“And I’ll keep giving you reasons to love me,” he says. “More and more. Every day.”
I wrap my arms around him, breathe him in, and hold on to the hope, reminding myself that this moment is exactly as real as it feels.
Alexander
My living room, usually defined by space and clean lines, is filled with Christmas energy.
My family has an instinct for filling any room with laughter, expressive gestures, and a lively spirit that makes any place feel lived in.
When I reached out and asked them to come for the holidays, there was no hesitation. We planned everything together, as if it had always been meant to happen this way.
Cecilia often talks about wanting the kids to meet my family, so I chose to make that happen here, where they feel most at ease.
There will be time for them to visit our villa at any moment they choose to do so.
Cecilia is across the room, pouring wine. Our eyes meet for a brief second and we smile before I turn my attention back to the window.
Ethan’s been standing there, facing the glass for a while.
He met my family the day they arrived, right after coming home from spending the afternoon with friends. And, much like Alicia, he was welcomed without reserve. Everyone made a point of drawing him in, of making sure he felt included during the improvised dinner my cousins put together. A simple meal that became a joyful takeover of my kitchen.
I don’t think I’ll ever forget the moment Nonna pulled Ethan into a hug and, wearing one of her mischievous smiles, spoke in Italian, intentionally leaving the translation to me.
“You’re big, like my ragazzi,”she said.“I’ll tell Pietro to put you to work in the olive groves when you come visit me at the villa. Your mother says you like building, sì? Learning what comes from the land will teach you to value life.”
Ethan smiled at her and said he’d like that very much.
Laughter followed, spreading through everyone around us. Even Cecilia laughed, though her smile lingered longer. She kept watching her son with my grandmother, long after Nonna had drawn him into a conversation meant just for the two of them.
Some of my family is staying here with me. Others are in my penthouse, and a few more are in the corporate apartment we usually keep available, prepped now to receive them.
Across the street, Cecilia’s house is lit—porch lights on, Christmas decorations glowing—but it’s empty for the night. I know, though, that isn’t what Ethan is looking at.
His attention veers to his phone from time to time.
At eighteen, knowing your girlfriend is in the same city, maybe only a few neighborhoods away, yet tied to a different family table, is a very particular ache, heightened by his age and the holidays.
I met his girlfriend, Dalila, the other day, when she came over for lunch and Cecilia invited me to join them. They seem happy together.
She’s outgoing, curious. Seemed eager to learn more about me and Cecilia, asking questions while I helped in the kitchen. Ethan is more reserved by nature, but there’s a constant tenderness to him when he looks at her.
I walk over to him, swirling the ice in my glass.
“Is she home, or did she travel with her family?” I ask, coming to a stop beside him as I watch the cold, empty sidewalk between our houses.
Ethan looks up, momentarily surprised, then sighs, offering a resigned smile. “Tribeca. At her grandmother’s.”
“So close, and impossibly far,” I say, shaking my head. “At your age, a few miles might as well be an ocean when family protocol dictates the schedule.”
“Yeah.” He glances at his phone, then locks the screen. “We tried to see each other earlier, but her mom came up with a last-minute brunch. Now it’s just texts.”
“Patience, Ethan. It’s a virtue most of us learn the hard way.” I take a sip of my drink and shift the tone. “But speaking of survival... your mom said you made it back from Ithaca in one piece. How was the transition from the easy life across the street to the upstate cold?”
Ethan laughs, tucking his hands in his pockets. His posture loosens. “Easy life’ is generous. But Cornell... it’s a different world. Studio routine is insane. I thought I knew how to draw until my professor dismantled my first section cut during critique.”
“Welcome to the club,” I say, smiling, memories surfacing from my own days at the polytechnic. “Engineering and architecture are exercises in humility. You spend nights awake convinced you’ve created the eighth wonder of the world, and the professor looks at it and asks, ‘Where does the plumbing go?’”
Ethan laughs.
