I tried not to laugh, but the whole scene was too ridiculous.
Now, Angela turned to Marco and called out, “Marco, can you stop eating cheese and take care of your children, please?” Marco jumped and gulped down one last bite before telling his son, “Gianni, if you try to cut your sister’s hair, I’ll cut off something of yours.”
Chiara egged him on to do it, giggling maliciously. We all wanted to act like adults, but it was impossible not to crack up with her.
“They’re little demons,” Angela told me, “and they can’t keep still. If they ever bother you, though, just tell me.”
“No, don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll get along wonderfully.”
Catalina took my hand and said, “Come on, I want you to meet the others.” She walked me over to a group of people standingat a round table of wrought iron and ceramic, drinking wine and chatting. Pointing to an older woman with short white hair and huge eyes, Catalina told me, “That’s Iria, and next to her is her husband, Blas. They came here on vacation five years ago and never left. The guy smoking the pipe is Roy, he’s our local celebrity, he’s a writer who’s published a bunch of travel books and articles.” Finally, Catalina rested her hand on a pregnant blond woman’s shoulder and informed me, “And this adorable couple is my niece Monica and her husband, Tiziano. They live in the house across the street.”
I waved and said hi, and they all answered back: “Hola,” “Ciao,” “Bienvenida,” “Benvenuta.”
A woman then walked over pulling two teenagers with her, almost as though she were hauling them around against their will. The boys’ heads were hanging down and she was talking so fast she was almost impossible to understand.
“You two are going to stay here and have dinner with everyone else and socialize. No grunts and murmurs. I want words, complete sentences. Words with more than one syllable, if you think you can manage that. Understood? What did I just say?”
The boys tried to mumble their way out of it, but when the woman kept insisting, they finally said, “Yes, Aunt Julia.”
She rolled her eyes and walked toward us energetically, smoothing down her hair, which was dyed strawberry red.
“Those two bums, I swear they never move,” she blurted out when she reached us. “All day playing video games and grunting and groaning. I go to the salon in the morning, and when I come back at midday, they’re in the same position. There’s a permanent outline of their butts on my sofa.”
“Teenagers today are just like that,” Iria said as she chuckled.
“They’re seventeen years old. Wouldn’t it be more normal forthem to be out there trying to buy alcohol and lose their virginity? That’s what I was doing when I was their age.”
Roy interrupted her. “You make it sound like virginity was a bad thing.”
“Not all of us held onto it like an heirloom,” Julia replied. Roy laughed in response. The way they looked at each other, with sympathy and understanding, made me think there was a story there. But before I could speculate any further, she said, “Hey! You must be Maya.”
“That’s me!” I said.
“Welcome to the madhouse! I love your hair, by the way. It’s so pretty. But if you ever decide you want a makeover or just a trim, stop by my salon. I’ll give you a discount. Now where’s the wine?”
Someone turned up the volume on the music and I found myself with a glass of red in my hand. Once Catalina had introduced me, I ceased being the center of attention and became just one of the crowd. They tried to include me in the conversation and make me feel at home, but nobody pried. People just seemed to accept that I was there, and any apprehensions I’d had just melted away.
More of Catalina’s friends and neighbors showed, and there ended up being around twenty of us in the garden. Iria told me they did this often, that the house was generally full of life. All over, people were talking in small groups or helping with dinner. Gianni and Chiara were now playing and laughing with two other kids who had shown up.
It felt almost surreal as my eyes settled on Giulio, who was still working on the fire. After a few seconds’ hesitation, I walked over to him and said hi. He turned, looking content, and said, “Hi. Having fun?”
“Yeah, everyone here is just great.”
He set aside his poker and grabbed his glass of wine off of the sill of the woodshed.
“Yeah, they’re all good people,” he affirmed.
I had to stop looking at him, even as I was entranced by his face, his eyes, the tone of his skin. His fingers were long, his nails oval, his ears big, his eyebrows arched. He looked different from in the photos in my suitcase, older, more masculine, but the resemblance between us was still unmistakable.
He was right there. All I had to do was open my mouth and say it. Utter my mother’s name, tell him I knew that they had known each other, admit that I thought he might be my father. Terrified, feeling the cold sweat gather on the nape of my neck, I told myself,Just do it. But then I found Catalina looking at me, and I heard Angela scream and run after her husband, trying to whip him with a kitchen rag. Giulio laughed, and I asked myself: What if this is my new home? The people were so kind and caring; they clearly adored each other and everyone else, too. It was as if they lived to open their arms up to you and make you feel you were part of their universe.
And I had always dreamed of that: a family that was truly a family.
A family that could be mine.
Say it.
The children ran past, and we had to jump back to keep from getting our toes trampled.
