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As family and associates leave their blessings, I hear a few of them speaking about Nonna’s last few months, many of which I regrettably missed. I’ve received many hugs today from well-meaning aunts and business associate's wives.
I’m sick of being hugged, tired of being touched. I had to resist the urge to punch an old lady who was a friend of Nonna’s just a few minutes ago when she came to hold my hands and tell me she was sorry.
I end up in the red and gold passageway that leads to the foyer, where I see my brother and sister already standing right underneath a portrait of Nonna and Nonno standing in front of the family mansion the very day they bought it.
I walk up to them, wanting to support and comfort them, but the heavy grief in my own chest is hard to navigate.
"Remember that summer when Nonna taught us how to make her infamous cannoli?" I ask them, trying to bring out a good memory on this sad day. It’s not my specialty, but they both look like they need it as much as me. "She turned the kitchen into a battlefield of flour."
Enzo's face lights up, the weight of his grief momentarily replaced by the joy of the recollection. "Yeah, I remember. She insisted we learn the family recipe, said it was a rite of passage."
Grazia, a reminiscent smile on her lips, adds, "She didn't just teach us to cook; she turned it into a celebration. I can still hear her laughter echoing through the kitchen. I think even Luca laughed that day." She looks at me with a cheeky grin.
I roll my eyes but nod. "And the mess we made? She had us in there cleaning up to opera music, making it seem like part of the fun."
Enzo says, "That day felt so light, unlike the heavier days she often protected us from." He was never fully protected from those heavy days, being the oldest, so he knows what he’s talking about when he says it felt lighter.
Grazia, her eyes sparkling with the memory, says, "I remember her saying that traditions are the threads that weave the fabric of a family. That day, we were weaving our own thread."
My siblings and I stand there for a few more minutes, moving our gazes from the portrait to the people in our home. I decide it’s time to fill up my glass, the liquor helping to calm my nerves and keep my emotions in check.
Every time someone mentions what a sad time this is, I feel a burning sensation in my chest, but it’s all I can do to acknowledge them politely and keep going.
Today has not been pleasant for me, but I also know that once everyone has left and the day is over, I’ll be left with just my own thoughts—and that’s an even scarier realization right now.
I keep hearing about the connection between Nonna Ginny and Emelia. My aunt had told me sincerely, “Oh my, Luca, what a shame to lose dear Ginny while you were away and Grazia was busy with school. You must have been so happy to have Emelia here to keep your Nonna company.”
I had just nodded at her and accepted her hug, moving on through the crowd.
But then I heard about Emelia from neighbors, from Nonna’s bridge club friends, and even from the doctor’s wife, who used to enjoy gossiping sessions with Nonna.
I look over at where Emelia is standing with her father.
Perhaps us all chasing her away from helping with arrangements was a mistake, since everyone here seems to back up her story about how close she had gotten with Nonna.
When we were all kids growing up, Emelia followed my sister around like a shadow. Not that her home life was terrible, but she seemed magnetically attracted to our Baldini clan. Her father didn’t mind, considering he was more than happy to have the Baldinis as allies.
Grazia had kept Emelia as much to herself as she could. The rest of us would get a glimpse of her now and then, but Grazia was the one dragging Emelia back to her room when she felt like we were giving her friend a little too much attention.
As they reached their late teens, and Emelia became a stunning young woman, I seemed to see them even less. Perhaps that was partly my fault, being away often and working so hard on figuring out my role in the family business.
Emelia was a good friend to us all when we were kids, and her being so close to my sister meant I couldn’t help but feel protective over her. And she had been there for many of my girlfriend-based heartbreaks, school exam fails, and even a car accident I had, all of which she’d helped me through without ever saying a word to my siblings, especially my sister.
We were not what I’d call friends as adults—I have very few of those these days—but she had been an integral part of our family, and now perhaps she was an even bigger part of our clan.
If my Nonna had trusted her to be by her side so much during her last months, I have no doubt that she was trustworthy.
Nonna Ginny was a hard woman to please, so Emelia would have had to go through a few tests before she was accepted as Nonna’s bedside companion.
Emelia is currently speaking with the guests closest to her. She’s smiling, but there’s a definite sadness in her emerald green eyes.
Her long hair, which I've always been fond of, is pulled back into a loose bun with soft brown tendrils hanging loose around her face. It's as though her striking features are being perfectly framed.
She’s in an opulent black gown and has a black lace shawl thrown over her shoulders. She seems a bit overdressed and she's giving off Wednesday Addams at the ball vibes, but on her it works.
I think about how she came to fetch me when I landed, and cringe just slightly at how I reacted. I was running on very little sleep and barely holding back the tears, but she came to keep me company, and for that, I should have been more grateful.
I’ve never been one to openly show any sort of emotion other than rage, which is why Grazia always jokes about the few times I’ve laughed with them.
Looking at Emelia, though, I think about how she’s been there for my previous moments of weakness and has never once brought them up or judged me.
If I’m going to get through the next few weeks, I may just need her to be around to bring a sense of calm to the chaos that's about to unfold.
