So for her, that first year was ‘dark' everything. Dresses, shoes, and nylons.
She even wore a black headband that drove me up the wall, but I’m all for respecting people’s choices, so I let her be.
I love Nona in my own twisted way.
After a while, she experienced some freedom in her selections, and I loved that Nona even more.
She rocked cute outfits with floral patterns. Pinks, reds, and yellows.
And then the bright colors vanished in thin air.
Something must’ve happened to her soul.
“What?” I push out, not answering her question.
“You’re late.”
I tear my eyes away from hers and focus on my face, cleaning my skin with a smooth, creamy milk I regularly order from France.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I murmur.
Her sigh makes me flick my eyes to hers in the mirror.
“Giorgio and Sylvia are waiting downstairs.”
My hand stops midair, my heart racing.
If they are here, who else is here?
“Go on.”
“That’s it.”
I shift in my seat.
“Are you so worried I’m not ready for my birthday party because my grandparents are waiting for me? I didn’t think they’d show up, anyway.”
“Well, they’re here.”
I study her face for a second.
“But that’s not why you’re so concerned.”
“A hundred guests are waiting outside, and you’re only wearing your ugly robe.”
Laughing, I spin in my seat and continue cleaning my face.
“I’ll be ready in no time.”
“You probably don’t even know what you’d like to wear.”
“You’re probably right. I’ll find something.”
A few moments pass before I go on.
“Rest assured, the guests aren’t here for me. They’re here to schmooze with the Gallos.”
I pause before I drone on.
