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Isotta had to get into the headspace of being straightforward, or she would flounder. Although she didn’t dilly dally with traditional or customary greetings, Isotta knew that if she did, she would allow herself to get sidetracked and would inevitably not talk about the things she needed to talk about. Isotta had to be forthright and direct, or she would never say what needed to be said.
“I wanted to talk about my hospital visit.”
“We are so glad that you’re out, that you’re back home,” Celestina tried.
“It’s my stay that I want to discuss,” Isotta corrected, “not my discharge.”
“What did you want to talk about?” Francesco replied. He accepted that she wanted to be candid and direct with the conversation. He could respond in kind.
“You all failed to respect my privacy, my decision to keep my diagnosis to myself. Why is that?”
“Because we care,” Celestina replied. “We just wanted to help.”
“Help me do what?” Isotta asked, finally looking directly at her mother.
Celestina almost didn’t recognize Isotta. She wasn’t the docile, pliable daughter that she was accustomed to. Celestina offered her answer rather rotely. But when her daughter asked and challenged her answer, Celestina didn’t know how to respond. She looked at her husband. He offered no reply.
“We wanted to know what was going on because we wanted to help, darling.”
“Help me do what?” Isotta asked again, this time with a bit more flat weight to her voice.
“Is there something wrong with wanting to know what’s going on with my own child?” Celestina felt attacked for doing what she believed to be right.
“I’m not a child,” Isotta answered.
“We recognize that Isotta,” Francesco interjected.
“Oh, you do?” Isotta drilled. “And will I always occupy that position no matter how old I get?”
“That’s not what your father meant, darling,” Celestina replied, trying to defend what she started to feel was defenseless.
“You will always be our child,” Francesco repeated.
“And not be able to speak for myself? Not be able to keep things to myself?”
“We only wanted to help, not hurt, Isotta,” Francesco answered.
“Help? Help me do what? That’s the question neither of you are answering.” Her gaze in her father’s direction was unwavering, and Francesco wasn’t quite sure how to take it. He wanted to correct her, to put her in her place, but that was the very thing Isotta fought against.
“Help you heal, honey,” Celestina interjected. “That’s all we wanted to do.”
“I doubt that,” Isotta quipped. “If you were interested in helping in my recovery, your comments at the hospital would have been about that despite the diagnosis. I would have heard from you, seen you, gotten sick of you for being so overbearing while I was at my husband’s home alone. You weren’t interested in my recovery.”
Celestina was shocked by her daughter. She was also ashamed that Isotta was right. Celestina thought about saying that she was unsure about checking on her daughter after what happened at the hospital that she felt pushed away. But Celestina knew that kind of comment held no weight. A mother’s love should have superseded any of that, and she failed to demonstrate that.
“You contracted me out to a man and then tried to undermine his position.”
“Is that what this is really about?” Francesco asked.
“Yes,” Isotta commented. “And the fact that I’m an adult,” she added. “At least adult enough for your contractual agreement.”
“This is about Valentina, isn’t it?” Francesco asked.
“And my adulthood and my right to privacy and to my own business, but yes, father, this is about Valentina,” Isotta harshly answered. “Where is she?”
Again, Celestina looked at her husband, but she looked with veiled interest because she wanted an answer to that question as well. She wanted to know where her daughter was, too.
“You know I can’t share that with you,” Francesco answered.
