AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“When I was fourteen. She always said I was going places—I was going to be a big star, she’d say—una estrella grande.I haven’t exactly made good on that prediction. Yet. She’s in heaven pushing me on now. Missing her is a big reason I used to drink, and why I work on sobriety. She wouldn’t approve of my behavior in the past, and I want to make her proud.”
“I’m sure you’re going to make her proud. Do you know what you’re singing yet?”
“Not yet. They won’t tell us until we get there. So that’s nerve-wracking, but one of my strengths is sightreading. So—” Roxi trailed off, her voice soft, eyes closing as she daydreamed.
Gia kicked herself for pushing about translating the Spanish story.Not everything is about you, she reminded herself. Roxi’d been so caught up in the emotion of her experience that she’d shared in Spanish. It was so simple, so human. “You’re going to be amazing. I can’t wait to watch.”
“Let’s hope.” Roxi sipped some more, coming back from the faraway place that held her dreams. “So, what did you want to talk about?”
“Oh, nothing, really. We haven’t talked in a while—and I just wanted to catch up. See what you were doing for Thanksgiving.”
“You’ve missed me.” Roxi looked over the mug, smile forming as her lips met the edge of it.
“I have.” Gia nodded.
There’s nothing more freeing or dangerous than the truth. And the truth was, Gia’d been dreaming about Roxi again. Nothing racy. Mundane dreams. Like walking a little dog through a neighborhood and talking about their days. Neither had a dog, but it was a constant in dreams. For imaginary cuddling on the couch while binge-watching a show. To tag along on pretend road trips to the coast. To lick up the scraps that fell when they made Sunday dinners together. None of these things were real, but they seemed it in her dreams, and there was always a dog.
“It’s cute when you’re nervous.” Roxi sipped casually. “You get these little indentations above your nose, and you look at your hands, like you’ve never seen hands before. Adorable.” She was so cool. So collected.
“I don’t know what to say to that.” The back of Gia’s neck was on fire.
Roxi reached across the table and grabbed those nervous hands. “You don’t have to say anything. I just like making you blush. Your cheeks look good with a little color,chica. Anyway, I’m spending Thanksgiving with thefamilia. Ricardo’s roasting a pig. Everyone’s coming. It’s an annual tradition. We get together and tell stories and laugh, and make fun of our dad for his outfit, which almost always includes suspenders. Mama hated the suspenders. You wanna join?”
Of course Roxi was spending the holiday with her family. What was she even thinking by asking? And—there was no way in hell Gia was going to a pig roast with the raucous family of the woman for whom she was silently pining. Why did she do this to herself? It’ like she put cheese on a trap and was surprised when a mouse showed up.
“Thanks, but I can’t. I’m working so someone else can be with their family. Maybe next year?”
“That’s sweet of you. I bet they really appreciate it.” Roxi drained the last of her coffee. “And maybe. If I’m not on tour.”
Cioppino
Spending Thanksgiving alone wasn’t a new thing for Gia Barone. She’d done it for years—even when she still lived with her mom. It wasn’t a big deal, she reminded herself every holiday. She’d spend mid-October through January pretending to have places to be and people to see, but the stark reality was, she didn’t. Granted, most of those holidays—and her birthday, right smack in the middle of them—were spent alone invariably ended up with a trip to a bar in an attempt not to be alone.
That year, there would be no bars, and no attempts to soften the feeling of missing out as people celebrated whatever they were celebrating with too much food, alcohol, and relationships that provided a false sense of fulfillment. That year, she’d agreed to work a cash register at the market until they closed mid-day so someone with a family could spend time with them. It was the right thing to do, she told herself as she blow-dried her hair that morning, the buzz of the hairdryer echoing off the bathroom’s subway tile and creating a symphony of denial.
A second glance in the pink pig mirror reflected a very different woman than the one who’d moved in six months prior. Her dark hair was longer—shinier too. Her eyes, previously golden as a Pilsner, were now golden like an aspen tree in the height of fall reflecting in an alpine lake. The dark circles that had become comfortable underneath them had faded, leaving only a hint of the exhaustion of Old Gia’s—OG’s—life. The parentheses-shaped lines forming near the edges of her modest lips were from laughing—an honest way to earn them. New Gia had every reason to be happy—or at least content. So why was she carrying the weight of sorrow? Why was every footstep heavier than the last? Every breath a reminder that though she’d done all the things she’d promised herself since she moved to Palm Springs—cleaned up, gotten a job, made friends—she was still alone on Thanksgiving. Roxi had her family. Derrick had gone to San Francisco to see his sister. Courtney was confusing, and they weren’t really friends. That left Gia, a replay of the Macy’s Day Parade, and whatever pre-made dinner hadn’t sold at the market when it was time to go home.
With her khakis pressed and borrowed cashier’s vest buttoned—and a nametag that read, “Sylvia”—Gia was ready to greet customers and load paper bags all day. She grabbed her backpack off the edge of the couch and made a note to call her mother that evening. Gianna would be alone, too. They had years of practice at this whole thing. They’d chat while her mom blew smoke away from the receiver and Gia avoided smoking, pretending that their way was better than gorging on side dishes and gossiping with the women in the kitchen while the men watched football. They’d never had a holiday together that remotely resembled gossiping wives and football-watching husbands, but their way was still infinitely better than that togetherness crap that Hallmark pushed in its movies. Or so they told each other.
“Gia, dear!” came the call as she locked her front door.
“Hi Mrs.—Jennifer!” Gia waved to her neighbor, who’d set up in front of her apartment as if it were just another day. Galileo wasn’t around, and she hoped he wasn’t up the tree. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
“And to you. You’re working today?” Jennifer snuffed her cigarette in the ashtray on her side table. She remembered.
“Yeah, I may as well. Figure people with a family should spend time with ‘em. I don’t have anywhere to be, so—”
“Nonsense! You have somewhere to be. Have dinner with me.”
“You don’t have to do that. It’s fine, really.”
“I insist.” Jennifer drew her shoulders back and puffed her chest. “No friend of mine is spending Thanksgiving alone. It’s just me and my boy this year. So many of my dear friends have passed, and those who haven’t are stuck in homes. I would go visit them, but it’s damn depressing. So you’ll have dinner with me. And then neither of us will be alone.”
“I’d like that, thank you.” Gia scanned the palm tree tops for signs of a rogue cat—it seemed safe.
“When are you off work, dear?”
“Four.”
