpness of my tone. “Jason, can you do me a favor and sit? I’m getting vertigo bouncing around your place.”
“Oh, sure, sorry.” He positioned himself on the black sofa and smiled into the camera. “Better?”
“Yes.”
“How is Sicily going? Aren’t you coming back on Friday?”
“Yeah, I’m surprised you even remember. Miss me much?”
He jerked back and gave me a hurt look. “Of course I miss you, Aurora. I’m just in a bit of a time warp. I’ve been working sixteen-hour days and need to catch up on sleep.”
“The last thing you sacrifice when things are stressful is healthy rest,” I quoted back. “Remember?”
“Sure. But as you know, giving advice is sometimes easier than taking it.” His jab back was deliberate, his gaze narrowed as he stared at me.
Ah, he did have a mean streak. Jason and I had never fought. Not once. We agreed on everything, and if we didn’t, I usually decided he was right, and I deferred. It had never bothered me before—I had actually bragged about our easy relationship—but now I wondered if it was only because I’d never challenged him. Or we never dug deep enough in our dialogue to find something meaningful.
I breathed in and reminded myself he had no idea why I was angry. Maybe we were overdue for a true heart-to-heart talk. “I don’t want to fight.”
Relief crossed his face. “Me, either. I’m sorry, I should have called earlier. Have you enjoyed spending time with your family?”
“It’s been life-changing,” I admitted. “I can’t believe I finally have cousins and aunts and uncles. I adore Nonna, but my grandfather is acting distant. I’m thinking of trying to talk to him tomorrow.”
“You should. Get things wrapped up before you leave so there’s no regrets. I’m happy for you, babe. You can Zoom with them and keep in touch. Maybe we can even take a vacation to Sicily together one day!”
Unease stirred within me. Everything with us seemed forced. As if we were trying to be a picture-perfect couple, but underneath things were rotten. I softened my voice. “I wanted to talk to you about some things. I mentioned it before, but my cousin Magda wants me to stay for her wedding. It would mean I extend my time here by another three weeks.”
“Yeah, but we both agreed it was ridiculous. That’s too much time away from your business.”
I firmed my lips. “Well, I’m rethinking my decision. I’ll talk to my grandfather tomorrow. We’re going to my uncle’s olive oil farm. Depending on how things go, I may decide to stay and give us more time to know one another. It may be nice to attend her wedding, too.”
His easy manner turned fast. Letting out a humorless chuckle, he shook his head with obvious irritation. “Aurora, you’re not making sense. You cannot stay in Sicily for three more weeks.”
“Why not?”
His eyes widened. “Because you have too much shit going on in New York! You’re running away, if you want the truth. Making excuses to avoid reality. There is nothing to gain and everything to lose. You spent years building your client base and podcast. Are you ready to let it all go because you’re afraid of doing some hard work?”
His words were so out of touch with my real emotions, I wondered if we were on different wavelengths rather than just time zones. “I’m not afraid. I’m drained. I’ve lost my passion for counseling and parroting motivational speeches to people who want to make more money and lose weight.”
“What’s wrong with those goals?” he demanded.
“Nothing. They’re worthy goals. I’m just not invested like I was, and I need to take a hard look at what I do want. Maybe time here will help give me the space to figure that out.”
“What about the book?”
“I haven’t finished it. I stalled out a while ago and my publisher pushed back the delivery date. I was afraid to tell you before.”
“I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” he muttered, dragging both hands through his thick hair. Irritation exuded from him and pressed through the screen, as if I was ingesting his aura. “That book was critical to leveling up your platform. You want to give it all up for carbs and wine and naps? No one tanks a rising successful career because she wants to eat, pray, and love through Sicily! You are no Elizabeth Gilbert, and the time to find yourself was five years ago.” A curse whizzed from his lips. “And what about us? I thought we were trying to build something together.”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat and asked the hard question. “What about us, Jason? Do you love me because it’s easy? Because I fit in with your goals and future plans? Or are you truly passionate about me? Am I in your mind or in your heart?”
His jaw dropped. “That’s the stupidest question I ever heard. We talked about moving in together. We’ve been together over a year. I gave you a hell of a lot of my time to build a solid, healthy relationship and now you’re questioning me? You’re the one who left!”
“Yes, I did. Because my mom died and everything fell apart.”
“I supported you like I was supposed to. I gave up a lot to be there and hold your hand.”
“Supposed to?” I asked. “What does that mean? Are you trying to win the best boyfriend medal?”
He groaned. “I didn’t mean it like that. Right now, I feel attacked. I’ve done nothing wrong, but I’m supposed to happily accept that you don’t want to come back and be with me. I’m supposed to apologize for working hard to build my company. I’m supposed to allow you to throw your entire business away because one bad thing happened to you.”
His words weren’t technically wrong, but they hit me in all the wrong ways. I stared at his handsome face on the screen, obviously frustrated, and slowly came to one realization.
Jason no longer made me feel safe with him.
It was simple. A bit ridiculous that it took me so long to see it. After all, I was a grown-ass woman who could take care of herself. But I was always on guard with him, afraid to be my true self in case he judged or criticized. What began as exciting and motivating had pivoted to an emotion I didn’t want to feel anymore.
Like I’m not enough.
I studied him and wondered why my heart didn’t squeeze or long for him the way it did for Quint. I’d thought Jason was the one, but now I knew I’d been lying to myself because I didn’t want to face the truth. I’d fallen for the man who looked good on paper, the man who made sense and fit into my life. With him, I’d never had to fully risk a broken heart because mine had never been truly his.
One day, I hoped I’d be brave enough to do that. Like my mother.
My eyes burned, but tears didn’t fall. “I don’t think this is working anymore, Jason.”
His gaze narrowed and I caught a flash of anger in his blue eyes. He dragged his fingers through his hair and gave a derisive laugh. “Maybe because you’re blowing up your career to hang out in Sicily on a whim. I can’t help being disappointed, Aurora. I don’t know who you are anymore.”
I smiled tightly. “Funny, I’m just beginning to find out who I am.”
Jason’s face morphed from boyfriend to stranger. “You’re right. This isn’t working. I tried to support you through this difficult time. I thought it was temporary, so I was patient. But I can’t be expected to accept a completely different person from the one I fell in love with.”
I couldn’t help the smirk. It was so obvious now. Everything needed to work for Jason to be fully engaged. He wasn’t the person I wanted to depend on when things went to shit. He expected me to be a certain type of woman, and if I changed, I’d be lectured or counseled. I’d be punished.
Maybe I needed to be grateful this happened. In the end, Mom had proven to be right.
Jason was selfish and unworthy of my heart.
“I think it’s over between us.”
He jerked back. Had he honestly expected me to fight? To beg? To promise him I’d be better in order to keep him? I wasn’t even angry at his reaction. Just sad I’d lied to myself about who we were to each other. “You don’t even want to try to salvage this? I thought we loved each other.”
I almost smiled at his immediate backpedaling. When it came to personal relationships, Jason liked to be in charge. “I don’t think we loved each other, Jason. Not the way we should.”
“That’s a crappy thing to say.” He bristled with irritation. “I tried to make this work, Aurora. If you want to give up, you can’t blame me. Are you ready to walk away? Because once we hang up, I’m done. I won’t be at your door, chasing you, when you get back from your vacation and suddenly realize you made a mistake.”
I took a deep breath. “Jason?”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve never been more certain of anything. I’m sorry it had to end like this. I only want the best for you.”
He made a noise and shook his head in mockery. “Sure you do. Your choice. Good luck.”
The screen went blank.
With slightly shaky hands, I clicked off my phone and leaned back into the cushions. I’d broken up with Jason. I should be sad to lose a man I’d spent a year with, after making plans together, building dreams, chasing a happy ending.
Instead, I experienced a sense of relief. I was the only one crafting my future and taking charge of my happiness.
And God, it felt damn good.
Coming to Sicily had shown me that even though I was scared, I was more ready to discover all the things I’d been missing.
Love. Failure. Growth. Grief. Family.
I squeezed my hands around my middle and reminded myself I was brave enough to try.
On my own.
—
Accompanied by my grandparents, Uncle Agosto, Aunt Philomena, and my cousins, I greeted Uncle Tony—Magda’s father— at his olive tree farm; he came to meet us with welcoming smiles and hard hugs. His wrinkled face was tanned and brown, but he seemed strong and more fit than some of Jason’s clients. Muscled arms, weathered hands, and tree-trunk thighs showed that this was a man who lived off the land and had made peace with the bargain. My aunt Lucia came out to welcome me, then urged us to go on the tour while she finished preparing lunch. Aunt Philomena and my grandmother immediately joined her, waving us away.
The house was average size but stood upon a high hill that overlooked plentiful groves of trees, stretching out for miles. As I took in the magnificent view, my gaze swept over the dusty brown mountains that framed the farm. Sunbeams scattered and bounced off the leaves, and the sticky air seemed cooler on my skin so high up. “I feel like I’m in a movie,” I said to Magda. “Did you grow up here?”
She nodded. “My two brothers and I learned how to pick olives very young. They stayed as part of the business, but I wanted to work in Sciacca like Catena. Papà was not happy at first, but now he sees I can help him with the finances.”
“Magda is very smart with numbers,” Teresa said. “She was the top student at university in her classes and got a job with a financial company.”
I shook my head, impressed. “That’s amazing. I’m so happy your family ended up supporting you.”
“ Sì. I was very lucky. But this farm is my home, and I love it. I will always return.”
My heart squeezed at the sincerity that rang in her voice as she spoke. The image of my mother’s face floated before me, and I sucked in a breath at the smack of pain that followed. God, I missed her. I realized too late she’d always been my safe place in life, and now I was alone.
As if they sensed my distress, my cousins closed ranks around me, and I leaned in, allowing myself to accept the comfort.
“I know it is hard,” Catena whispered. “But you have us now. And though we never met your mamma , she is part of our family and our history. We will not forget her.”
“Come,” Uncle Tony called out. “Let us show Aurora the farm and how we make the oil.”
I smiled at my female crew, heart eased, and followed the men down the path. Gnats and bees buzzed around us, and my shoes kicked up dust as we walked through the olive groves. The scent of citrus and earth drifted in the air. “Picking season is fall, and we do much to get ready for the olive oil festival in October,” my uncle said, occasionally stopping to check the olives or adjust branches, muttering to himself as if making mental notes. “Russo Farms is a large supplier in Lucca, and we have just begun to ship products out. We even purchased a bottling machine!” Pride vibrated in his tone. “We will now sell our oils to bigger markets.”
Magda bumped my elbow. “I helped him with the financial plan,” she whispered.
My grandfather said something in Italian, then went back and forth with Uncle Tony.
“Babba, English. Aurora is here!” Catena admonished, though she was smiling.
I stilled as he glared at her, then me. His lips tightened with disapproval. Oh God, what if he began yelling? I threw my shoulders back, ready to defend her, but my grandfather said something else and my cousin laughed in delight, then blew kisses to him.
“What did he say?” I asked.
“He called me a chattering magpie who will get you into trouble. He likes to tease.”
I stared at his frown, which seemed to be permanently creased between his brows, and truly doubted it. I couldn’t imagine him laughing or teasing me. The idea of having a private talk with him later twisted my stomach with nerves.
Uncle Tony continued. “We grow two types of olives here. Biancolilla and Nocellara del Belice—one makes lighter, one makes very robusto oil. We call it the yellow gold.” I loved the sound of the term, like a queen bestowing her riches on the patrons. “We harvest by hand. We lay out lenzi to catch all the olives. They wrap around each tree like a blanket.”
“Nets,” Catena murmured.
“Many pick by hand, and others use rakes to reach the tops of the trees. We gather the olives up and bring them to the mill. We also have almond trees, oranges, and lemons. We are able to use all to make beautiful oil.”
I loved his lyrical accent and the passion within his words. I asked a bunch of questions and fell into step with Uncle Tony. I was introduced to my other two cousins—Magda’s brothers—and they showed me how to spot an olive ripe for picking, carefully detailing the process of harvesting and what they looked for. I tried an olive fresh from the vine, noting the bitter taste to the hard flesh. When I shuddered with distaste, everybody laughed.
“We go to the mill and see where the magic happens!” Uncle Tony boomed out, patting Uncle Agosto on the back with affection. I noticed they slowed their pace to walk with my grandfather, who took his time, head tipped up as if to gather the scents and sights of the day. His cap perched on his head with a dash of style. I noticed even though it was hot, he wore a collared polo shirt and long brown pants with sensible shoes.
The mill was a large building to the side of the house. It was full of equipment that looked industrial and important set up in various stations. The pungent scents of olives and brine and oil soaked the air. “Let us go on the journey of our olive!”
The girls looked at one another, lips tugging in smiles, but Magda’s gaze held only affection. “Sorry, Papà loves an audience,” she confided. “He is like a…” She trailed off, searching for a word.
“A big ham?” I suggested.
She blinked. “A ham you eat?”
I gave a half giggle. “It’s an American expression. One who likes attention and to show off.”
“Yes! He is a ham. I will remember this term.”
Uncle Tony held up an olive and headed to the first machine. “We used to clean all the olives by hand, but we now have a machine! It removes all the twigs and dirt. Then they are cleaned and go through the crusher until it is pulp.” He moved down the line and pointed out each piece of equipment as if they were his children. “Finally, the olive enters the trapito , to extract all the juice, and this centrifuge separates the oil from the water.” He patted the end of a metal monster. “Over here, the oil is filtered and collected in these bins.” He pointed to large plastic jugs.
“I want to see how the bottling machine works,” Catena said.
“Ah, watch! It is a joy to see our product for sale. We even design our new label!”
“I did that, too,” Magda whispered.
Her brothers rolled their eyes and said something in Italian. She shot something back and they got into a loud argument. No one seemed to care, but Uncle Tony shouted “ Zitto! ” to the boys and they all stopped. His voice returned to normal. “Watch how nice this works. I saved some just to show you.”
Magda stuck out her tongue.
Her brothers whispered something and grinned evilly.
Lord, maybe I was glad I didn’t have a sibling.
Everyone gathered around for the demonstration. Grabbing a container of oil, Uncle Tony clicked on a series of buttons, and beautiful glass bottles began to fill with pale yellow liquid. Once it reached the top level, the bottle was capped, and another robotic thing came out and pressed a label over it.
Uncle Tony took it off the assembly line and held it up. “See?”
We oohed and aahed and my uncle handed me the bottle. The label had Russo Farms in a bold red font, with olive trees sketched in the background. My fingers scrolled over it. This was something tangible, made by my family’s own hands, made for people to love and enjoy. This bottle would be on tables across the world, surrounded by conversation and laughter and good food. And I was a part of it, in a very small way, because of my mom.
“Now we shall taste the oils and eat!”
I was eating. Again. A laugh bubbled up from my throat when I thought of Jason’s reaction. I’d already gained a few pounds, but I felt good. I guessed carbs, wine, and fresh air were the winning combination.
We returned to the main house, where the long wooden table outside had been set. Pitchers of water were poured alongside wine. Plates of various olive oils were scattered alongside crusty homemade bread. Smoked meats and fish, caponata, cheeses, and grilled vegetables filled the table from edge to edge. Juice freshly squeezed from the farm’s blood oranges was distributed.
My grandmother led a prayer of grace as we bowed our heads. A peaceful stillness settled over us as she spoke. A bird sang. The trees rustled in the breeze. The sound of breath and shifting bodies only added to the sense of closeness. We said amen and began to eat.
Uncle Tony kept up his tutelage, to my delight. “The oil on your right is extra virgin. One percent acidity. See the color? Goldish. Different from the oil on your left, no? That is two percent acidity and a straw yellow rather than lemon. Now—you must pair with some herbs. And the one in the corner has been pressed with blood orange—it is delizioso !”
My uncle rambled and instructed me to pair different foods with the oil. I was astonished I’d never truly noticed the subtle shift in flavor depending on how the oil was prepared. The men got in a lively discussion regarding what product Uncle Tony should sell next, while my grandmother and aunt spoke of local church gossip and the children. My cousins talked of the wedding and Catena’s last disastrous date. Uncle Agosto heard the tail end and interrupted.
“You will not see him any longer,” he demanded. “He has no respect.”
Catena sighed patiently. “Papà, it was only a first date. He was late because of work. I want to give him a second chance.”
“Work is important, but there is no excuse to leave you waiting in a restaurant. If he wants forgiveness, you bring him to the house to meet us.”
Fascinated, I glanced back and forth at the daughter-father argument. “No. The last time I brought a man home, you were very mean and scared him.”
Uncle Agosto slammed his fist on the table. “I ask him normal questions and he refuses to answer! That is disrespect. It is not allowed in our house with my daughter.”
“He did not understand. He was not from around here.”
“I know. If he was, he would know the proper way to meet us.”
Catena groaned. “Well, he’s gone now, va bene ?”
Aunt Philomena clucked her tongue. “Can you not try with Michael again? He is so lovely! A perfect husband.”
“Michael doesn’t like me, Mamma. He says I’m too headstrong. He wants a wife who will be sweet and do what he says.”
Aunt Philomena’s face fell in disappointment. “That is not you. That is very sad.”
Uncle Agosto yelled again. “Why can’t you be nicer, Catena! You are getting old!”
I clapped my hand over my mouth to stop from laughing.
Teresa spoke up. “My cousin needs time to find herself. Look at Aurora. She’s much older and is not married.”
Everyone stared at me. My cheeks reddened. Well, that took a bad turn. I figured I’d be thrown to the wolves, but surprisingly, my grandmother came to my defense. “Aurora is in New York. It is different. She knows no better.”
“She has a serious boyfriend,” Magda pointed out. “They’re practically engaged.”
Aunt Philomena beamed. “Wonderful! Can we come to America for the wedding? Or maybe you will get married here?”
Oh my God.
I almost choked, then grabbed for water. Was now the time to confess we’d broken up? No, I’d do it later. In a more private setting. I tried to keep my voice casual. “Um, Jason and I are just dating. Not engaged. Sorry.”
My family looked sad, like I’d broken their dreams. I wasn’t used to such familial involvement in my personal life and wondered how my cousins managed. The other part of me liked the attention, the poking and prodding and refusal to back down. The right they believed they had to pry.
They treated me like one of their own.
The yelling stopped and the conversation turned and the subject of marriage disappeared. We finished lunch and nibbled on pistachio cannoli with crisp homemade shells and creamy, nutty cheese. Joy pinged in my veins as the food nourished and the company warmed me from within.
The women cleaned up while the men sat outside talking. “Aurora, when are you leaving?” Magda asked, stacking dishes. “Is this the last time we shall see each other?”
I swallowed back the tightness in my throat. “I think so. I leave Friday. Catena said she’s asking everyone to come to the pub to say goodbye tomorrow night.”
Magda sighed. “I cannot come—I have wedding appointments.” She paused, biting down on her lower lip. “I know I asked before, but I would do anything to have you stay. Can you extend your vacation? Work from here? It would mean so much to all of us.”
Her honest entreaty touched me. Everything seemed to merge, forcing me to see all the sharp angles butting together. My crumbling relationship with Jason. The memory of Quint’s words reminding me I had changed from who I used to be. The pull of Sicily and my family against the pull of the familiar. But most of all, the warring emotions regarding my grandfather.
“ Grazie. I’m so grateful to be wanted,” I managed to say. “Can I—can I just think a bit more?”
My cousins all gasped. “You will consider it!” Magda screeched.
I smiled and nodded. “ Sì. ”
Suddenly, my grandmother appeared, shooing them away. “Get back to the dishes. We have much cleanup.”
Catena muttered something about the men not helping but trudged back to her drying duties. Nonna gently took my arm and guided me to the window. I looked out at the men talking quietly. My grandfather had moved from the table and stood on the outer edge, staring over the hills, obviously lost in thought.
“You can talk to him, Aurora.”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat and nodded. Then, after pressing a kiss to her cheek, I walked outside and over to my grandfather. My heart pounded and my palms sweated, but I managed to stand next to him. I knew he sensed my presence, but he didn’t glance over. His stubborn refusal to even acknowledge me gave my voice an edge. “Nonna thought we should maybe talk.”
No response.
My skin immediately itched and I fought the urge to scratch. Stupid hives. I tried again. “Um, it’s been a nice visit. Meeting everyone. I’m supposed to fly back home Friday.”
“That is good.”
I waited for more, but he seemed entranced by the view and had no desire to converse. I turned to walk away, but the memory of my mother’s face froze me in place. I owed her and my grandmother a fair effort. Suddenly, the words burst from my lips, raw and vulnerable. “That’s all you have to say? I know you don’t want me here. Everyone has shared memories of my mother, but you haven’t said a thing. You act like you’re still angry at her, and me, and wish I’d never come. Instead of ignoring me, why don’t you just tell me the truth? Did you drive my mother away? Do you hate the idea she had me and made herself happy without you?”
This time, his head turned. His gaze pinned mine, and a wave of emotion flickered over his hard features. I stood my ground, ready for him to yell or dismiss me and call me impolite or any type of derogatory Sicilian term. My cousins said over and over how elders were respected here, and grandparents were revered. But I couldn’t pretend any longer. I needed to know what had happened between them.
“Let us go for a walk.”
Without waiting, he began trudging down the pathway toward the olive grove, not looking back to see if I followed. Slightly shocked, I fell into step with him and matched his pace. I waited for him to lecture me, but after a few tense minutes, he remained silent and I relaxed. The wind played with my hair and the sun shone bright and strong. The fields spread in front of me in a mix of earthy colors. He led me up a hill where there was a bench hidden under a large twisted tree. He took a seat in the shade, and after a brief hesitation, I joined him.
“I am not mad at you. And I am glad you are here.”
I couldn’t help but snort. “You sure don’t act like it,” I muttered. “I could tell you don’t like me.”
He rested his fingers on his thigh and gave a half sigh. I studied the gnarled knots of muscles in his hands, the wrinkled brown skin of age, the simple gold band of his wedding ring. My heart ached for something from him I couldn’t define. Acceptance? Love? Pride? The emotions stuck in my chest as I waited for him to speak. “You look like your mamma . Like Serafina.” His voice broke a bit on her name. “I was not ready for it. To hear about my daughter’s death too young and be the last to know.”
This, I understood. While everyone had grieved and cried with me, my grandfather had stayed aloof, so it was easy to assume he didn’t care. Especially with his reaction toward me. “I understand. You were her father. I was in shock when I heard about all of you. We were both cut out from parts of Mom’s life.”
“I thought she’d come back. I waited for a call, or letter, or for her to walk back in the house and say she was sorry. I waited but nothing happened. Then I knew I had lost her.”
His last statement held threads of a deep loss I recognized well. “What was your relationship like?”
He took a deep breath. “Sera and I were close. We spent much time together. She liked to go with me to work at the pizzeria.” A faint smile touched his lips. “She always said—”
“—pizza makes people happy.”
He looked at me in surprise, then nodded. I almost choked on the tears as I remembered the familiar phrase that used to drive me mad. I’d insist on cauliflower crust to avoid calories and bitch about why we had to eat pizza a million different ways until she backed down and finally began cooking fish, steamed veggies, and all the things I insisted were healthy so I could tame my curves and be what I thought everyone wanted me to look like. How many times had Mom begged me to accept my body and love it the way God created? How many times had I interrupted her joyful singing as she created versions of pizza that made her happy and me furious?
Mom was right. The joy of eating pizza was a reminder of childhood and its gorgeous simplicity. The purity of a few ingredients that can beckon us to sigh in pleasure. Hearing my grandfather say she loved their restaurant broke my heart because she’d never shared the loss of it with me. Or helped me to understand why she’d left a loving family behind.
My grandfather spoke softly. “ Sì. She was a good girl. Happy and obedient and loving. But as time passed, she grew restless and unhappy. I did not understand, so I believed this was a phase. She would return to her sweet self.”
Confusion and sadness resonated in his tone. I didn’t interrupt, so he continued. “I did not know how serious it was with your father. When Sera asked for me to meet him, I found out she had been sneaking around because she was afraid I would forbid it. I got angry. I did what any father would and tried to stop it. I locked her in the house so she could not see him. He was going to leave and I would have my Sera back.”
“But it didn’t happen that way. Mom disobeyed.”
He didn’t answer for a while. “Sera said she loved him. A man she’d known only about a week. A man who lived in England and knew nothing about our ways or respect for our family. She threatened to leave with him, and I told her if she walked out, she would lose all of us forever. I told her she would never be welcome in my house again. That she could never come back. I knew if I scared her enough, Sera would obey and this infatuation would pass. It could not be real love.”
A tense silence fell. “But it was. They got married and had me.”
“I was her father!”
I jerked as he boomed out the sentence, shaking slightly. I bit my lip and watched him through lowered eyes. My heart thundered in my chest as I asked the question I dreaded. “So you blame my dad? Do you think he tricked her or something?”
He pushed his glasses up his nose and muttered in Italian. “Your father tried to speak with me. I refused. He told me he wanted to marry her, but I did not believe it. I had seen men before come to our town on vacation and ruin our daughters. I sent him away.”
The horror of the situation hit me full force. I pictured my mother at nineteen falling desperately in love. I imagined my grandfather trying to save her from a life he believed would ruin her. Romeo and Juliet were never romantic characters. They were pure tragedy.
“Do you regret your decision? Do you believe it could have all ended differently?”
My question was desperate, but I needed to know if his heart was cold. Had he cut her off easily? Had he mourned or just pretended she didn’t exist?
“She left. She made her choice.”
I stared at the gruff man beside me. Hat tilted low on his brow. Lips firmed and pressed tight together. Fists clenched. There was no softness or vulnerability there. His entire body screamed anger and tension, but the moment I began to turn away and dismiss him, to hide from the agony of having him reject me like he had her, I lingered. Looked deeper. And found what I was searching for.
Pain.
So much pain throbbed from his very aura, and I lost my breath as the truth slammed through me.
“She broke your heart.”
He gave a slight jerk at my words. I waited for him to yell in Italian, to wave me off, to walk away in pride and dismissal. “ Sì. ” A terrible pause. “She loved him more than me.”
The words fell into the silence between us and landed like a rock, creating ripples in the air. I bit my lip and struggled to understand him. The wall he’d erected to keep me out, along with my mother, seemed built from bricks and stone. Anger hit. He was too stubborn. If he’d bent, if he’d stifled his pride, maybe he could have tracked her down and made things right again. Now it was too late.
My accusation spilled hot from my lips. “You broke her heart, too. You never tried to find her.”
He remained rigid, shoulders erect, chin up. But I caught the shake of his fingers and the full-body shudder that he couldn’t hide. I waited and hoped. I’d come to confront him with no plan or speech. I only wanted to talk from the heart and allow him to make my decision.
“ Sì. ”
Slowly, his gaze swerved to me. I looked into his hazel eyes and clung to the glint of emotion I spotted. I knew I had two choices right now. I could hold on to my own anger and resentment and walk away. Go home and take the gifts I’d been given by the family members who’d opened their hearts. My grandfather and I wouldn’t talk again. He’d be a distant figure in my life and my mother’s past.
Or I could stay and fight. See if there was any type of relationship worth exploring, not only for me but for my mother’s memory as well. To close a loop that had been ripped open and left vacant.
“Do you want me to stay, Babba?”
I used the Italian term deliberately, testing it out on my tongue, the comfort and intimacy of the word filling me up. The horrible vulnerability of waiting for his answer was a risk, but I sensed it was important for me to be brave.
His gray brows drew together. His gaze narrowed behind his glasses. “You would stay?”
I nodded. “For Magda’s wedding. To give both of us…a chance. If you want.”
I’d slid my heart over to him on a platter, and he had the weapon to smash it. But I thought of Quint and how he believed I was brave and owned an artist’s soul, and I wanted to be better. For him to be right.
“ Sì. ”
There was no emotional outburst. No hugs or kind words. But the yes was special and I knew it. He wanted to try.
Tears burned my eyes, but I blinked them back. I cleared my throat so I wouldn’t sound hoarse. “ Va bene. I will stay.”
He nodded. His hand reached out to awkwardly pat my shoulder. Then he slowly rose from the bench and began to walk. I joined him, and we crossed the olive grove in silence, but this time, a new gentleness flowed between us, like a light, warm wind skimming the waves of the sea. I had forgotten the power of quiet. Of waiting. My father had shown patience in conversation and action, and I saw my grandfather owned the same quality.
I wondered if they would have been good friends if things had been different. I bet my mother thought so.
We returned side by side to the house, and I told everyone I was extending my trip for another three weeks.