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“Gabe has puzzled me most of all over the years.”
Isabella was very still, wanting to hear everything Yaya had to say on the matter, yet knowing it was invasive to allow her to continue. Somehow it felt like a betrayal of whatever she and Gabe shared, admitting someone else – even his beloved Yaya – into the dynamics of their relationship.
“He is independent and determined, spirited and so moralistic it frustrates me almost to death, even when I can see that such moralism is, probably, a benefit. He cannot see the world as I do, or I suspect you do. For example, the accident is a weight on his chest, every second of every day.”
Isabella’s heart twisted with pain. “I know.”
Yaya’s eyes widened. “Do you?”
“He told me as much.”
She could see the older woman’s wheels turning, as though Gabe’s sharing this information was the opposite of what she’d suspected.
“Perhaps then he is finally ready to change. To forgive himself, even.” She sipped her drink. “The first step to forgiveness is admitting you’re ready. In telling you about the past, maybe he crossed that line?”
“Perhaps,” Isabella conceded, the woman’s thoughts closely echoing her own hopes. “He deserves better than the purgatory he’s made himself exist in since then.”
Yaya’s features were taut as she studied Isabella intently. “Life is too precious, is it not?”
“Definitely.” She reached for her drink and took a generous gulp. “Thank you for including me in your Christmas. I feel very honoured.”
“Di Nada,” Yaya waved her hand through the air. “We are the ones who are grateful to you.”
“Oh?”
“You’ve brought Gabe some of the way back to us.”
Isabella stared at the gift with chagrin and shock. “This isn’t necessary,” she shook her head. “I’ve landed on your doorstep unannounced. There’s no need for presents.”
“We’ve discussed this,” Yaya overruled her objection, the rest of the group silent. It was late at night, the Christmas dinner – a delicious feast of soup, bread, vegetables, gnocchi and ragu, roast meats and creamy potatoes preceding a sweet smorgasbord that had made Isabella’s teeth ache! The family had been loud and happy, the children – at varying ages and all adorable and besotted with their Yaya – gathered at one end of the table, with manners far superior to Isabella’s at a similar age. They ate with gusto and didn’t interrupt the flow of conversation much at all. Champagne flowed freely and the mood was convivial and bright.
Isabella sat there and absorbed it all, and somehow the perfection was only improved by Gabe’s presence at her side, his silence not brooding so much as reflective.
Happiness was seductive indeed. She looked at his brothers and cousins – five men of the same mould, or the same ingredients, as Yaya had said – and wondered at the steps they’d taken that had allowed them to fall in love and commit to their partners. Surely it wasn’t so out of the question to imagine Gabe might one day make a similar commitment?
But even the thought of that was out of bounds. She had to work hard to suppress it though. It was far easier to find herself imagining a shared future – the idea coming to her out of nowhere and surprising her with its fulsome rightness.
Gabe had said his family would love her, but what she hadn’t anticipated was that she would love his family right back. And after only one night! It was so improbable that she hadn’t properly protected herself against the likelihood after all. She’d been complacent and out of that had come genuine affection.
She passed the present from one hand to her other. “Open it,” Gabe urged quietly. They sat around the Christmas tree shimmering with vintage lights and well-loved ornaments, just like a vision conjured out of one of Isabella’s fantasies. The children were awake but tired now, stifling yawns with the backs of their hands. Isabella had been very happy to watch everyone else rip into their presents – quietly impressed by the low-key nature of the gifts, given the family’s wealth. Books, trinkets and sports toys for the children, with some meaningful jewellery given to the women by yaya, from her personal collection. Sentimental bling, she’d explained with a wink to Isabella. And now there was something for her – an interloper.
Isabella slipped a finger beneath the wrapping paper, her heart banging so loudly against her ribs she was sure it must be audible to everyone. Her fingers were shaking; she couldn’t say why, only it was making it difficult to open the present. Taking a deep breath, she concentrated on appearing as unaffected as possible, folding up one triangle of gift wrap before rotating the present and unsticking the next piece of tape, before opening it completely, her heart trebling in speed when saw what was contained within.
“It’s too much,” she shook her head. “I can’t accept this.” She was conscious of the others leaning forward, craning to get a look, but unless you had Isabella’s vantage point – and perhaps Gabe’s – it was difficu
lt to discern the nature of the gift.
She looked up at Yaya, sitting as a Queen on a throne, comfortably ensconced in an armchair at the head of the circle.
“Nonsense,” Yaya waved her hand in a gesture that was already familiar to Isabella. “I want you to have it.”
Isabella turned her attention back to the book, a film of tears making it almost impossible to read the scratchy handwriting properly. Written on the front of the book’s brown cardboard cover was ‘Paula Vasannaki’. The Vasannaki had been crossed out at some point and replaced with ‘Montebello’. The first recipes were written in a child’s hand, then a more elegant script – all in Greek. Halfway through, the nature of the recipes changed, though they were still written in Greek. Every now and again, she came across a piece of paper torn from a magazine or recipe book and folded neatly into the margins.
“These are your recipes,” Isabella shook her head. “They should stay in the family.”
Yaya’s eyes narrowed, and the room paused, waiting for her to speak. “It felt right for you to have it. Please, cara. Accept the gift.”
Was it any surprise Isabella needed a moment to herself? So much kindness, happiness and love might have been normal for many people, but to Isabella – so used to being alone – it was thawing parts of her that she wasn’t sure she wanted thawed. After all, a defence mechanism served a valuable purpose and she wasn’t sure she should allow hers to quit so quickly.
