“Renzo, hush. I told you from the start our girl wouldn’t stand for something like that. She’s too strong willed, too independent,” Mama says, and I study her in surprise.
She really felt that way about me?
“She’s just like me,” Nonna says.
“You found your husband in Italy,” Daddy starts but Nonna sends him a look and he clamps his lips shut.
“I ran all over the city that summer, trying my best to sample everything I saw, but I found my future anyway,” Nonna explains, her kind eyes finding me. “It just took our Stella a little longer to find hers.”
“I’m pretty sure I lost it,” I say, my voice shaky.
“Oh, my darling girl.” Nonna rests her hand against her chest, her expression forlorn. “You can’t be so sure.”
“Yes, I actually can.” I press my lips together, trying to control my emotions.
But tears spring to my eyes, and though I try my best to stop them, it’s like I turned on the waterworks. Within seconds, I’m full-blown crying, and my mother gets up from her chair to come to me, hovering as she wraps her arms around me, holding me close as she murmurs reassuring words against my hair.
This is so not how I planned for this evening to play out. I thought I’d come in late, eat some food, make some quick small talk to appease the fam squad, and then get the hell out so I could go back to my apartment and continue to be depressed.
Instead I’m confessing everything to them, and guess what? The world didn’t come to an end.
Who knew?
Apparently, everyone else but me.
Within a few minutes I’ve reassured my mother I don’t need any more comfort and we’re once again all in our seats and eating dinner. The relief I’m experiencing at being truthful with my family for once in my life is enough to give me my appetite back, and I eat like I haven’t had a meal in days. My mama’s chicken marsala is so delicious, I have a second helping, and I can’t help but think that maybe someday, if I work things out with Carter, she’ll let me make it for him.
Doesn’t that sound wonderful?
Ha. I’m tempted to tell myself to keep dreaming.
Daddy is quiet. I think he’s mad, and I’m sure he’ll want to talk to me about it eventually, but I’ll be okay. At the end of the day, his disappointment does not rule me. I’m my own woman, and I can survive this.
I feel like I can survive just about anything. Even the loss of Carter.
Though I don’t want to.
Just as my mother is passing out dessert—vanilla ice cream on top of a warm brownie, yum—Michael announces they’ve agreed on a contractor to renovate Nonna’s house. My future house.
“He’ll be coming by the house first thing Monday morning. Did you want to be there to go over some things with him, Stella?” he asks me. “This will be your house, after all. You can make some specific requests, if you’d like.”
“Oh, that would be great! But I have to work,” I start to say, but my father waves a hand, cutting me off.
“I’ll come in and cover you,” he says grumpily.
My mouth drops open yet again. I can’t remember the last time my father was actually a barista. He usually just works the front counter now, sort of as the face of Sweet Dreams, and only during the busy hours, so people can say they talked to him. He’s kind of an institution in our area. “Um, are you sure, Daddy? It’ll be extra busy. Mondays can be a nightmare sometimes.”
Another wave of his hand, his expression full of irritation. “I can handle it. I used to do it all the time, before you were even born!”
It was a different time then. Not everyone was so coffee obsessed as they are now. “How about I open and you cover me from about seven-forty-five until I’m done with the contractor?”
“Sounds like a deal,” he says with a nod, his gaze still holding mine. “And Stella, while you must know I’m disappointed in this—situation, I have to say, I hate that you felt the need to keep things from me From all of us.”
Guilt forms a ball in the pit of my stomach and I drop my head, staring at my lap. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”
“I’m sorry too. I don’t like knowing that you kept things from us because you were afraid of disappointing me and your mother,” he explains.
Is my father actually apologizing to me, as if he’s responsible for turning me into a liar? Get out of town.
“I’m the coward who couldn’t tell you,” I admit.
“My dearest daughter, there are many words I would use to describe you, but coward isn’t one of them.” He smiles at me, his expression soft. Kind. His dark brown eyes are full of love. “You are one of the bravest women I know. You do what you want, and you blaze your own path despite knowing how angry I might get. You are fearless.”
“I haven’t felt very fearless lately,” I confess.
“Then find that feeling again and do something with it. Don’t squander it.” He lightly pounds the table with his curled fist, making the plates and silverware rattle and both my brother jump. “Don’t be afraid to go after what you want. You deserve happiness.”
His words stick with me through the rest of dinner. During dessert. Even when we’re all done eating and we’ve retired to the family room to sit around and chat. All my turbulent emotions over the last few days have left me tired. So tired, my eyelids are heavy and as I sit next to my nonna on the loveseat, I’m trying my best not to drift off to sleep when I feel someone poking my side.
I blink open my eyes and turn to look at her, to see she’s tapping away on her iPhone 11. She has a better phone than me, which is kind of funny. “Did you just poke me?”
“You should go home. Get some rest,” she says, not bothering to answer my question, her eyes still glued to her phone. Typical. “You’ll have a big day happening tomorrow.”
“It’s a normal Monday, besides the meeting with the contractor.” I am pretty excited about that. The one bright light in my world right now, that’s for sure. “I’ve saved some photos on a new Pinterest board I created. I’m going to show that guy and hopefully he can deliver. Do you want to see them?”
“Pinterest. Fakebook. Whatever.” She waves a hand. “I remember when you just tore pictures out of a magazine and showed them what you want.”
“Now I’ve got it all on my phone. And so would you, if you got a Pinterest account. I’m sure you could find some inspiration for decorating your new condo” I smile at her.
“Maybe you could help me decorate it. I’ve decided I’m going to buy all new furniture.”
“What are you doing with your old furniture?”
“You want it?”
“Some of it, maybe.” I chew on my thumbnail. “But not all of it.”
“We can negotiate, I’m sure.” Nonna pats my knee affectionately.
I yawn. “I guess I should go. I’m more tired than I thought.”
“Rest up, dear. You’re going to need your strength.”
I frown. “For what?”
The mysterious smile curling her lips doesn’t tell me anything. “You’ll see.”