She stretches out her little hands toward me, and I pick her up from my father, holding her.
These tiny beings offer you so much love and warmth; the feeling is indescribable.
I don’t want kids.His words ring through my head, clenching my heart into an unyielding grip.
When Chiara returns, we head up the stairs, giggling as we go.
We visit Nonna first, and she holds the little one in her arms. “Oh, she’s a firecracker, this one.”
“I know,” my sister sighs dreamily.
“Must be karma.”
She elbows me. “Both Cato and I had little hope she would be anything else,” she says, looking adoringly at her daughter but also with relief. No one will ever clip Celia’s wings. No one would even dare to try.
While Nonna busies herself with the little one, we sit on the plush rug and I ask, “How have you been? How are the girls?”
I might be her sister by blood, but the other three women are the sisters she chose.
The pang of jealousy disappears as quickly as it appears. I want my sister to be loved and happy, knowing she found her place, her tribe.
As she tells me everything new about Aurora, Alessandra, and Violet, she pats the seat in front of her. That’s her signal to braid my hair.
It’s our thing.
Time with her passes way too quickly, and I promise myself to visit her more.
When dinner is announced, Chiara picks up Celia, who rests her head on her shoulder as my sister brushes her back.
She is as dedicated a mother as she is in everything she loves.
“I’m happy for you,” I say, my voice taking on a nostalgic tilt.
She halts at the top of the stairs, looking me straight in the eyes. “No one will fight for what you want if you don’t.”
I nod dejectedly, and she exhales a long breath. “Oh, Viv. Stop choosing to be loved at the cost of your well-being. Fuck whoever doesn’t love you for who you are.”
I met someone who does, but I’ve conditioned myself for so many years that I wouldn’t even know how to behave differently.
At the dining table, she feeds Celia one bite and then herself before she lets the little one feed herself. I giggle at the mess she is causing.
“She will be uncivilized,” my father groans under his breath.
My sister is about to open her mouth when I say, “Papa, please.”
He casts a look my way of utter disbelief.
“Celia is a happy kid who is lucky to have the best mother.”
My sister’s eyes glisten, not expecting me to side with her. She is used to fighting her own battles.
“Your father is right. Kids need discipline.”
Chiara just shakes her head at our mother. Being happy and content made her more immune to the jabs, I guess.
“I know best what my kid needs. My husband and I. Keep your unsolicited advice to yourselves.” Then she leans back and lets Celia play with the food.
“It’s the right thing to do, so Celia can learn to feed herself,” I say, and my father scrunches his brow, staring at me as if I had betrayed him.
