It takes a solid fifteen minutes for Uncle Paolo to escort us from the front door to the kitchen due to the nonstop parade of laughing relatives, questions as to my and Teddy’s relationship status, shocked proclamations ofMore homosexuals? Welcome!, and lots of hugs. The relief at the happy, bustling atmosphere inside my Nonna’s house is only skin-deep, though, because everywhere there is evidence of why we’re all here. The house is jammed full of people, but not my grandmother. Instead of Nonna, piles of flowers and bottles of her favorite amaretto sit in her armchair by the window. Suitcases and bags spill from the corners and line the hallway from all the family in from out of town. Somewhere, someone is crying.
I silently plead that it’s not Dad.
When I duck beneath the low arch of the doorframe into the kitchen, I spot my father’s shoulders hunched over a simmering pot on the stove. He’s not crying, though. A strange, humming sound is coming from his throat.
He’s …singing?
“Dad?” I let my purse fall to the floor.
He drops the spoon in the sauce and whirls around, joy dancing in his bright eyes. His cheeks are fuller now, rosy from the kitchen heat, and his beard looks shinier, too. His hair is neatly trimmed and pushed backin classic silver-threaded waves, his pants sharply tailored, his button-down crisp and protected beneath one of Nonna’s old aprons. Evidence of Uncle Paolo’s cosmopolitan influence is clear as day. “Zoe Nicoletta!”
“Dad?” I repeat dumbly in the face of this gorgeous older man who shares the same eyes as my father, but not much else. He takes me into his arms and squeezes, rocking from foot to foot in a long embrace. One hand cradles the back of my head as he murmursZoe Nicolettaandmy little Zoeover and over again, and thenI’mthe one crying because I’ve missed him so, so much.
“Oh, it is so good to see your beautiful face.” Dad releases me to hold my chin, turning my face this way and that to get a good, long look at me. “Being in love looks good on you, bella.”
“What?” I sputter out a tearful laugh. “What are you talking about?”
Then Dad shocks me even more by throwing his head back and laughing, too. “Zoe Nicoletta, surely you knew I would be checking up on you?” He waggles his eyebrows, which, I swear to god, I haveneverseen him do. “Still mad I hired Laine without asking?”
“Okay, that’s it. What’s going on here?” I gesture back and forth between us. This isDad. He’s supposed to besad. It rhymes, even! “I came here to be with you because you needed me, but you seem fine.”
“I knew you would come for me, Zoe Nicoletta, but more than anything, you needed to come foryou.”
“What are you talking about?”
Just then, Uncle Paolo busts in, his arm wrapped around a disbelieving Teddy’s shoulders, promising him a glass of Montepulciano’s signature Brunello di Montalcino that’s worth staining your teeth for. Teddy looks intensely skeptical.
Paolo releases Teddy and slings his arm around Dad instead. “Doesn’t your father look so well here, Zoe Nicoletta? Back in his homeland, surrounded by family, in the kitchen where he belongs!” For the first timesince I’ve arrived, Dad’s smile falters, and he gives Uncle Paolo a strange, loaded look before shaking off his arm and returning to the sauce.
“I hope you both are hungry,” Dad calls over his shoulder.
We eat and drink late into the night, crammed in across three rooms loaded with food, wine, and laughter. Any awkwardness I felt at not knowing my own family wears off after the second glass of Brunello, happily drifting in and out of the roar of conversation and hilarious family politics. After dinner, I lose Teddy to Uncle Paolo and some of the other cousins, who excitedly discuss the possibility of going to therealClub Europa later that night. I’m not exactly sure where Teddy and I are supposed to sleep until Aunt Cecilia announces she’s waking the butcher down the street who, for some reason, will help us solve this problem. When she shows up triumphantly brandishing a ring of old keys ten minutes later, I realize it’s because Teddy and I will be staying in the little apartment above the butcher shop that may or may not be a part-time meat locker.
I donotshare this information with Teddy.
After the first wave of cousins leaves for their homes and hotels, then the second, I pull up my messages to text Laine. Up until now, everything I’ve sent has been by way of update, opting for nice, safe facts.Checked in. On the plane. Arrived.Now as I stare at the blinking cursor, the facts no longer feel quite as safe.I’m sorry for freaking out. I love you, too, and I’ve never felt so scared in my entire life.More than anything:I don’t want you to leave.
I close the messages app and sigh. Dad finds me on the couch between aunts listening to a heated debate over club football teams I can barely follow. He places his hand on my shoulder. “Zoe Nicoletta, come have a glass of wine with me, yes?”
I follow him into the back garden, lit overhead by the same string lights Dad likes at home. “Did you put these up?”
“Nonna loved sitting among her flowers, but the summer heat would get to her. I hung these up so we could enjoy the evenings out hereafter the heat of the day had passed.” He smiles ruefully. “She gave a lot of feedback.”
I smile, imagining Dad on the stepladder while Nonna instructed him from her chair. “She must’ve loved having you here.”
He nods, then takes a sip of his wine. “She did,” he says. “I’ve loved being here, too.” His eyes watch mine carefully, but I’m not sure why. I’m glad he doesn’t regret leaving home for the last seven months. All my fears of finding Dad broken by grief have been eradicated, and the relief is overwhelming.
I swirl the wine in my glass, remembering how Lucia and Teddy pounced on Fredo the moment the scrawny fourteen-year-old stepped into the house and fleeced him of the stolen phone. “We need to be better about visiting, Dad. Everyone’s great, and it’s so beautiful here.” Beyond the garden fence, the city’s ancient walls loom, the stone town like a jaunty cap upon this rolling mountain’s head.
“You should visit more, that is true.” Dad clears his throat. “But I won’t because, well … I’ve decided to stay.”
“What?”
Dad puts his glass down, then leans forward and puts his head in his hands. “I want to stay here, Zoe Nicoletta. Indefinitely. Forever, maybe.”
I laugh, though it’s anything but amused. “I don’tunderstand, Dad. You’ve said nothing about this before now, you got Uncle Paolo to lure me out here sayingyou needed me, so I drop everything to come out here and save you only to find you’re abso-fucking-lutely fine and having the time of your life, and now you want to leave home forever?”
“I want to be with my family, Zoe, I—”
