Life As We Know It
Who is this guy, and what did he do with theirascible, bossy man who’d been writing to me the past few months?Professionally, I’ve seen this type of behavioral shift when aperson makes a major life change – in his case moving across thecountry to start a new job – and it has a way of shining light onalternate perspectives. People in these situations take stock oftheir lives and shift emotional directions. The thing is, I don’tthink that’s the case with Ross. For reasons I don’t know – believeme, I went back and re-read our letters, looking for anythingbetween the lines to give me a clue – he made a decision about me,and opened up. This type of connection was what I’d been hoping forwhen I joined TLC. Now, I’m intrigued in a different way. Knowinghow he first presented himself, and getting a peek of this manwho’s sharing some of his life in an easy, nonconfrontational way,I wonder what more there is to him, and how much he’ll let me in.For my part, I’m happy to peel back a layer on the onion andshare.
I’ve been sitting cross-legged on my sofawith my laptop propped in front of me on a couch pillow trying tocompose my next letter in my head. I know I’m overthinking this,but I don’t how to start. My phone chimes and I reached across Boo,who is lying beside the sofa, to get the cell off the coffee table.He lifts his head from his paws for a moment, decides the phoneisn’t worthy of his attention, and goes back to sleep. I see Max’sname and tap the green button immediately.
Max is my first cousin on my father’s side.Dad’s brother is Max’s father. They live in Northern California inthe Anderson Valley – wine country. At eighteen, ournonnomoved to California to escape Mussolini. Originally, our family isfrom the Monferrato region in Piemonte – huge Italian wine countryand has been for centuries – and I have many distant cousins whostill live there.
Young, determined, and too stupid to fear theundertaking he embarked on,Nonnodecided he’d follow thefamily tradition and growBarberagrapes.
In 1938 a person could buy a lot of land inthe Anderson Valley. The population was sparse andNonnohitit right. The highways didn’t start to be laid through the countyuntil after WWII, which meant with a little money and a lot ofbackbreaking work, he began to plant some of his two hundred acreswithBarberagrapes.
For years, he kept sheep and sold the wool toensure there was food on the table. He’d tried to join the army tofight Mussolini, but he was deaf in one ear, and they wouldn’t takehim. Their rejection turned out to be divine providence. His firstharvest that produced saleable wine grapes was in 1945. Again, goodtiming. Wineries were buying up all the grapes they could get theirhands on. The war was over, and people wanted to celebratelife.
What started out as a young man’s adventureturned into a profitable vineyard, and in 1980Nonno’s sons,my dad and Max’s father, started Redwood Falls Winery. In 1992,when I was three years old, we moved clear across the country toHartford, Connecticut, where my father had a job waiting in a foodimport company.
To this day no one but the brothers know whatterrible thing happened to split up the family. No one talks aboutit, but everyone knew it broke my grandparents’ hearts. I have nodoubt that one of the reasons I became a therapist is rooted in theemotional fallout we’d lived with due to our familial schism.
As a peace offering – my sense is, though noone ever told me, it took years of negotiation – starting when mysister and I were twelve and nine respectively, we were put on aplane and were sent to California to spend our summers with ourgrandparents. By that timeNonnowas seventy-eight yearsold. He lived another seven years, and ournonna, who wasten years his junior, followed him to the grave ten months afterhis death.
Those seven summers with my grandparents weremagical. Until then, I hadn’t known our family, most of whom livedin California. My sister Laura remembered them a little, but notenough to recall much about them. Such as our family resemblance,and how many mannerisms we shared as a family, and how deeply lovedwe were by people who hadn’t seen us for years.
My mother’s two brothers and their families,who live in Santa Rosa, came to the vineyard about six times asummer, and we got to know them and their kids. But since we stayedwith our grandparents, my uncle Dominic’s – my father’s brother –children were always around. Mostly, we hung with them: Massima,who has always been called Max, Donna, and Luca.
Max is two years younger than me, but thatnever mattered. We clicked, and since that first summer, she’s beenmy best friend.
Through the phone, Max breathed, “Oh my god,”catastrophe lacing each word. No surprises there. Seven in themorning my time, four in California, and Max is not the type ofgirl to get up before the chickens. In fact, Max rarely gets upbefore eight-thirty.
“What’s wrong?”
“Ziggy’s knocked up.” My mother’s brotherStefano married a Norwegian, my aunt Asta. All their children haveNorwegian names. At twenty, Ziggy, whose real name is Sigrid, isthe youngest of their three kids.
“Lemme guess, she arrived on your doorstep–”
“An hour ago.”
That explains Max’s super early morning call.Ziggy has always been a bit of wild child and crashes regularly atMax’s place. Even though Max isn’t technically Ziggy’s cousin, allsides of the family are intertwined in each other’s lives.
My mother’s brothers didn’t abandon theCalapianos after “the breakup.” They stayed tight with mygrandparents, my Uncle Dominic and his family, and our family.
“She face-planted in my sofa a few minutesago. Dead to the world.”
I shook my head. “Hit me.”
Max laughed. “Short version: she doesn’t knowwho the father is.”
“As in too many one-night stands havingunprotected sex?”
“As in she’s been dating two guys at the sametime, neither knows about the other, and she’s sleeping with bothof them.”
I sighed. “And having unprotected sex.”
“So it would seem.”
“It boggles. How pregnant is she?”
“About two months.”
“Well,” I slid into my professional voice,“if she’s more than seven weeks along, she can have a DNA testdone, but tell her fingernails and hair from a brush are not goingto work. Both guys need to have a cheek swab done.”
