In the days since her anniversary party, Stella had enjoyed lazy Christmas market walks with Marcella and Carlotta, a visit to Piazza San Pietro with Giulio and Elda to marvel at the annualpresepe, and an entertaining evening with Marco at the ice-skating rink by Castel Sant’Angelo.
Despite the excitement, despite the enthusiasm for the season, there was one nagging reminder that tugged at her.
Vincent.
According to how he understood things, they were very much still a couple. And Stella, while relishing her new lease on life, was still keeping up appearances with aplomb.
Stella entered the living room to find Marcella and Carlotta still curled up together on the couch where she had left them twenty minutes earlier. Her face contorted into a wince and she tossed her phone in their direction. Carlotta caught it with a snap. ‘I’ll be glad to be done with those chats soon.’ She grimaced.
‘I would have stopped weeks ago!’ Carlotta said.
Stella could have indeed pulled the pin and been done with him. But that wasn’t her plan. There were so many unsaid things sedimented in her heart that she wished she’d had the courage to say to Andrew. This way, she wouldn’t add Vincent to that list.
‘At least Vincent hasn’t asked for phone sex.’ Marcella picked at one of her cuticles. ‘With his sad little penis in his hand.’ She gestured with a drooping index finger. ‘Orhashe?’
Stella was quick to respond. ‘God, no. That would have ended with a “poor reception” text, trust me. He’s no doubt getting enough on his end, anyway.’ She sighed. ‘Ah well, I’ve made my obligatory Christmas touch-base. Now, the rest is forusto enjoy.’
‘Maybe just you two.’ Carlotta tried her best to stifle a yawn. ‘Ragazze,s’è fatta ‘na certa.’
‘Oh, really? You didn’t want to come to midnight Mass with us? All of Trastevere will be there.’ Stella’s bright eyes remained hopeful.
‘Like atiramisù, tomorrow I am going to be constructed in layers. Layers of guilt, rather thanmascarponeandsavoiardi. By Papà, mynonni, all myzii. . . I don’t think I can handle the Catholic guilt layer, too.’ She wearily pried herself from the couch, dropped cheek kisses on both of them, and gathered her things. ‘I’d much rather be here than listen to the child-bearing-years-you-should-be-married-what-are-you-doing-with-your-life chorus on repeat. I’m tired. Of it all.Buonanotte.’
‘Are you still coming for lunch?’ Marcella asked.
‘Of course.’
‘Good. Because I’ve prepared for six.’
‘Six, whatsix?’ Stella piped up. ‘The plan was just us three.’
‘I invited the boys for lunch too. Ok?’ Marcella momentarily ducked behind a pillow.
‘The boys?’ Stella and Carlotta probed in unison.
‘Sì, Giacomino, Marco and Ignazio.’
‘When was this decided?’ Stella asked, prising the armour from her grasp.
‘Last night. Marco and Ignazio are having Christmas dinner with Giuseppe because he will be lunching with old friends, so they are free. And Giacomino won’t see his family until next weekend. So, six.’
Carlotta turned to Stella. ‘Don’t fight it. Just accept it.’
Stella giggled and nodded. ‘I’mnotfighting it. This will be fun. Our littlefamiglia romanaall together forNatale.’ Her hands formed a steeple at her chest and she gushed with glee.
‘And like last year we still agree on no gifts?’ Carlotta’s eyes narrowed and darted between the pair. ‘No surprises coming?’
‘No, no. Rent beforeregali,’ Marcella assured.
‘Amen!’ echoed Stella.
‘Vabbè,buonanotte,’ Carlotta announced, turning on her heel.
‘Can you please turn off the light as you leave?’ Stella asked.
‘Sì,sì.’ And with that, Carlotta left.
Marcella and Stella basked in the beauty of their little apartment, which glowed with festive cheer. Their small Christmas tree, standing at just three feet, glistened with a simple collection of multicoloured lights. Flashes of colour bounced off the walls as baubles and decorations reflected the seasonal merriment.
