Page 55 of The Holiday Hate-Off
“Iwould have liked the pleasure of being the one who sent her away. Do you like Eileen’s girl?”
“I’d rather not say. You taught me to be a gentleman,” I hedge.
“We both know you only listen when it suits you.”
“It suits me now.” I crouch beside her chair. “What’s wrong, Nonna?”
“You don’t want to stay,” she says, looking down at her gnarled hands clutched in her lap. She used to wear lots of silver rings, but she had to take them off several years ago because of arthritis. The change in her hands hits me hard.She’s getting older, Giovanni told me a few months ago.You see it more clearly when you’re here and have a front-row seat.He wasright; I’ve seen evidence of it every day. “You’re leaving me again, just like your father. Just like Aria. Just like your grandfather.”
“I won’t be leaving in a body bag unless you put me in one, Nonna. And I’m not going anywhere until I know you’re all in a good place. You know how important the family is to me.”
She looks up at me, tears streaking down her cheeks, and a bolt of pure fear strikes me. I’ve only seen her cry once, at my grandfather’s funeral. It’s like seeing a statue weep—it should be impossible.
“Nonna, what is it?”
“The books weren’t unbalanced because of my eyesight. I’m losing myself, Lorenzo, and I don’t know how to make it stop. My memory comes and goes. Things that happened twenty years ago feel more real than today.”
I run my hand over her hair gently, feeling its texture, so soft and fine, almost like dandelion fluff that might float away on the wind. I’m not ready for her to leave me. I’m not ready to be the pillar of strength in this family. For so long it’s been the two of us, working together. Keeping everyone else happy. Carrying the weight of it.
Even when I was in New York, I’d infused money into the store. I’d helped smooth things over when our father decided to sell his house in Hideaway Harbor rather than rent it to Giovanni, who’d been looking for a new place to live.
Another tear trails down her cheek, and I wipe it away, as if I could extinguish it from existence. “Nonna. We’ll find a doctor to help you.”
She laughed. “No doctor can save me from getting old.”
“We’ll never know if we don’t try. You’re going to live forever, Nonna. Think of all the people you won’t be able to spite if you don’t.”
She smiles. “Thank you, Enzo. Thank you for coming home. Eileen’s girl?—”
“Lucy,” I say.
Something knowing gleams in her eyes. “Lucy. She knows about your mother. It brought me back to that day,caro, when you came to me in tears. You were so little but such a man already. So good to your brothers and sister. I know it’s not easy, but this is where you belong.Thisis where you are needed.”
Anger pulses through me. If there’s one rule the people in this towndofollow when it comes to gossip, it’s to never, ever mention my mother to Nonna Francesca. It always upsets her. Puts her in a state. Lucy mustn’t have known that. Whoever had filled her in on the town gossip aboutthose poor Cafiero children whose mother abandoned themobviously hadn’t thought to mention it.
The fact that they’re still gossiping about the past chafes. My grandmother shouldn’t have to be subjected to that shit, and it makes me want to pack up for all of us—Nonna, Giovanni, Nico, and me—and leave this place. Abandon it without a backward glance, like a hermit crab that’s found a better shell.
But my grandmother doesn’t need my anger.
I smile and smooth her hair again. “Yes, Nonna. You’re right, as always. Let me bring you home for the day. Giovanni and Nico have it covered here.”
She agrees, which is evidence that something really is wrong. I’ll call her doctor. Make an appointment. But in my heart, I know she’s right about her health. She’s slowed down, and at a certain point, a person no longer has the ability to speed back up. It would take a Christmas miracle to change that.
On the walk to her house, she talks nearly the whole way, telling me more about her interaction with Lucy. How Lucy had said she’d take the flyer down. How the broken cookies were a peace offering, and they did smell good.
When we get to her house, I kiss her forehead and make the impossible promise that everything will be all right.
My heart is raw in my chest by the time I get back to the shop, and when I see that the flyer with my face on it is still taped up by the door of Love at First Sip, I pause beside it. There are a few fresh blemishes drawn onto my face.
Did she do this after telling my grandmother she would take it down?
Doesn’t matter. It’s just a game. I’ll be gone soon.
But I’m no longer sure that’s true. How could I leave Nonna like this? Or my brothers?
I’ve been trying to find some genius solution to save Hidden Italy, but despite that nugget of an idea I had the other day, nothing has come to me other than the obvious—spend less on materials, charge more if the demand will hold, advertise better.
I go inside the shop and take off my coat. Try to sit down and think of a solution. But my mind keeps skipping back to Lucy.
