Page 29 of A Winter in New York

“Was he in a band?” I manage. I’m glad everyone has had a few drinks, because I’m struggling to process this and aware my voice sounds strained. Pieces begin to slot into place in my head as I sit there. This is how my mother is connected to the Belottis. This is how she met Santo.

“He was always in some band or other,” Gio says. “Still is.”

“He never really grew up,” Maria says. There’s no edge to her voice; it’s clear she doesn’t in any way resent Gio’s presence as the son she’d never have otherwise had.

I’m suddenly sickly warm from the fire and over-full of food and wine, and just too damn blindsided to sit here for even a second longer.

“I need to nip to the bathroom,” I say, getting unsteadily to my feet.

“Off the hall,” Sophia reminds me.

I wait until I’m in the bathroom and I’ve locked the door, then sit down heavily on the closed loo and drop my head in my hands. I’m shaking. It was such a shock to see my mum in the Belotti family album, thank goodness her face was turned away—our likeness was always the first thing commented on by strangers as I grew up.

I wish I hadn’t had that limoncello, I can’t think straight. My mother barely told me anything about Santo, certainly not that his brother was the guitarist in her band. God. She was in their album. My mother is in Gio’s family album. I feel like an imposter, a cuckoo in the nest, and I want to go home. I should never have agreed to come here. I stay in the loo as long as I dare, running myself through the breathing exercises I’ve used often since I left Adam, calming down, getting a grip so I don’t go out there and blow it. If it wasn’t terribly rude I’d grab my coat and let myself out without facing them all again, but because that would look ridiculous, I splash some cool water on my face and meet my own eyes in the mirror. My mother’s blue eyes.Oh Mum. I miss you so much, but you’ve got me into a right bloody mess here.Straightening my shoulders, I head back into the living room.

Games have been fetched in my absence; Bella is setting up Monopoly and Pascal has cards.

I hesitate for a second, feeling like an outsider, and then Gio glances over and catches my eye.

“I think I’m going to call it a night,” I say, one foot tucked awkwardly behind my other ankle. “I’ve had a migraine threatening all day, I should probably get home to bed.”

It sounds stupid as I say it, and I’m certain they all know I’m lying.

“But I was going to let you be the top hat,” Bella says, holding the small silver playing piece on her outstretched palm.

“She always insists on being the top hat,” Gio tells me. “That’s quite something.”

I smile back. “I was always the boot.”

Gio throws his hands out. “That’s my piece.”

“What can I say? We can never play Monopoly,” I say, pulling my phone from the back pocket of my jeans. “I’m really sorry, Bella. Another time, I promise.”

Gio gets to his feet. “Come on, Bells, we’ll leave too—we’re going the same way, we can give Iris a ride.”

I see Bella’s face fall and feel terrible.

“Let Bella stay over,” Sophia interjects, lining up the banker’s money on the table. “It’s about time I beat her at this. Plus, if you go, I get to be the boot.”

Bella sits back down at the table and pushes the silver boot toward Sophia, then looks up again at Gio as an afterthought.

“Is that okay, Dad? Please?”

He looks at her, frowning, as if he’s unsure what to do.

“You stay too,” I say quickly. “I’m fine going on my own. I’ll just call a Lyft, it’ll be here in a jiffy.”

Maria laughs, resting her hands on Bella’s shoulders. “In a jiffy! I like that. Now, Gio, you see Iris safely home, and I’ll look forward to making pancakes for this one in the morning.”

Bella leans back against her grandmother. “With cherries?”

Gio looks at me and shrugs. “I guess that’s sorted, then,” he says. “I’ll grab our coats.”

13.

There’s an intimacy to theback of a cab late at night, especially with alcohol warming our blood and the ballet of city lights blurring around us. Our mornings at Belotti’s, we have assigned roles. Here we are free of such constraints, we’re two people who have studiously ignored the spark between us in favor of getting on with the job at hand. I’m not even sure what that spark is. Gio draws out emotion in me, for sure. Frustrated rage on our first meeting in the bookstore, as it happened, but spending time with him at the gelateria has been like taking a deckchair outside and sitting in the sun. I’ve basked in his company. I like him so much. He laughed at something I said around the dinner table earlier and, honestly, it was as if he’d stuck a gold star on my chest. And now we’re thigh to thigh in the darkness in this cab, and I don’t know what the hell to say. Small talk has always been my nemesis.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” he says, saving me from saying something stupid. “I was worried about how it would be without Papa at the table, and you being there helped take everyone’s mind off of it.”

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