Page 70 of The Holiday Hate-Off
“You didn’t know your grandparents?”
“No, they passed away young. I never met them, and my father left us when I was little.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, stroking her extended hand. “A man who doesn’t take care of his family isn’t much of a man at all. My grandmother taught me that.” I pause, weighing how much to tell her, but there’s a deep sadness on her face, an old grief that prompts me to be honest. “My own father wasn’t a family man, either, which was an unpleasant surprise for Nonna. After my mother left, my father shut down. He’d never bothered with us much, but he stopped trying entirely.”
She looks surprised, and fuck, she’s right to be. I didn’t mean to tell her all that.
“I took care of my mother,” she says. “I dropped out of school to take care of her, but I finished my degree with online classes.”
I feel an uncomfortable sensation in my chest, as if my heart is trying to assert its existence and soften. “I’m sorry. That’s rough.”
She gives a short nod. “Yes, but it’s also the best thing I’ve ever done. I’m glad I got to advocate for her.”
Her words drill in deep, tapping into something inside of me. It hits me that my grandmother needs an advocate. She has my brothers, of course, but she might need all of us.
I tamp down the thought as she finishes a french fry. Looking at me contemplatively, she asks, “Did your grandmother take care of you, since your father didn’t?”
“Yes, but I took care of my brothers and sister a lot. We spent plenty of time here. Making sandwiches, stocking shelves, making orders for catering.”
“That’s a lot for a young person to shoulder.”
I can see her putting the pieces together in her head, forming a new image of me, painted with sympathy and understanding, and for some reason it aggravates me. “Family is important to me.”
“I know.”
“And this businessismy family, Lucy. Blood, sweat, and tears.”
“So why don’t you like it?”
Her words feel like a slap to the face. “I never said I didn’t,” I say, sitting back. Whatever strange spell had been weaving us together feels like it’s unraveling. “I’dneversay that. I didn’t leave because of Hidden Italy.”
“Sorry,” she says. “It’s just something I picked up on.”
“Most people leave town after high school graduation. I’m hardly the only one who decided to move away. There are barely any jobs around here.”
I’m being defensive, but I don’t know how to stop. The thing is, Idohate Hidden Italy. It felt like a prison when I was younger. It still feels like one, its walls getting a little snugger with each passing day. I also love it and everything it represents.
“I’m sorry,” she says again. She finishes her drink before continuing. “And I’m sorry for earlier. I was a little prickly.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You mean you’re sorry for standing me up?”
“It was Harper who stood you up, wasn’t it?” she asks with a sly smile. “That’s too bad. Her brother’s really nice. I met her atSanta Speed Dating, and she seemed really nice too. I’m sure it was an innocent mistake.”
“I’ll bet. But I’m not going to tell you it’s too bad your date got interrupted. I was relieved.”
“Ex-cuseme?”
“You heard me. I don’t think you’d be a good match for someone who’s so polite. You enjoy arguing with me too much.”
She sniffs, getting to her feet. “Who says I enjoy it?”
“We both do.” I stand too, and she steps slightly closer, invading my space. Her coat’s still off, giving me a clear view of that pretty dress and the way it molds to her body. My blood heats instantly, every inch of my skin buzzing with awareness and need.
“You’re full of yourself,” she says, poking my chest.
“I don’t know how I could be with you working next door, constantly pointing out all of my flaws. Why don’t you take out that marker of yours so you can draw on me right now?”
She laughs and reaches down, pulling it out of her bag.
