Diana was quiet for a moment longer. “I imagine Riccardo’s mother doesn’t make anything easy for you.”
“No.” Rachelle didn’t add that Riccardo’s great-uncle had swept in and made everything even worse.
Diana got up and went behind the bar, where she pulled an envelope out from behind the bottles of wine. She set it down between them. “This came for you the other day,” Diana said.
Rachelle stared down at the envelope, which was addressed to her, to Rachelle, via Diana March’s restaurant. Rachellewould have recognized that handwriting anywhere. She took a staggered breath.
It was from her sister. It was from Darcy.
“Do you mind if I read this really quickly?” Rachelle asked.
Darcy glanced back at the kitchen, where the line cooks were prepping, laughing, and gossiping. Only two people were in the restaurant, although it was nearly dinnertime.
“Read it, but stick around a bit longer,” Diana said. “Maybe we can experiment with new recipes. Like old times.” She winked, then went back to the kitchen to help.
Rachelle opened the envelope gingerly, as though it could explode if she wasn’t careful. Two pieces of paper slid out, which she spread out beneath her hands on the bar top. She couldn’t believe Darcy had sat down to write her a letter, as though it were an entirely different century, as though email didn’t exist. She read it.
Dear Rachelle,
My therapist suggested that I send you a letter, so that I could write it slowly and really think about what I wanted to say. You know as well as I that I’m not always the best with words. There’s a reason that I worked as an esthetician for so many years: I liked how easy it was, how it didn’t push my brain very hard. Now that I’ve become what Steven calls “a professional,” I guess I know how to use my brain a bit better than before. But I don’t always know how to push my brain to describe what’s going on in my heart.
We haven’t talked in a while. That’s putting it lightly. What I really want to say is: we haven’t connected in many, many years. It’s been so long that I barely remember what it was like to ask your opinion on something first, or laugh with you about something stupid, or send you a photograph of something theminute it happened. I know our trip to Capri was sort of a disaster; I know you thought that I overreacted, and I know that I resented you for that. But in the old days, when and if we fought, we always found a way back to each other. Why couldn’t we do that this time?
We’ve received some pretty difficult news lately. After a few weeks of nervousness on our part, Remy was diagnosed as legally deaf. As we grapple with what to do next, I’m trying to deal with my emotions about it and other things in my life. I guess my hope is that I won’t infect Remy with any of my messy life as she prepares to take her next steps into this world. We’re still considering implants, although right now, the best course of action seems to be: wait, be patient, listen to the doctors.
I don’t know how to slow down and listen to the doctors, not when it comes to my baby. I don’t know how not to storm outside and scream at the sky.
I also don’t know how to bring you back into my life.
I hate that we’ve let so much time pass. I hate that when Remy sees a photograph of you, she has no idea who you are. I hate that I’m going to live out the rest of my days without you here.
Like I said, my therapist suggested that I reach out to you. That’s right: I have a therapist, meant to walk me through this next messy era of my life. It shouldn’t have been a surprise how quickly you came up during our first session, Rachelle. I miss you. I guess, now that I see you’re getting married and preparing for this next big phase of your life, I always will miss you.
Love, Darcy
Rachelle couldn’t stop crying.After she read the letter a second time, she went to the bathroom and sobbed until she hadnothing left. When she emerged, she was grateful to find that a few other diners had entered the restaurant, which meant she was needed in the kitchen. She could do what she’d come there to do: cook for strangers and forget about her problems.
“You good?” Diana asked as the grill sizzled before them.
“Never better,” Rachelle lied, because she couldn’t get into it.
But she couldn’t escape her thoughts for long. That night, she read the letter in bed while Riccardo snored beside her. She couldn’t sleep hardly at all. And when she woke up, and Riccardo told her that they were needed at his parents’ villa, she almost bit his head off. But she wasn’t sure how to get out of it. More than that, she had a sort of laissez-faire attitude about it, one that proved to her she didn’t care what happened to her, nor her relationship with Riccardo.
Receiving Darcy’s letter had changed her. It had reminded her that people in the world continued to love her, despite everything that had happened.
The same driver came to pick Rachelle and Riccardo up at six-fifteen. In the back seat, Riccardo swiped on his phone and touched Rachelle’s thigh with his other hand. Rachelle had her ankles crossed, her eyes to the sidewalk outside.
“Why did your Tio come back to Italy again?” She asked suddenly.
Riccardo hardly lifted his head. “He missed us, I think? He missed Italy. And he kept getting divorced, I guess. So my mom asked him to come back and mend things again.”
“And they’re close, I guess?” Rachelle asked. “Your mother and your great-uncle?”
Riccardo put his phone down and smiled at her. “You’re so curious!”
“They’re going to be my family soon,” Rachelle said. “I’m just trying to figure out who they are.”
Riccardo kissed her cheek and told her it was sweet of her to care so much.
