If Ever I Fall, page 5
Me
Di Caro Residence
The Studio
Sofia
No way was I able to make the Early Decision I deadline of November 1st. After being yanked back here in the middle of September, I need time to get my studio and my life back in order. I didn’t want to rush putting my portfolio together since I had/have a few works in progress that I wanted to include if they came out good enough. I have to submit between fifteen and twenty works, and deciding, or curating if I want to sound chichi, which best represents me and my artistic vision, I opted for Early Decision II, which means I have to submit everything by January 1st. Now you know how exactly how I’m spending my winter break.
Before I forget, I wanted to tell you – dinner with Theresa was great. She talked about how much it helped her to get out of the house and return to normal routines. She was thrilled to go food shopping, and she spent forever walking around in the mall. What surprised me the most was how easy we were with each other. I thought being with her would make me feel guilty again, but seeing her eat and laugh helped lift the weight on my heart. We agreed to do it again soon.
So, after the dramarama of Thanksgiving, everything here is quiet, which is a relative term in this household. Exhibit A: the Christmas decorating frenzy has come and gone. Every year, the day after Thanksgiving the decorations start to go up, and by Sunday night, it’s all done. My mother and Nonna expect everyone to participate. Well, except my father. He’s not the climb on the ladder and string up the Christmas lights kind of guy. Duh. I’ll start with the outside of the house and work my way in. Get out your mouthwash. Your teeth are going to ache from all the syrupy sweet.
The front of the house is where everything is understated and tasteful. Every tree that lines the circular drive at the front of the house is rigged with those teeny-tiny little white lights. I have to admit, it looks pretty and takes away the barren feel of the bare trees. On the front doors, we have two identical huge wreaths. Each year my mother goes with a theme, and this year it’s a beach theme, which means we have blue and white coral and starfish, and tons of seashells. Some of the coral is glittered up, but, for the most part, my mother tones down the sparkle. She’s good with color and choosing the right ribbons, ornaments, etc.
The wreaths on the door have starfish, small pieces of coral and seashells wired into big flowing ribbons that look like the ocean. Someone who does party stuff makes a lot of the decorations for Mom at her direction.
That’s it for the front. Tree lights and wreaths.
Inside it’s a Christmas explosion.
The entryway foyer has a twelve-foot tree. After the tree was erected – and I mean that literally since it’s so big and heavy, it has steel supports going through this enormous tree stand – Gio’s job is to hold the ladder. This year he loved his job since Nat went up and down the ladder the most. I know I don’t need to explain why he loved it, do I? Nat didn’t want Nonna anywhere near the ladder – that was a ten-minute argument, and can I mention, Nat is becoming a pro at getting her way and putting her foot down – and Mom wasn’t allowed past the second step. Which meant everything from four feet and up, Nat hung on the tree. Half the time, she stayed on the ladder while we all argued about what should go where. That was the part Gio enjoyed the most. Again, for obvious reasons.
Dad hates having the banister wrapped, so Ro and I wrap the balusters. This year we had to be extra careful because each piece of thick blue ribbon had tiny seashells glued on. It took for-fucking-ever, and we lost a few shells, but it looks great.
Super-thick ribbons alternating starfish, coral, and seashells hang halfway down each wall of the hallway from a thin rail below the crown molding. The archways of each room have mistletoe hanging from them. Gio installs them and makes good use of their presence. Constantly. Ugh.
There’s an eight-foot tree in the large dining room. That one was easy to decorate: it’s all shiny blue and silver balls of various sizes with a giant starfish on top.
Then we decorate out back, and that’s where the word ostentatious is explored to its outer limits. When we get done the yard looks garish, and I love it. Every tree around the patio and the pool house has little twinkly lights. The tree trunks are wrapped, too. As I’m sure you guessed, we don’t do the trees. My father’s guys do. But we hang GIANT shiny balls from the lower branches and large twinkly snowflakes. The pool house is trimmed with white lights, and we have a life-size Santa sitting in his life-size sleigh on the roof. We have lighted reindeer all over the lawn – they’re made of wrapped wire and are lit from nose to tail – and their heads move. Some look like they’re grazing, some are upright. And, as if that weren’t enough, we have two Christmas trees wrapped in twinkly lights with lighted snowflakes dangling from the branches on both sides of the pool house’s French doors.
When it snows, the entire backyard glows.
The tree in the family room – another eight-footer – was the last thing we did, and we worked on it on Sunday. It took HOURS to decorate. This is the tree with all the family ornaments, and I confess, it’s my fave. It’s also the tree where the fighting is the loudest and fiercest. I’m beginning to wonder if I should switch profession choices and become an MLB referee. Trust me, nothing those damn Yankees could say would make a dent after growing up in this house.
At least Nonna was in the kitchen cooking while we were screaming at each other at the top of our lungs. Cooking didn’t stop her from yelling too. Gio never gets into the arguments, and neither does Nat. When asked their opinions they give them, but if they’re shot down, they shrug and chill while we kill each other over the placement of things like the little drummer boy Ro made when she was six.
Mom got us light blue stuffing stockings with white starfish on them with our names embroidered across the top in dark blue. Nat got a little teary when Mom handed hers over to hang off the fireplace mantel. Yet another excuse for Gio to hold Nat close and do that whispering thing for like a half-hour.
After all the tree drama, we go through the house, even upstairs, and strategically placing potpourri baskets, this time topped with seashells, coral and starfish that are trimmed with blue and white ribbons. When we were done, we were exhausted. Everyone cleaned up, changed clothes, came back downstairs, and couldn’t wait to dig into dinner.
Dad comes in, makes a half-turn to take in the family room, then says, “Looks good, let’s eat,” and Ro and I looked at each other like are-you-fucking-kidding-me-right-now.
Miffy
Parisi Family Home
Vittoria, Sicily
Matteo
As she had been with him on that perfect night, her letters were enthusiastic and passionate in equal measure about her likes and dislikes. He thought back to when their night together went from being friendly to intimate.
“You never went home?” she asked, as if it were a felony.
“I did when I was at Eton, but only during the summer and most winter breaks.”
“You were a kid. Thirteen.” She looked at him with doe eyes. “That makes my heart hurt.”
“Eons ago, and the way of things. Nobody whose family didn’t live within a three-hour drive went home except for winter and spring break, and, of course, summer.”
“How long?” He scrunched his brows so she clarified. “How long were the breaks?”
“Three weeks.”
“What did you do for spring break if you didn’t go home?”
“I went to one of my mate’s house.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t want to speak badly about your father, but why didn’t he bring you home?”
How did he explain his father’s version of love when he had such a hard time understanding it himself? “My mother’s death created problems he didn’t anticipate.”
She made a hand motion for him to continue.
“My father’s interests took him to Naples and Rome often. My brothers took care of things here when he was gone. Watching over me, making sure I was attending to my studies, was not a priority.”
“What the fuck?”
He laughed. She looked so delicate and fragile, but she had a mouth on her like a stevedore.
“No. Really. I get they didn’t want to babysit you on Saturday night, but you’re their brother. They should have been keeping you close, especially because you were young and probably missed your mother in a more immediate way than they did.”
“Perhaps. But it’s not my father’s way, and my brothers followed his lead.”
“Excuse me for saying so, but his way sucks.”
“He tried. For a while I was living with my mother’s sister, my aunt Tina. But I was wild. I know now I behaved badly because of my mother’s death, but at the time, I was difficult and was more of a handful than she wanted to take on. Her children were grown and had moved away. I don’t fault her for not wanting to manage a headstrong twelve-year-old boy.”
Sofia jerked her head back. “Well, I do. Christ. You were a little boy who needed love and attention. Your family is supposed to give you that unconditionally.”
He knew better than to mention that she wanted to run away from all the love and attention she was getting fast. But he took her point. Somewhere between being suffocated and being abandoned there was a wide range of caring.
“I didn’t turn out so bad.”
“That’s because of who you are, not what they did or, in this case, didn’t do.”
Since his mother died, Matteo couldn’t recall anyone in his life having that kind of faith in him. Sofia barely knew him. But she believed in him. One month ago that would have been a boon to his ego and he would have considered waiting for this beautiful young woman to get a little older before seeing if they were as compatible as they seemed. Now? She would never know who he had to become and why. He would do anything and everything to ensure her safety, and for purely selfish reasons, he wanted her to remember him as she believed him to be.
“A kind sentiment. I’ll remember that you thought so.”
“Damn. They drilled the British understatement into you and good.”
He chuckled. “One doesn’t emote in England, unless you’re at a football game. Then, it’s fitting to become barking mad.”
“I’ve heard about those games. You guys are worse than our football super fans. Beer and testosterone are not a good combination at a violent sporting event.”
“Agreed.”
“Do you play?”
“Recreationally.”
“What about your brothers? You’re grown now. Do you guys play together in neighborhood games?”
He’d been avoiding telling her, but there seemed no way around it. She’d get the story the family fabricated that was fed to everyone who wanted to know. Only a choice few people knew the truth, her father being one of them.
“My brothers are the reason I came home.”
“How come?”
He lowered his voice and tried to say this as gently as possible. “Because they died in a boating accident three weeks ago.”
Before he knew what she was about, she threw herself at him and wrapped her slender arms around his neck, pressing her forehead to his, their lips millimetres apart. In that moment he saw it in her eyes, she wanted him. “Oh God. How horrible. I’m so, so sorry.” She squeezed him, gasped, then pulled back. “Shit. I’m so sorry I said those things about them. Why didn’t you shut me up?”
With willpower he didn’t know he had, gently, he pushed her back, creating an acceptable amount of space between them. For a moment his urge to kiss her, to wrap his arms around her and feel the press of her slight body against his was everything he wanted and needed, and he nearly gave in. Years of being the kid separated from his family, the child and brother who was more nuisance than the time it would have taken to love him, made Matteo vulnerable to her sweet compassion and fiery defense of his right to be cared for by his family.
But he knew better.
His mother raised him to be kind. Eton insisted he be a gentleman with impeccable manners. And the epically biblical retribution that would be exacted upon him by her father was enough to scare the shit out of the Royal Marines. Sofia talked about her father as a remote and controlling parent, but one involved in her life. Little did she know how powerful he was, and how feared for his swift justice.
“Because you were talking about how they behaved in the past, and their deaths didn’t erase their prior actions.”
Her shoulders slumped. “I guess.” She drew in a deep breath. “I can’t imagine how you feel, but I want you to know you can talk to me. I’m here for you.”
Sofia would be so easy to love. A challenge to live with, but that meant he’d never get bored. She had a deep sense of loyalty that wouldn’t waver. She’d stand by him in a way no one else ever had. In return, he would adore her for as long as she lived.
So stupid to fall for her, of all people. And right now, of all times, when he was forced to become something and someone he detested.
Why couldn’t she be three years older, and why couldn’t they have met years ago?
As Matteo stared at her letter, he had those same thoughts now as he’d had that night three months ago. But he’d made a promise to himself that he’d use the letters to guide her away from him. As much as he wanted to dive into the depths of her and swim in her wondrous soul, he had to push her toward a life that didn’t include him.
Fuck.
Your vivid descriptions brought the decorations to life, and have forced me to reconsider my solo Christmas tree. I’m resolved to give it some sparkle.
I’m guessing Christmas will be equally noisy and boisterous, and that your nonna will make cucciddatini. I can eat two dozen of those cookies in one sitting. My father and I will be going to a cousin’s home to celebrate, and much like your family, there will be a lot of people, all of whom have opinions they share loudly. My favorite part of the holiday is watching the small children open their presents. Catching the sheer joy when they get something they wished for, and the droopy faces when they receive clothes, or something practical, is priceless.
My best Christmas present was a bicycle my oldest brother, Due, gave me when I was eight. His real name was Edoardo. He was named after my father, and I guess they wanted to avoid confusion in the house. Since he was Edoardo the second, he became Due. Not a great nickname, but better than secondo. Could you imagine being called Condo your entire life?
I digress. Before that Christmas, I’d had a small bike and rode like a demon up and down the streets around our house. I fancied myself a future Tour de France contender. Due used to encourage me, and when he gave me the new bicycle, which wasn’t a racing bike, but it was a ten-speed, every spare minute I had, I rode through the hills, building up my endurance.
Throughout most of the year there are pro races in Italy, and I’d thought if I got good enough to enter a race and do well, I could work my way up in the rankings and make it to the Tour de France. After my mother died, the bicycle became the means to alleviate frustration, and to get away from the house. When I started to ride too far, and come home too late, Due told me that our father was going to take the bike away if I didn’t behave. In the riot of emotions of I was experiencing at eleven years old, the dream of cycling in Tour de France fell away.
I wasn’t here to see it, but after forty-plus years of no official pro cycling in Sicily, the multi-day Giro della Sicilia came back this past April. The cyclists’ route went along the coast, into mountain villages, and through the parks near Etna. I still cycle, and love to disappear for a couple of hours on my bike, but I couldn’t compete with the pros. I’m damn good at weekend football matches, though. When I lived in London, I played regularly with a few of my former teammates from Eton.
Buon Natale, Miffy. My wish for you is to get into the programme you want at university, and that you follow your dreams. You deserve to lead a full and happy life.
Me
Di Caro Residence
The Studio
Sofia
What the fuck? I deserve to lead a full and happy life. Who was he talking to, a stranger?
That letter was off. On the one hand he told a couple of personal stories, and on the other it felt like he thought about every word he wrote. Maybe she should buy a burner phone. She could get Ro to go shopping with her, Mom, and Nonna, and use her cranky sister as a distraction while she slipped away.
Right. Like that was even a remote possibility. Two of Dad’s “men” followed them everywhere, and Nonna had eyes in the back of her head and the vision of a hawk.
Dammit. Sofia needed to talk to Matteo. Bad.
The next day, Sofia sat down next to Amy in the cafeteria. “You have to tell me if I’m crazy.”
“You’re fuckin’ nuts. I love you, but you’re off your mind.”
“Ha. Ha.” Sofia pulled Matteo’s latest letter out of her backpack. “Read this. Don’t say a word until I ask my question.”
Amy held out her hand, bent her head, and got to reading. A couple of minutes later, she looked up and waited for Sofia to ask, “Does it sound off?”
“Off. As in not correct?”
“Off as in impersonal.”
Amy sighed, put her hand over Sofia’s, and said, “It sounds like he’s a wonderful man trying to be a nice guy.”
Sofia felt the sting in her nose and forced back the tears. “Then what the fuck?” she whispered.
“Soph.” Amy squeezed Sofia’s fingers. “He’s thousands of miles away, and he’s twenty-two years old. No doubt you shared a wonderful few hours and made a connection. If he didn’t feel it too, he wouldn’t’ve bothered doing the whole TLC thing with you. But you have to be realistic. What did you think would come of this?”
Sofia sniffed and pulled her hand out from under Amy’s and balled it in her lap. “I thought we’d deepen the ‘connection’ and when I turned eighteen, I’d go to Sicily for the summer and spend as much time with him as I could before I came back to go to college.”
