Chapter Twenty-Four
Twenty-Four
“This is a shitshow,” I muttered under my breath, staring at my computer.
My inbox was a cluttered mess of questions and demands from clients, sponsors, and guests who still wanted to be on my podcast. Even though I’d canceled the summer season, there was an opportunity to resume recording. If I hustled and did the proper outreach, I’d be able to book enough speakers to fill the empty spaces. Then I could relaunch in a big way for winter and regain the footing I’d lost.
Eliza and the podcast team were pushing hard to move forward. We’d held a big meeting, where I was finally truthful. This time, I didn’t try to make excuses or hide my conflicted emotions. I confessed my grief had overtaken me and I’d needed time away. Real time. I told them I was thinking of canceling the entire year and stepping down.
Everyone had surprised me with their support and understanding. No one tried to rationalize my decision out of me or convince me to push forward. They laid out the options, and I knew if I wanted to, I’d be able to rebuild and gain back my momentum. All the pieces were in place. I just needed to bring back my heart and soul and passion into the project.
I didn’t know if it was there. But the decision needed to be made if I wanted another season.
As I moved through each obstacle of my blown-up life, I found something that surprised me.
I had a good support system. I’d just never used it.
My pride had been my biggest downfall. In setting myself up as an expert in solving problems, tweaking mindsets, and focusing on the endgame, I’d cut out any type of real human mechanics. When my client Desi ended up calling me again, in tears because she was halfway through a bag of sour cream and onion potato chips after a stressful time at work, I’d finally seen the real issue.
“Desi, I want you to tell me the raw, awful truth right now. Are you ready?”
“Yes.” She was probably prepared for the terrible punishment I’d inflict on her for her weakness.
“Does eating those chips make you happy?”
Stunned silence fell over the line. “Does it matter?”
“Actually, yes. It does. Do you want to sit on your couch and watch The Bachelor and eat potato chips tonight?”
I could literally feel her shudder with longing and guilt. “Yes,” she whispered, full of fear and self-recrimination and too much loathing. “But I had a bad day. It’s an impulse. If I soldier through it, I can be strong. I need you to help me be strong, Aurora.”
Regret coursed through me. I’d made mistakes, but I was willing to learn and grow. To try to fix them. “Desi, I’m so sorry. I was wrong when I told you before to put down the Oreos and do more weight training.”
“Should I have run a few miles instead? I heard cardio is coming back in a strong way for weight loss.”
My heart broke at this woman’s perspective on her body and the world around her. God knows, I couldn’t fix it all. I could only use what I’d learned and move forward. I looked down at my very generous curves and realized it had to start with my own acceptance and love for my choices. “No. All I want you to do tonight is allow yourself to relax. Eat the chips if they are satisfying to you. Watch the show. Go to bed early. And do nothing else.”
Her gasp filled my ear. “You can’t be serious! It’s the road to ruin!”
“No. It’s the road back from ruin. By making junk food your mortal enemy and not allowing yourself any space to enjoy it, you set up your body and mind as a battleground. It’s okay not to be perfect all the time, Desi. In fact, it’s required.”
“You’re telling me to eat the chips. Right now. Tonight.”
“That’s right. Eat what you want, no guilt. No workout. And enjoy it. Okay?”
I waited to see if she’d fight back and refuse. I probably would have. But the woman surprised me, and I sensed she had desperately needed permission. “Okay.”
“Good. I’ll check on you in the morning. Try to walk tomorrow outside, too.”
“Power walking?”
I tamped down a grin. “No. A leisurely pace.”
“Aurora, are you okay?”
“I’ve never been better.”
I hung up and began to realize what I needed to do.
What I wanted to do.
I called my team back into a meeting and pitched my new idea. Because it was such a radical change, I knew there’d be a learning curve. But once I presented the plan, with a list of prospective guests and topics, there was a new excitement in the room that was palpable.
“Is this something you can get behind?” I asked Eliza. “It’ll mean a different segment. New marketing. We may lose all our numbers and momentum and have to completely start over.”
She grinned. “Hell yes. Things were starting to get a little stale around here, Aurora. It’s nice to see you back in full force.” She paused, a flicker of pain crossing her features. “You know, I lost my mom about eight years ago, and I still miss her every day. It’s a bitch. But I honestly think, if we do this right, the podcast can be even bigger than before.”
My fingers automatically reached up to rub the medal around my neck. The gesture gave me strength. “I think so, too.” I also knew I’d learned some hard lessons. Success wasn’t always bestowed with kudos, gifts, and easy times. Success could be many different paths, it could be lots of different things for different people, and no one had a right to judge. Finally, I’d figured out the path I wanted. “Thanks. I can’t wait to see what we can all do together.”
Later that night, I sat on my bed and spoke with Quint. “I finally decided what to do with the podcast.”
“Tell me.”
“I’m moving forward. I realized I actually love talking with people. Sharing ideas and building community is important to me. It was my limited focus that didn’t fit any longer.” I told him I was keeping the name, but the format would broaden.“Everyone wants the secret answers to success, right? I’d hoped by giving out specific steps and plans, it would be a foolproof map to get there, but I forgot about emotion. I discarded the mess. I literally had a bunch of successful people calmly tell the audience what to do to get their life. But what if we don’t want that particular road map? What if someone wants healthy relationships instead of money? Or joy in their body rather than weight loss? What if something bad happens and blows up all their expectations of who they were and they need to rebuild? The mess is where the magic is, Quint! That’s what I want to dig into.”
“I love it, bella . I think so many can relate. Because the mess is beautiful.”
As the days passed, I spoke with Quint regularly. We shared stories about our days, texted funny videos back and forth, and fell into an easy rhythm. Sometimes, the pain of missing him hit so hard, I’d take out my ring, study the coral gems, and run my finger over the smooth, polished stones. I’d remember his beloved face as he told me I was his everything. And I’d remember my promise to have faith in us.
Slowly, I made some harder decisions. I decided to permanently close my life-coaching business. Maybe one day I’d reconsider, but right now, I was focused on two things I was passionate about.
The podcast.
And writing.
I wrote every day now, scribbling nonstop about my thoughts and experiences in Sicily. I wrote about my mom and dad, the discovery of my new family, and how something bad can turn into something good, if we’re able to view it through a different lens. Piece by piece, I began to realize I might have a book to offer. I called my editor and approached her with the idea of changing the book to something else. She wasn’t too keen on losing out on the book I’d originally promised, even if she had pushed out the date, but after I pitched the idea, she agreed to take a look at a partial before she decided.
My social media numbers plummeted as followers realized I wasn’t the peppy, motivated leader I’d previously promised. I hesitated trying to rebrand myself until I decided how I wanted to show up. I thought about canceling my accounts and taking a detox, but my instincts kept leading me back to the platforms, whispering I could do me. Post what gave me joy. Share generously like I had in the past, without trying to force a certain outcome. I found that I was my most enthusiastic talking about my experiences in Sicily. So I leaned in.
I curated all the content I’d filmed over the past month and began matching the images with captions. Some were strictly for inspiration, and other times I wrote from that vulnerable place everyone was scared of. Each time I put something new out there, I started off anxious, then settled into my voice.
I was learning and growing. I was failing.
And then, slowly, I was succeeding.
On Thursdays, I jumped on a Zoom with my grandparents and tried to keep the time blocked out on my calendar. Seeing their faces on the screen gave me a boost, and we’d chat about everything, always ending on questions about Quint. Then Babba would do his humph thing and dark frown and tell me he missed me.
It always got me a tiny bit giddy, but I tried to act cool.
My cousins and I texted constantly through WhatsApp until they became so entwined in my daily life, I sometimes felt they were right up the road. Quint decided to come in October for two weeks, so I was bursting with excitement. I counted down the days as summer became fall. The leaves turned into an explosion of color and the sunlight glowed a rich sparkling gold. The air brimmed with scents of apples, pumpkins, and spices. I pulled boots from my closet, took out my flannel, and began recording my new podcast material.
I’d been home for a full two and a half months when one early evening, my doorbell rang.
When I peeked through the side window, I jerked back in shock. Jason stood on my doorstep, and he looked like he wasn’t leaving until I opened the door. Biting my lip, I greeted him warily. “Hey. Everything okay?”
He gave me one of those megawatt smiles that dazzled. “Aurora! I know it’s been a long time, but I really wanted to talk to you. Can I come in?”
I studied his muscled figure, clad in dark-wash jeans and a navy Henley that stretched ridiculously over his shoulders and chest. His thick blond hair blew in the wind. His crystal blue eyes were full of hope and a touch of contrition. He was amazingly handsome, and charming when he wanted to be. Once, I’d thought we might end up together. Marriage. Kids. Building a life.
But now?
There was…nothing. Just a flat pleasantness and polite hope he was well. But I couldn’t send him away without hearing him out. He deserved to have full closure in person rather than over the phone. “Of course. You look great.”
“So do you. You got a great tan. Lots of good food over there, huh?”
I smothered a smirk, knowing his assessing gaze had noticed the twelve pounds I’d put on. I was in no hurry to get it off and liked the way I felt. “Oh yeah. I had pasta and pizza daily. It was delicious.”
His face blanched, but he tried to cover it, obviously off-kilter at my response. “Oh. Well, as long as you feel good.”
“I do. Want a drink?”
“No, thanks. Aurora, I need to tell you something important.” I waited, head cocked. “I think we made a big mistake.”
I tamped down a sigh. It was going to be one of those conversations, huh? I couldn’t help but tease him a little bit. “You think?”
He nodded and began to pace, obviously deep in thought and planning mode. “We both screwed up and committed errors in this relationship. I should have been more patient and I regret pushing you so hard. When you decided to stay in Sicily, I figured you were checked out from me. But I realized it wasn’t me or us specifically. You needed to get your head on straight and be with your family for a while. I know I didn’t understand the way you wanted me to—about losing your mom. I’m sorry for that.”
My shoulders relaxed a bit. “Thank you, Jason,” I said.
“Of course. I want to give us another try. I miss you. I wanted to call or text since you got back but figured you needed some boundaries. I saw you changed your podcast and dropped your clients. Are you happy with those moves?”
“Yeah, I really am.”
“That’s good, then. I like what you’re doing with the audience dynamics. Who knows, I bet you could find a whole new batch of clients to help!”
I looked at him, thinking back on how delicately my mother tried to warn me. Jason wasn’t a bad person. He was actually quite a good man, intent on success in his own way. He’d make another woman really happy.
Just not me.
“I’m sorry, Jason. I do appreciate you coming to see me, because we were serious about each other. But we’re simply not a good fit. We won’t make each other happy.”
He blinked and scratched his head. “You made me happy. Didn’t I make you happy?”
I smiled gently. “Not as much as I wanted.”
“Oh. Well, that sucks.” He waited to see if I had anything else to say, but when I didn’t speak, he cleared his throat and moved toward the door. “Okay, I’ll head out. I figured we owed it a try.” He stepped outside and shot me a wry smile. “Bye, Aurora. Good luck with everything.”
“You, too.”
I watched him walk down my path, get in his car, and drive away.
And up above, I felt my mom smiling.
—
I paced the worn, thin carpet as crowds buzzed around me. My gaze kept bouncing back to the doorway as the clock ticked. Someone rammed into me with a bag but didn’t apologize. The cries of cranky toddlers and hushed whispers of parents rose to my ears amid the scents of coffee, perfumes, and the sweaty tang of stress.
I froze as I recognized the broad shoulders and dark beard. The leisurely strides of a man who took life on his own terms. My heart leapt as he glanced around, then landed on me. For a few precious seconds, nothing existed but us and the connection that hadn’t dimmed over space and time.
And then I ran hard and launched myself into his arms like in every rom-com I’d ever made fun of in my life. He caught me, murmuring my name while he swung me around, then dipped his mouth to take mine in a hungry kiss.
“ Amore , you are here.”
I clung to him and laughed. “Quint, I missed you so much. Welcome to New York.”
His eyes shone bright with love. “I cannot wait to fall in love with your home like you have mine.”
We linked arms as we headed to baggage claim, chattering nonstop about everything and nothing. It had been eleven weeks since we’d seen each other as I began to put the pieces back together from my career, and he made space to take two weeks away from the pub. I had an ambitious schedule for us both set up—including all the tourist sites, dinners out, and showing him everything about my work. It was important for Quint to see me outside of Sicily so he glimpsed all the parts I’d left behind.
The drive back from JFK was long, and we hit the usual traffic. When he commented on the busy roads, I cracked up. “The first time I took a cab from the airport to my Vrbo, I almost threw up. I remember thinking Italians must’ve been trained to drive in Manhattan.”
He grinned, settling comfortably into the leather passenger seat. “Do you obey lights and signs?”
“Of course!”
He nodded. “Then you are better drivers.”
We finally hit Cold Spring and walked into my house. Quint was voracious in his curiosity, touching every knickknack, studying photographs, and looking in my cupboards to see what type of food I carried. After I returned from Sicily, I’d begun to personalize my space a bit more, adding the gifts I’d brought back. Now, vibrant paintings decorated the neutral walls, and the kitchen had bright red, orange, and yellow towels, trivets, and mugs. He picked up the framed photo of me and my family by the pizzeria, and another one of Quint and me at the beach—the selfie we’d taken when I realized I’d fallen for him hard.
“Are you hungry?” I asked, kicking off my shoes and going to open a bottle of wine. “Or did you eat on the plane?”
He grunted. “That is not food. It is calories disguised as something edible.”
My lip twitched. “I figured. That’s why I cooked, so we don’t have to go anywhere tonight. Let me heat everything up.”
He wandered into the kitchen, kissing me and taking the bottle to uncork it. I rummaged through the refrigerator and took out two trays. I turned on the stove and he gave me the wineglass, lifting his own to tap mine.
“ Salute. ” His gaze delved into mine, but this time, his emotion burned bright and hot.
My voice came out husky. “ Salute. ”
We drank, staring deeply into each other’s eyes, and I remembered that first night we made love and how it had all begun.
“What did you cook for me, bella ?”
“Pasta with eggplant.”
He placed his glass carefully on the counter. As he leaned in, his lips whispered over my hair, my cheek. His fingers stroked my back, his hips braced against mine. My body began to tremble, and then he took my glass and put it beside his. He ran his thumb over my lips, then cupped my cheeks. “And?”
My vision blurred and my focus narrowed to him. Finally, he was here, in my home. Finally, he belonged to me. “And antipasti. Artichokes. Cheese. Olives.” His mouth drifted to my ear and I shivered. “Roasted peppers. That cured sausage you love.”
His arms pulled me into his embrace. “And?”
I tipped my head up and fell into his eyes. “Bread.”
His mouth quirked. Then he lifted me up and carried me to the bedroom, where I’d smartly left the door wide open.
“I cannot wait to feast later. Much later.”
He kicked the door shut with his foot.
I realized he wasn’t as hungry as I’d thought.
—
The two weeks passed in a blur. He accompanied me to the podcast and watched as I interviewed guests, meeting my team and charming them with ease. He took pictures with me for my socials without hesitation, asking endless questions about how I decided what to post. He visited my parents’ graves with me and held me while I cried.
We ate in restaurants across the Hudson Valley and Manhattan, trying a variety of both five-stars and well-known dives. We devoured hot dogs from food trucks, bacon burgers at Five Guys, and slices of cheesecake at Junior’s. I showed him the ugly beauty of being surrounded by endless towers of glass and metal, and lunching in the vivid green hills of Central Park. We drove to quirky small towns to pick apples and admire the changing leaves. We went horseback riding in the woods, had beers at McGillicuddy’s Irish pub, and slow danced in the piano bar to old-school Billy Joel. Each place we explored seemed new, like I was seeing it for the first time through his eyes, and I cherished the gift of sharing my favorite places with the man I loved.
We sat together in my living room on the last night. Already, the ache of saying goodbye lodged in my chest. I laid my head on his shoulder as we settled in comfortable silence.
“What are we going to do?” I finally asked. “I don’t want you to leave.”
He played with my fingers, his grip a warm comfort. The gorgeous coral ring flashed in the light and gave me comfort, like my mother’s medal. “I don’t want to leave. Eventually, we will need to make a choice. For now, we can keep visiting each other. I cannot take you from a city you love. You’re rebuilding a career that’s important to you.”
I’d been thinking the same thing. Since I returned from Sicily, I’d found a new balance for myself. I liked what I was putting together with the podcast, on my own terms. I’d lived in New York my whole life. This was where Mom and Dad had built a life, with me.
But…
As much as I had begun to lean in, there was still an emptiness following me. I was going through the steps of my life with satisfaction, but not with the joy I’d touched in Sicily. At first, I thought it was just my family and Quint I was missing. But in the past month, I’d begun to see it might be deeper.
Maybe I simply didn’t belong here anymore.
I tilted my head up to look at him. “I appreciate your respecting my work and what I want to accomplish. And I changed a lot. I’m happier with my choices. Except—”
“Except?”
“I’m not truly happy here.”
His gaze held mine. Hope reflected back, along with wariness. “Aurora, I don’t want you to rush this decision. You need to think hard about how you see your life. Either way, I know we’re meant to be together—I just want to move forward in your time. I’m not going anywhere.”
His words calmed me. “Neither am I. But I can’t see you settling here in New York, Quint. To leave your restaurant and Carmella? You belong there.”
“I could make it work. Move in with you. Find a job at a restaurant to learn, eventually opening up my own. I could visit Sicily regularly and Carmella could stay here all summer.”
“Or I could go to Sicily. Would I move in with you?”
“If you want, or we could get a new place. I’d like Carmella to stay with us until she’s ready to move out on her own.”
“Of course! It’s possible I could run the podcast from overseas, along with social media. My job is probably more flexible than yours.”
He stroked back my hair. “ Mia bella , it’s amazing what can be done when you meet the love of your life. I am open to trying what is best for us.”
I jumped on his lap and began kissing him, and the conversation stalled out and morphed into other activities.
When Quint left, I returned to the house feeling lost. I looked around at the space I’d created, at the life I was building on my own. I’d kept my sessions with Dr. Sariah, recognizing that grief was an ongoing process and that Sicily hadn’t cured it but offered a new pathway. There was still work to do and I was committed to showing up for myself.
Slowly, my eyes drifted shut.
I stood in my empty living room and quieted my mind. Listened to my breathing. And tuned in to the voice.
Where am I meant to be right now? I asked myself.
I waited, but silence was my only answer. Instead of giving up, I held on to my patience, not pressing, and asked again.
Sicily. Go to Sicily.
My lids flew open. My hand covered my mouth.
And then I began to laugh as the realization flowed through me with such natural ease, it was as if I’d been moving toward this decision since the first time Catena called me, since the first time my gaze met Quint’s, since the first time I called my grandfather Babba.
“Thanks,” I said aloud.
There was no answer, of course.
But I knew what I had to do.