“I’m great, just had some paperwork for Dad.”
“Enzo, this girl of yours is going to run you out of a job soon!” he joked with a warm smile.
“We shall see—she has a way to go yet,” he said coolly. My dad had remained seated behind his desk, not including himself in our exchange.
Sal waved him away like my father’s comment was rubbish. “This one’s a hard worker. I have no doubt she’ll be sitting in this office soon enough.”
“Alright, let’s head to lunch before you have me forced into retirement.” My dad slowly rose and walked to where his jacket hung on the wall. “Alessia, you can leave the paperwork on my desk. I’ll have a look at it when I get back.”
I offered the two men a tight-lipped smile as they said goodbye. I had no delusions I would be invited to lunch. Whether it was because I was still a child in their eyes or merely because I was a woman, I wasn’t sure, but whatever the reason, I was not a welcome addition to their party.
A part of me desperately wanted my father to take me under his wing and include me in things like the occasional lunch with associates. My father had never guaranteed meany position at Triton, and there were times like this when I wasn’t sure he truly considered me an option to replace him. Unless he outright told me there was no chance, I wasn’t giving up hope I could rise in the ranks and would continue to do everything I could to make that happen.
By the time I made it home that night, I was exhausted. I never got around to filing the complaint but swore I’d do it by the end of the week. The emotional toll of dealing with the incident itself had been enough for one day. I’d save the drama of dealing with HR for another day.
After changing into something comfy, I warmed up one of the dinners delivered by the meal service I used and poured myself a glass of wine. Deciding to take advantage of the beautiful May evening, I opened a couple windows and sat at the kitchen table.
My apartment was my sanctuary. What Giada had said about money had been true—my family had always been wealthy. I was exceptionally fortunate to be able to afford a beautiful two-bedroom place in downtown Manhattan straight out of college. The living area and bedroom boasted floor-to-ceiling windows, and even the backsplash in the kitchen was a series of horizontal windows looking out onto the city. I had accentuated the light, airy feel of the space with cream-colored fabrics and a glass-top dining table. Paintings and throw-pillows offered bursts of color and added a homey feel to the contemporary design.
Unlike most twenty-three-year-olds in the city, I wasn’t forced to live with a roommate—the apartment was all mine, and I loved it. I didn’t have to worry about someone eatingmy food or bringing home uninvited guests. It was my space to unwind and allow the stress from the day to fall from my shoulders like an unwanted scarf.
The atmosphere was perfect, assuming there were no interruptions or disturbances, such as my mother calling. I should have expected her call—she’d been in constant contact about my youngest sister, Sofia’s, upcoming graduation party. I’d had dinner with my parents just the day before, but we hadn’t discussed the party. My father had already declared himself fed up with the discussions and forbade the topic at our weekly Sunday dinners.
It would never have been an issue if Mom had settled for a small affair, but that wasn’t her style. She was throwing a graduation gala and planned to invite a few hundred of her closest friends. I was certain Sofia would have preferred no party at all, but she had humored our mother and allowed the production. We were closing in on the final weeks, so my mom’s calls had been coming more and more frequently.
“Hey, Mom. How’s it going?” I said brightly into my phone.
“You are not going to believe this,” came her coarse voice. She had been a smoker for many years when she was younger, and though she had quit, she still bore the scratchy voice of a smoker.
“What happened? The caterer running low on pâté?” I teased.
“If only! Vica decided she’s bringing a man. Can you believe that? I’d already made all the table assignments, and now she’s gone and screwed it all up.”
Maria Ludovica Francesca Elena Genovese, Vica for short, was my father’s younger sister. She was an Italian wild-child who gave her two big brothers, and their wives,constant grief. She’d been married three times already but had refrained from having children—a small blessing, according to my mother. Apparently, Vica had met someone new and wanted to bring him to the party.
“The graduation is still three weeks out; there’s plenty of time to rearrange things,” I reminded her, hoping she would realize how absurd she sounded.
“I don’t suppose you’ve decided to bring anyone,” my mother prodded questioningly. “It would keep things even, that’s all.”
Of course, I should have known.
“Yeah, Mom. Your question has nothing to do with you wanting me to get married and make babies.”
“Of course not!” She paused, and I knew what was coming. “Not that it would be such a bad thing.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll get right on it,” I muttered.
“You do that, and make sure he’s Catholic—that makes everything easier.”
“Alright, Ma. I’m in the middle of eating dinner, so I’ll let you go.” She hated the use of the term ‘ma,’ but I threw it in there just to rib her. Every other New Yorker used the term, but not our family. My mother had always said it sounded like a dying sheep and demanded we girls called her Mom or Mother.
“I heard that.”
“I’m sure you did. Love you, Mom.”
“Love you, baby girl.”
I hung up and sighed aloud. Every bit of tension I’d eased out of my shoulders had snuck back in and begun to pulse in my temples. My parents loved me unconditionally—I knew that. That knowledge should have been enough, but somehow, it wasn’t. I wanted them to respect me and beproud of me. Maybe they would say that was the case, but I always felt a dollar short—like who I was and what I did was never quite enough.
