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I don’t doubt it. No one in this family has a low decibel setting. We’ve got loud, louder and loudest, and that’s about it.
“Don’t take business advice from this one.” Gian waved his hand toward me. “For someone wanting his own place for years, he’s not doing himself any favors.”
Lusanne looked pointedly at me.
“I had no idea Gian planned to stick me in front of a camera this morning.”
She clearly didn’t see the problem.
“Did you not get enough time to do your hair properly?” She loves teasing me about the effort I put into my hair, which is, according to my sister, excessive.
“Did you see the interview?”
“No, but Mom told me about it.”
“I didn’t get to tell Evie. And now she’s not answering her phone.”
Lus made the same kind of face she makes when she sees an insect. Of any kind. “Oh.”
“Would you please tell him he’s being ridiculous? It’s not as if she doesn’t know she wasn’t nominated. I’m sure she’s happy for you.”
Lus looked back and forth between us.
“Yeah, thrilled. So what that she just spent four years preparing to win an award like this,” I shot back. “She’s got formal training in the business,” I said, but clearly neither of them understood. “I don’t have expectations to win some big national award. My goals are different from hers. Evie isn’t looking to expand but to put the restaurant her father bought as a Valentine’s gift for her mother on the map. Parents, I’ll remind both of you, who are both dead. This isn’t just an award for her. For Evie, it’s the culmination of years of preparation. Mama Leoni’s isn’t just a source of income. It’s a living, breathing memorial to the two most important people in her life. Me being nominated—and she knows the award isn’t as big of a deal to me—is like a kick in the ass. So yeah, a little warning would have been nice.”
Neither of my siblings said a thing.
“Holy shit, Tris,” Lusanne said finally. “You are in love with her.”
I wouldn’t deny it.
Not then, or now.
Cooler heads finally prevailed after my impassioned speech, one which did me no good since Evie wasn’t actually talking to me. She’d texted, said she was headed into work, knew I had a busy day, and that we would talk later.
I asked her to answer the phone, but in response I got, “Go take care of your party. We’ll talk later.”
Not chat later, as she usually said.
But “talk.”
As in, a serious talk? One I’m not sure I want to have. For the first time in as long as I can remember, there is something other than having my own restaurant, or trying to compete with Enzo—which, as Evie pointed out, is a pretty useless endeavor—that’s more important in my life.
It wasn’t gradual, really. From the weekend of Festa, or even before that, at the wedding, the pull between us has been undeniable. More than just a sexual attraction, which is also off the charts. She smiles so easily for someone who’s been through so much pain.
Her drive, and ambition . . . Evie’s passion for food, for life, it’s as if she was made just for me. And vice versa. The damn award is driving a wedge between us. Which, to be fair, was there already because of the sheer nature of our jobs.
I look at my phone. Nearly one a.m. Evie said she’d call after work. Which means she’s either finishing up or she didn’t call.
Screw it. If she wants to talk, we’ll talk.
But I’m not waiting until tomorrow.
35
Evie
Satisfied, my parents’ graves now pruned and in need of fresh flowers, which I can bring back tomorrow, I sit on the grass and cross my legs.
