“D’Arcy, spelled as its pronounced?”
“Yeah. And Elisa Benetti.”
36
Elisa
“Charles has texted maybe five times in the last ten days. Does that sound normal to you?” Giada asks me. We’re at the harvest festival, the major fall event in the village. Now that Lucia is at Forte dei Marmi with Elmo, we’re down one bartender, so my sister is helping with the drinks. Intemerata is up on stage singing “Sorry, Jesus, if I’m Being Rude,” which is pretty much the Italian version of “Oh Happy Day.” It’s going to be a long night.
“Five messages in ten days? That doesn’t seem like very many, but he’s probably busy with work.”
“Probably,” she replies, unconvinced.
“Did you message him?”
“Well, I don’t want to seem needy or freak him out, so I don’t message him unless he messages me.”
“When will you see each other again?”
“After New York and before Hong Kong. He’s coming back here for a week and then leaving for Asia from Milan, so we’ll have some time together.”
“Well, don’t worry; sometimes a long-distance relationship just requires some patience and flexibility.”
“Maybe nostalgia makes the separation feel more dramatic than it normally would,” she concludes with a sigh.
“Hey. Smile,” I say, patting her on the cheek. “You’re the most beautiful woman at the party, even with your charcuterie apron, and you’ve landed the most coveted bachelor around. You’re the envy of Belvedere.”
“Speaking of catches,” she says, pointing to the far side of the little square. “Is that Linda I see talking to a boy? Our shy little Linda?”
“Where? What boy?” I ask in a panic, craning over the counter.
“Next to the candy truck. They’re eating gummy bears from the same bag. How sweet.”
I spot my daughter standing apart from the crowd around the stage, but it takes me a while to recognize her. “What happened to her sweatshirt with the cat-ear hood? She certainly didn’t leave the house looking like that!”
“Oops,” Giada chirps in a fake innocent tone.
“Oops, what? What have you done?” I ask her.
“She didn’t think you’d let her out in that top.”
“She thought right!” I exclaim, ready to go cover her up. “Now she can hear it straight from me.”
“Where are you going? Get back here.” My sister grabs me by an apron tie. “If you want to blame someone, blame me. I bought her the top in Florence.”
Pink glitter—I should have known Giada was behind this.
“Giada, are you insane? She’s thirteen! What will you do when she’s sixteen? Buy her condoms?”
“So what if I do?”
“Well, I was pregnant at sixteen.”
“Sounds like you could have used some condoms.”
“Very funny. Put yourself in my place, having to play both mom and dad. If I mess up, there’s no one else to make up for it.”
“There’s Mamma and me,” she replies.
