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“Oh, I know you’re hiding something. The question is how much is it poisoning you?”
I look up, but she is fully focused on her knife and the fruit. I stare at her, willing her to say more while refusing to ask her to explain what she really means. What she sees. Perceives. Why am I paying a therapist?
She meets my gaze and smiles softly. “It’s not the secrets you’re keeping from others, it’s the truth you’re trying to ignore so desperately.”
* * *
I leave Lena in charge after the lunch rush and make my way to my mother’s house. The more I consider Lena’s words on the ride over, the more agitated I get.
Mom opens the door, kisses me on both cheeks and says, “I need you to talk to Gio and Andrea. They haven’t returned my calls.” Then she strolls away.
I follow because Bianca Cassinetti has always commanded rooms with a simple gesture and sometimes just a thought. “I sacrificed my life to bring up decent human beings, or so I hoped, and they don’t bother to talk to me.”
Everything is always sprinkled with drama for my mother. She’s wearing a beige designer suit and has golden jewelry dangling from her ears and wrists. She doesn’t look like a suburban housewife. She never has.
We moved to this house shortly after my father passed, courtesy of his insurance policy. My mother has been a stay-at-home mom all her life. Sometimes I wonder how my father afforded so much life insurance, but I’m not complaining. Amid losing him, our wealth at least secured some sort of stability.
“Andrea is in Europe, Mom. What is it you need from them?”
I sit on the stool at the corner of the large rectangular kitchen island.
“What I need from them? Do I need a reason to talk to my sons? Have you spoken to Sydney lately? Is she dating someone?”
God help me. I was thirteen when my father died and I took on the role of head of the family—well, in my mind at least—and even after Micah moved in with his girls, I still feel the need to check on my mother.
She is more capable of living than I am, so these weekly check-ins with her are more habit than need. But every time I come I wonder why I’m willingly submitting myself to her inquisition.
“I’ll have your peach iced tea, thank you for asking, Mom.”
She sighs. “Don’t be smart with me. Since all the other children are ignoring me, I have to get the information out of you.”
I roll my eyes. “Gio is just busy with another takeover or a launch or whatever it is his holding is currently focusing on. Andrea is seeking a muse in Italy. I haven’t spoken to anyone in a while, but last time I saw Sydney she was still single. Not a surprise there.” I smirk, and somehow my mother manifests next to me—even though she was standing at the opposite side of the island—and slaps the back of my head.
“Really, Massi, you’re old enough to be more serious. How did I end up with eight children combined and no grandchildren?” She closes her eyes and shakes her head. It’s more for dramatic effect because I’m pretty sure Bianca wants grandchildren mainly to stop her friends at the club asking about it. In her mind, everyone thinks there is something wrong with us. There probably is.
“Mom, I’m sure Andrea has a child somewhere.”
This earns me another smack before she walks to the fridge and pours me the tea.
“I was calling them because I’d like to organize a family get-together.” She slides the glass toward me.
The last time we all got together was… well, I’m not even sure. Christmas four years ago? I’m close with most of my siblings, but there are too many of us to organize anything, and the younger ones probably endured so much in the large, loud household that they’re happily staying as far away as possible.
“What’s the occasion?” It’s the middle of May, no birthdays in sight that I can remember. “And where is Micah, by the way?”
“The occasion is that we haven’t been together for five years now. And Micah is in the city. Will you stay for dinner?”
She busies herself with a dishtowel, polishing the perfectly sparkling island top, and purses her lips. She seems uncomfortable and I can’t decide if I want to find out why.
“I can’t stay for dinner. I have to get back to the restaurant before the evening rush.” I slide down from the stool and walk to her. I wrap an arm around her shoulders, take the towel from her hand and kiss the crown of her head. “Is everything okay?”
She dabs the corner of her eye and I think these might be real tears, not her usual drama queen reaction. “Everything is okay, I just want to have my family together for a few moments to create memories. Life is too short.” She sniffles and raises her chin, the mask of iron Bianca back in its place.
“Okay, I’ll talk to Gio and Andrea.” I kiss her forehead. “I need to go now.”
She walks me back to the door. “I hear you work with Gina.”
Of course, she left the best for last. The woman must have hidden cameras in the restaurant. Probably even in my apartment. She knows shit about me even before I know it sometimes. Mother’s intuition can’t go this far.
