Page 76 of A Winter in New York

“I’m Iris, her daughter,” I say, as steadily as I can.

He’s shaking his head slowly, as if he’s seen a ghost. I wait, give him the time he needs.

“Is she here?” I can’t decide if the expression in his eyes is hope or fear.

I glance at Felipe, who just shrugs his shoulders and gazes down at his coffee. I reach across the table and hold Santo’sother hand too, which for two people who’ve only just met, feels strangely right.

I steel myself and look him straight in the eyes, keeping my voice as steady and calm as I’m able. “She isn’t. I’m sorry to tell you this, Santo, but my mother, Vivien…she died three years ago.”

His hands tighten in mine as he takes a sharp intake of breath, his eyes misting with tears.

“Cancer,” I say. “She was fifty-two.”

He lets go of my hands and pulls a cotton handkerchief from his pocket to dab his eyes. He takes a few sips of his coffee as he steadies himself, and I can only imagine the thoughts that must be racing through his mind.

“I came to New York to see the places she loved,” I say, trying to make my story as simple as possible.

“Do they all know who you are? Maria?”

Felipe puts his hand on Santo’s shoulder. “No one knows anything, brother.”

Santo nods. “And you work here now?”

I smooth my clammy hands on my apron. “I’ve been helping out some mornings, here and there.”

He falls quiet again, making sense of things.

“It was all so long ago,” he says.

“A lifetime,” Felipe agrees.

“So similar,” Santo says. “Uncanny.”

Felipe pulls a hip flask from his inside pocket and tips a nip of whiskey in each of their coffees.

“My tablets,” Santo says, but reaches for the cup anyway.

“I’m sorry I shocked you,” I say, feeling terrible for the distress I’ve caused. It’s the last thing my mother would havewanted. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Shall I go? I can lock the door on my way out, Gio or Sophia will be back soon.”

“Stay.” Santo reaches for my hand. “You have her eyes.”

“You should hear her sing,” Felipe says. “It feels like a time machine.”

The two brothers sit across the table from me drinking their whiskey-laced coffee, and I feel as if I’m waiting for them to make a decision.

“There’s more,” Felipe says, grave. “Gio loves her.”

I open my mouth and close it again. Gio hasn’t used the word himself, it’s an assumption on Felipe’s part. Santo huffs softly and shakes his head.

“Of course he does.” He absorbs his brother’s words, and then adds, “Does he know about Vivien?”

We both shake our heads.

“I’ll tell him,” I say. “Please? He should hear it from me.”

Santo swallows, staring at me, and I belatedly remember I’m wearing flashing reindeer antlers.

“I’ll make up a reason not to come for Christmas, and then once it’s all over I’ll tell him, I promise.”

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