“Make us all eat in silence,” I say. “Forks scraping on plates. No words.”
“Honestly, that would be great,” she mutters, then tips her head toward the back. “What’s the menu?”
“Food you’ll eat and not complain about,” I say.
“Ugh,” she groans theatrically. “So… delicious.” Then the act slips, and she’s my scared niece again, mouth wobbly for half a second. “She’s really coming?”
“She is,” Elena says. “With her husband. And their girls.”
Caterina swallows. “Okay.”
“Elena,” I say, “go sit down for a minute.” It’s not a request.
She hears it and takes it for the gift it is. She squeezes my arm once in thanks and goes toward the back of the house with that quick, light step that doesn’t wake a sleeping baby, even when none is around.
It’s just me and Caterina in the foyer now. The chandelier throws dimmed light; the evening is thickening outside the glass.
I can smell the first thread of something from the kitchen. My brain supplies a picture I can’t see: Bianca at an island, knife in her hand, the line of her shoulders set. I put it away. The person in front of me needs me more.
Caterina shifts her weight from foot to foot and stares hard at the door like she can hold it shut with her will. “What am I supposed to say?” she asks, the bravado gone. “When she walks in.”
“Hello,” I say. “Start there. Then you let her tell you who she is now.”
“She’s Lucia,” she says, as if that solves it.
“She’s Lucia plus twelve years, a husband, and two kids,” I say. “We’re just reintroducing each other tonight. Not rehashing, okay? Give her space.”
She looks like she’s going to be sick. “I’m going to say something stupid,” she says.
“Maybe she’ll say something stupid,” I counter.
She inhales, holds it, lets it out slowly. “Okay.” She nods. “You’re right.”
I flick her on the nose. “Don’t you forget it.”
She laughs in spite of herself.
“Come on,” I say, putting my arm gently on her elbow to steer her. “Let’s go get that drink. Nurse it.”
Later, I tell myself, I’ll get to the kitchen. After settling Caterina down.
The handle on the front door turns again.
Caterina stiffens the way deer in headlights do. I brace myself for whatever version of her we get in this next second and swallow the sigh that tries to climb up my throat, because tonight is not about what I want.
It’s about family.
I’m not getting to the kitchen for a while.
The sitting room is all windows and low, comfortable couches. The windows are open to the terrace, night air slipping in off the water of the pool. Lamps are low. Voices stay lower.
Antonio comes in last; he was taking care of some family business. He crosses the room with his hands out, always the showman. He kisses Elena’s cheek, claps Luca once on the shoulder, then hugs Caterina until she squeaks.
“Look at you,” he says, stepping back to take her in. “Movie star.”
“You’re a cheeseball, Uncle Tony,” she mutters, but she’s smiling.
He bumps knuckles with Nico, gets a quick squeeze from Vito that turns into a one-armed wrestle until Elena says their names in that way that ends it.
