She looked over at Graziella sitting with the same friends she’d had for decades. One of them was forking into another one’s fruit salad, onewas chewing on a glossy slice of bread, and all of them were talking at the same time. Did any of them look like they were worried about who was doing what and where? No. They probably hadn’t felt the need to think too much beyond what would be the weather report for the next day and if they did or did not wantcaffè correttoafter lunch. And yet here they were, so absolutely fine and fabulous it made her eyes hurt.
“Ellie.Vieni qui,” said Graziella, pulling out an empty chair next to her. Ellie knew what was coming next and smiled, getting ready to hear it. “Dimmi un po’di te,” she said, clasping Ellie’s hand with her own, which was covered in gold rings and bracelets. They talked once a week on FaceTime, but it would never replace a face-to-face sitdown with Grandma. “Talk to me. How have you been since all of that trouble?”
What she wanted to say wasWell, Gram, it’s a real shit show right now,but what she settled on was “I hope it’s going to be fine. I’m doing everything I can to fix things. We’re putting out feelers for new guests and sponsors.” Ellie filled her in on a strategizing session she’d squeezed in right before coming to Italy. What that really translated to was her texting back and forth with Omar about all the things she was going to do to make sure he didn’t miss a paycheck. He texted her back saying that he had zero doubt in her ability to lead the comeback campaign and that she should “stai zitta,” a takedown he’d been proud to get from Google Translate. He said the Italian version of “shut up” sounded nicer than his usual “cállate la boca.”
“Cosa vuol dire‘feelers’?”
“It means you try to understand what they think about something.”
“And you’re worried about this, yes? Why don’t you ask them directly?” Graziella asked.
“Because it’s not like here. People aren’t likely to tell you to your face that you’re a disaster.”
“I didn’t know that you were so worried about your disaster,” said Peggy.
Her mother finally appeared in her yellow eyelet coverup, proving that her parents had been able to multitask between barb-throwing and a wardrobe change. Peggy was a one-piece bathing suit kind of woman, no matter what country she was in, and she rarely sat without the yellow frock at the lunch table. Ellie remembered her mumbling something about it being improper to eat with one’s belly out at some point, but whispering something in English was as good as not saying it at all. Peggy squinted up at the umbrella above their heads and moved her chair to a shady spot.
“Hi, Mom.” She turned her attention back to her grandmother. “I don’t know if I’m worried. I’m just—”
“Feeling,” said Graziella, leaning toward Peggy. “She’sfeeling.”
“Right. I’m feeling.” Ellie smiled instead of correcting her grandmother.
“What is she feeling? Is she sick?” asked Gio as he sidled up to the group from the other side of the table. She really hoped her parents could be civil in public like they’d promised. Maybe they would play it so cool that no one would suspect anything.
Peggy rolled her eyes and let out a puff of breath at Gio. So much for that theory. “She’s not sick. She’s worried,” she said—a little too loudly.
“Ah… That can make you sick, you know. What are you worried about?” It was Maria Elena, to her left, with a bustline like the prow of a ship.And here we go,thought Ellie. It was time to open the floor up for questioning, apparently.
“Well, I may have made a little bit of a mistake with my job.” It was the only way she could think of to explain what was happening to a group of people who thought live-streaming was what happened when you poured wine or olive oil.
“Will you lose it? You still live in New York, right? How will you afford to live if you don’t work?” Maria Elena asked, turning up the jets on the anxiety Jacuzzi in Ellie’s head. Maria Elena was usually hysterical about at least one thing per lunch hour.
“She can’t lose her job, she’s a doctor. Isn’t that right, sweetie?” Now Pina was in on it, too, her bangle bracelets jangling as she leaned over to rub Ellie’s arm.
“Well, not the kind of doctor you’re thinking of.”
“Oh! My grandson is a doctor!” Pina went on. “Internal medicine. He lives in San Francisco. He is twenty-eight and lives in a house with six grown men, it’s so expensive. Six! The house is so small, some of them have to share a bedroom!”
Graziella patted Ellie’s hand again and smiled in silent confirmation that poor Pina was probably three briefings behind the press conference.
“Darling, you’re so brilliant. You’ll be fine.” Now it was Lucrezia. She looked like a pint-sized Cruella de Vil, her black bob accented with an aggressive white section across the whole front of her head. She was probably seventy-two, but her body looked thirty-two, and no one ever saw her without her Persols and a can of Diet Coke. “You should take all of those juicy stories people tell you and write books! There’s that one American woman, what is her name? She writes so many books she needs two names to sell them all. Nina something? Nona? I heard she owns her own town! It’s marvelous, isn’t it?”
“Thank you, Lucchi, yes, she’s really quite something.” This was the portion of the show where Ellie knew it was best to smile and thank everyone for their insight. Actual logic or ethics were no match for anecdotal evidence provided by a mishmash of foggy memory, thingsread in gossip magazines, and whatever someone heard someone else talking about on the “Ti Vù.”
“Ellie.” Graziella drew her back with a light touch on her hand. “You really are wonderful on your show. Even though I truly don’t understand much of it, I can just tell by your voice that you must be helping those people with their lives.”
“Thank you, Grandma, but the show is not really a big deal. It’s just a bit of fun,” she said, instantly regretting her words. She might be downplaying it now, but it actually was a big deal for her. Ellie had taken the show from an “alternative outreach” project in graduate school to what became known asGames Overin a few short years. She’d been recording the show as a podcast from her kitchen table for fun, and found that she wasn’t exactly overrun with guests eager to dive into the innermost crevasses of their psyche. Invitees included her trumpet-playing neighbor, the dog walker who she almost went on a date with, the hairstylist who worked around the corner, and a few other friends and friends of friends. Half of the people she bribed to talk with homemade cookies didn’t even know what a podcast was back then. The other half were probably distracted by the sheer amount of recording equipment that could be crammed into an apartment the size of a shoebox.
Finally, a classmate suggested that she interview her boyfriend, who happened to be the recently drafted star rookie running back on the New York Jets. After one chat with Ellie, he scored three touchdowns to win the season opener and then creditedherwith the win in the news. Pretty soon she had more guests than she knew what to do with. Each one of them found real value in her dispassionate analysis and stunning truthfulness, and they only had to sing her praises publicly a few times before she had an offer from Magniv Media to take hershow live, but there was a catch. They wanted her to interview athletes, exclusively.
At first she wanted to say no. It felt like going back on her own promise to never have anything to do with sports. It wasn’t just because her dad’s sports career had affected his relationship with the entire family, it was that most people never saw anything wrong with it. Focusing on athletes would be like sleeping with the enemy. However, the money they offered meant she could fulfill her dream of staying in New York after graduation. New York was where she’d felt the happiest, the most alive. Though she was born in Pennsylvania, they’d moved to California when her dad got the coaching job at USC, and Los Angeles had never felt like home. She agreed to do it and it wasn’t long beforeGames Overhad given her the first real taste of professional success she’d ever known.
The rush of validation was addictive. She had always been an excellent student with top grades, always been told she was brilliant, but it never felt real to her. How was she able to pull enormous amounts of information together to write an infobomb of a paper and could see right through a guest on the show, but couldn’t seem to understand how to communicate her own feelings and sometimes missed social cues by a nautical mile? She’d lived in fear of making mistakes and worried that they would prevent her from being a success. The show changed that. It was proof that she was good at something. And people had noticed. Whether she was helping other people or not, she knew that she was very much helping herself—at least in the beginning.
“Some of those people don’t seem like they are having fun. Some of them seem very sad,” said Graziella.
“You’re right. I think some of them might be, but they fight showing who they are. It’s frustrating,” said Ellie.
