Page 26 of The Butcher's Wife
She points to the single square of leftover focaccia that I picked anchovies off of. “Oh, sweetheart, he likes extra anchovies.”
I suck down a retort and join them in the kitchen to help Valeria unpack the groceries.
“Valeria,” Mom says in a too-casual tone. “Your mom was telling me you’re going to be the event planner for your dad’s celebration.”
“That’s right, Mrs. Barbara,” Valeria says in a flat tone.
“While you’re going to school and working as a bartender? Your parents raised a hard worker!”
“Thank you.”
“You know,” Mom says, “Serafina’sverypassionate about floral arrangements, and she’ll need something to keep busy while Dom’s at work.”
My stomach sinks.
Mom turns away from us to rummage in the cabinets. Valeria and I glance at each other behind her back.
“Your mom said you could use another set of hands with the preparations. Serafina would love to be able to help out anyway she could.” Mom smiles at Valeria. “What do youthink? She’s great with people. I think she’d be a wonderful helper.”
Valeria pours a bag of apples into the fruit bowl on the kitchen island. She tucks one hand into her coat pocket and leans back, her impassive face trained on Mom. “It’s okay, Mrs. Barbara. I have it handled.”
“Trust me.” Mom reaches for a corkscrew in one of the drawers and a bottle of white wine Valeria brought over. “It sounds easy now, but planning out an event for the whole family is a big task. Serafina would be happy to help. You just let her know what days work for you to come over, and she can do whatever you need.”
Behind Mom’s back, Valeria raises one eyebrow at me, as if to say,really?
I shrug.I guess.
“Okay, Mrs. Barbara,” she says. It’s hard to tell, but she does look a little relieved at the offer of help. “That’d be great. Thank you.”
Mom flaps a hand in her direction. “Don’t mention it. That’s what family is for.”
Valeria nods toward me. “I’m free tomorrow. I’ll text you.”
Just as she’s pulling out her phone, the elevator, tucked in the short foyer around the kitchen wall, dings. I snap my head toward the sound.
Dom? Back so early? Or…no, it’s not… it can’t be…
I can’t move, my feet glued to the tile, my heartbeat sputtering like the flame of a flickering candle.
“Sera?” Valeria asks, staring at the side of my face.
Three women I’ve never seen before round the corner, each of them with a suitcase or backpack, and the panic inside me withers.
“Jan!” Mom exclaims, spreading her arms wide and approaching the oldest woman of the group.
They wrap each other in a hug, then turn to me.
“Serafina, this is Aunt Jan,” Mom says, like that name means something to me.
I’m still trying to catch my breath from the insane thought that those women were hitmen sent by my late husband’s family, and now I’m fixing my mouth into a frozen grin as I dig through my memory for this woman’s name or face. Did Serafina know her?
“Bah! You don’t remember me,” Jan says with a raspy smoker’s voice. “I used to change your diapers when you were a kid. Your mom and I go way back.”
She gives me a firm hug, dousing me in floral perfume, her soft body pressing against mine. When she pulls away, she sifts her fingers through my hair, and I actively repress a full-body shiver at being handled by a stranger.
“So, what’re you thinking?” she calls over her shoulder to Mom while she examines my hair. “Highlights?”
By the timethe women are finished with me, I feel as sexy as a plucked chicken. I’ve been waxed from the neck down and had my eyelash extensions filled in. My acrylics are replaced with glossy, champagne-colored nails, and I’ve been given a pedicure and a facial. My hair now has the same subtle lowlights Serafina used to wear.
