“It’s really happening,” I agree, and my voice only catches a little.
We are all quiet for a moment watching Emilia coo as she tries to eat my apron string.
“I want to talk to you about New Year’s Eve.” Siena’s voice is soft but determined as she exchanges a look with Olivia, so I try hard not to roll my eyes and shut her down. I know where this is going.
“Before you say no,” she continues.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You made the face.”
“I didn’t make a face.”
“Emilia” she says picking up the baby and pointing at me. “Your Auntie Sophie is making a face. Do you see it?”
Emilia blows a bubble.
“Thank you,” Siena says to her daughter and I groan.
Olivia laughs. “Rooftop at Dragovari Tower. New Year’s Eve. Small group, just family, the boys, the usual people.”
Siena chimes in. “Yes, we’re keeping it low-key this year. No gala, no outside guests, just an excuse to get dressed up and drink good wine and start the new year with the people we love.” She pauses. “I want you there.”
I turn my attention to the linen receipts on the counter.
“Sophie.”
“New Year’s Eve with you guys and Emilia sounds great,” I say carefully. “I just think the restaurant opening is right around the corner and I should probably stay focused—”
“The restaurant doesn’t open until weeks after New Year’s; you just said so yourself.” She hands Emilia to Olivia and crosses her arms. “Try again. But before you do, remember Christmas Eve. Do you want a repeat of that?”
The truth is that I have become very good at the calculus of avoidance this year. I know which family dinners Vin attends and which ones he skips. I know that he’s more likely to come to something if Tommy and Matti are both going to be there, less likely if it’s only one of the two. I know that I can usually find a reason to leave within 30 minutes of his arrival, and that if I time it right, I can slip out before we even make eye contact.
Christmas Eve, I timed it wrong. After six hours of preparation, I served the entire Feast of the Seven Fishes myself, and then heard his voice in the front hallway just as Siena was bringing out the baccalà. I kissed the baby, hugged Siena and Giovanna, and told them I had a headache, then slipped into the December cold before he saw me.
I missed the rest of the dinner. I missed Emilia’s first Christmas Eve. I cried in my car for 20 minutes before I could drive home.
“I had a headache on Christmas Eve,” I say.
Siena’s expression does not change. “You cooked all day then you left before you took a single bite. Because of him. Sophie, you can’t keep doing this.”
“I know.”
“You are both apart of this family, whether either of you like it or not. Matti and Tommy aren’t going anywhere, which means Vin isn’t going anywhere. Me and Emilia aren’t going anywhere, which means you have to find a way to be in the same room with him.” She pauses. “Emilia’s first birthday is coming up. You need to be apart of her big happy moments.”
The thought of missing that knots my stomach.
“He hasn’t brought her around,” Siena says, and she doesn’t have to clarify whoheris. I know. We both know. The Irish woman, his future wife. ”Not once. Whatever is happening there, he’s keeping it separate from the family.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, and try to mean it. “But that won’t last much longer.”
“The mourning period ends soon,” Siena agrees. After a death in an Italian family, especially the death of a patriarch, the tradition is no celebrations, no big life changes, no weddings for a year. It’s the only reason Vin hasn’t married her yet, but once it happens, she’ll be around. And he’ll be with her. And then their kids—
My stomach does a slow, sickening drop that I cover by waving at Emilia in Olivia’s arms.
“But that’s all the more reason to get used to seeing him. Before there are… others with him.” Siena says ‘others’ carefully.
I meet Siena’s gaze. “You’re right. I’ve been handling it badly.”
