There it is.
The thing we have all spent ten years not saying.
I nod once, but it is not enough.
Nothing is enough.
Still, for the first time in years, the room does not demand silence from me.
“She wanted a girl,” I say.
Both of them look up.
The words surprise even me.
But once they are out, I keep going.
“She said if it were another boy, she would blame me personally.”
Tomasso gives a quiet, broken laugh.
Matteo looks down at his glass, but his mouth softens.
“She told me that too,” Matteo says.
“Of course she did.”
“She said there are too many men in this family; it needed diluting.”
That time, I do laugh. It’s rough and painful, but it’s a laugh.
Tomasso smiles down at his plate.
For a moment, I can almost hear her.
Not like a ghost. Not some ridiculous fantasy.
Just memory.
Anna in our dining room, one hand on the curve of her stomach, telling all three of us that if the baby was a girl, none of us were allowed to frighten her suitors.
The ache comes so hard, it overtakes me.
I let it.
My sons are still watching me.
This time, I do not look away.
“I miss her,” I say.
Three words.
Ten years late.
Matteo closes his eyes briefly.
Tomasso’s jaw works once before he says, “We do too.”
